The Essence of Judo by Naguib Kerba

 https://www.nkerba.com/new-blog-1/u0h0a6j5hoh8qpqxyih1v7px4huii9

https://www.nkerba.com/ordinary-people-extraordinary-lives

Airport Security by J. S. Marlo

 

Wide of the Mark

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Over the weekend, I flew to Victoria to visit my two little granddaughters. When I fly, I usually beep walking through security. I'm usually a "random" pick, though I seem to be "random" quite often.

In my northern neck of the woods, it's still that season between winter and spring, but it was supposed to be a hot weekend in Victoria, unusually hot at 26C - 27C, so I left in my Birkenstock sandals. There was still snow on the ground (there is still snow, and my tulips are trying to peek through it), but my toes were happy to feel the breeze.

I got to the airport and went through security. Like usual, I beeped. No surprise, except it wasn't random. I'd triggered the metal detector. The lady agent eyed me from head to toes then asked if these were "genuine" Birkenstock. When I said yes, she told me to take them off and go through the metal detector again. That time I was good. She then proceeded to tell me that only the genuine Birkenstock beep, but not the replica or counterfeit. So, when I flew back, I put my sandals in the tray, walked through barefoot, and beeped again! That time I was a random pick. I swear I can't win!

A few months back, as I was flying back from Victoria (yes, I try to visit my granddaughters every six to eights weeks), I beeped again going through security. Again it was random. The lady agent patted me, then swiped my hands and my laptop with a little piece of fabric. She then placed that fabric into a scanner. Usually, that's the end of it. Well, that time it wasn't. The scanner lit up and the agent eyed me suspiciously as she told me that I tested positive for explosive residues. That one was a first! So, she started asking if I handled explosive recently. The only thing I'd done was to clean my hand with hand sanitizers. So she asked what I was doing for a living. I told her I was a murder-mystery author, and there was a bomb in my last book. She burst out laughing. Loud! That was quite unsettling to see her laugh. Those agents are usually so serious. By then, everyone was looking at her and at me.

Once she stopped laughing, she waved me through and wished me a good flight.

So, I learned two things recently.

1- If you wonder whether you bought genuine or fake Birkenstock sandals, go through airport security. If you beep, they're genuine.

2- Don't wash your hands with hand sanitizers just before going through airport security, or they may mistake you for a bomber.

Happy Reading! 

Hugs!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

Having a Home Library by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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A few years ago I converted one of the rooms in my house to a home library. It's something I've always wanted. The table in the center of the room gets good use when I'm doing research for a novel I want to write. It's helpful to spread out books, maps, documents and notebooks. Having shelves of history books is also handy as I often have a book or two (or more) on the subject I'm researching.

Recently, while looking around my library, I realized that I have a multitude of books I've yet to read. There is no question that I acquire books much faster than I can read them. I'm fine with that. I probably couldn't stop if I wanted to. And while I do enjoy gazing at my shelves full of books, I don't buy them for looks. I buy them because I actually want to read them. Many of the books on my shelves have been in my possession for years and have yet to be read - a disservice to both their authors and to myself. So, I've decided to do something about it.

It is not a lack of interest that prevents me from reading them. It's a lack of time. I still work a full-time job, teach online courses for the University of Dayton anywhere from once to three times a year, run a household on my own, and, of course, research and write novels and still attempt to have a life outside of work and home. 

I also spend as much time reading as possible. I am never not in the middle of a book, usually several books. For example, at the time of my writing this, I am reading one book and listening to another audiobook on my Kindle. I bring a book to work with me so I can read on my lunch break. There is another book I keep in my bedroom to read before going to sleep. Add to those any books I'm reading for research and any other books I'm reading for unexpected circumstances (like the one I'm currently reading on clicker training cats in an attempt to keep one of my cats from strolling across my kitchen counters and stovetop.) Books are my life. Well, books, cats, and writing to be exact. They top the list of things that bring me joy. 

Also on that list is learning. I love to learn about almost anything. If I could be a professional student, I would. While I enjoy various methods of learning, reading is undoubtedly my favorite. This is reflected in the variety of books I own on many subjects. What a shame to have them and never find the time to read them.

I decided to do something about that. I am now mindfully carving out time to snuggle into the rocking chair in my library and start reading my way through my book collection. Since history is my greatest love, I've begun with the bookcase that holds my books on American history. I am more than halfway through Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick. This bookcase will take me through the Salem Witchcraft Trials, the American Revolution and into the American Civil War. 

