Tuesday, December 31, 2013



   There's nothing more terrible personally than suffering the death of a child...Or so I thought when a phone call November 19th told me that she was dead, cause unknown until lab results came back. Then last week the awful news that she had died of a drug overdose--OD'd on Meth, which no-one who has never tried drugs, can even imagine, including me. Then A few days later, the "My Name is Meth"--which was difficult enough to read and post. Then,-- today--comes in the mail the police report. I do not know what I expected the police report to contain, but nothing prepared me for the shock, as I rifled through the pages, of seeing my dead daughter's body lying face down, half sideways, a tube and syringe still in her hand, her long brown hair covering her dead, grey face, her blue lips, the chaos of her death a