Other bookcases include biographies, early-mid 20th century history, books on art, music, and photography, theology and eco-theology, women's history, European and Non-Western history, folklore, material culture, poetry, classics of literature, crafts, gardening, and, of course, plenty of novels.

  

One of the best things about the time I spend reading in my library is that I am almost always accompanied by one or both of my cats. 

So, books and cats, my two favorites. What more could I ask?

 

    Zach in the window                              Josette on my lap

Connections, by Paul Grant

 

                                                

 

 

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“You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” sang Joni Mitchell in Big Yellow Taxi.  She was referring to Paradise, but the same goes for the internet.

Last week a spring snowstorm brought gale force winds and thundersnow to most of Saskatchewan.   Thundersnow, as you’ll know from reading my novel Astraphobia, is a rare type of thunderstorm that contains snow instead of rain.  And the lightning it produces is just as lethal.  It knocked out the power around here for several hours, and when the lights came back on, the internet didn’t.   

 

Our ISP told us that demand was heavy and it would be three or four days before they could send out someone to fix the problem.  Three or four days without the internet?  Three or four days without the world at our fingertips?  Quel dommage!  Fiber optics are woven into the fiber of our being.

 

Every morning over coffee we scan several newspapers on Press Reader, available on-line through our local library.  We check our bank statement, maybe write a few letters, research summer travel destinations, or look at Facebook or other social media.  I may send a query to JD or Jude, or maybe do some research on cover art for my new novel America.  We listen to internet radio from all over the world and in the evening we stream TV shows through Netflix, Britbox and other sources.  None of these activities is possible without the internet. 

 

Of course being without the internet is not as dire as being without electricity, or food, or a place to live.  All our problems should be so small.

 

We settled down after supper with our books.  I’m reading The Bellini Card (Picador 2008) by Jason Goodwin.  It’s set in Istanbul of the 1840s, and after reading a few pages I wanted to look up a map of the area to follow the lead character Yashim on his travels.  On my phone, Google Maps showed Istanbul curving like a jewel along one shore of the Sea of Marmara.  And then it dawned on me.  We were magically reconnected to the internet.

 

Oh frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!   Life as we know it was possible again.  I could check email, read the news, search for concerts, or shop for a toaster.  My banking info was at my fingertips.  The wide wide world was just a keystroke away.  All our problems should be so small.  

 

The characters in Astraphobia and Notorious have bigger problems than losing connectivity.  Problems like being struck by lightning or killed over a drug deal.  I hope you’ll read both books.

Duck, Duck, Gray Duck by Julie Christen

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What better time of year than spring to reminisce about childhood games played with the neighbor kids on the lawn in the sunshine, and with minimal (if any) adult supervision. From croquet to kick the can, red rover to green light/red light, we products of the 70s and 80s knew how to find the fun, complete with mild scrapes, legendary bruises, and sometimes, battered feelings - all of which healed in time.

One of my favorites was Duck, Duck, Gray Duck. Never, as a kid growing up, would I have imagined its title becoming the source of a common, friendly argument that stands the test of time. I've endured this phenomenon ever since I moved away from my hometown, Detroit Lakes, MN. Did you play Duck, Duck, Gray Duck when you were a kid? Or did you play Duck, Duck, Goose?

If you said Duck, Duck, Goose, I am oddly delighted to tell you ...

You're wrong. Sorry. Not sorry. (Well, wrong to a point, hence the friendly argument.) 

Only Minnesotans know this (and possibly a few from Wisconsin). And the history books prove it (depending on which source you use): the original game was called "Anka Anka Grå Anka," which originated among Scandinavians who settled in Minnesota and parts of Wisconsin. This way, you play by thinking up other colors as you go around the circle and mess up your friends' hair. Blue duck, green duck, pea soup duck, baby doo doo duck, GRAY DUCK! RUN!! Wild laughter, tripping over each other, and other such frivolities thus ensue. 

Ah, good times.

When writing, I find myself automatically using words, phrases, and references common to how and where I grew up. Odd phrases my family used, wording sentences in an anti-grammatical way, and comparisons to atypical experiences. The weirder, the more authentic, I think. As I continue writing the second book of Forever Fields, I enjoy mulling over "how Uncle Mike would've said this" or "what was it Grandpa Frank used to say?"

Occasionally, I wonder if it deters some readers, but I can't control that. It feels good to reach into my past and bring it into the present every now and then, regardless of discrepancies or debates.

As Grandma Olive used to say, "Lord love a duck." And that was that.

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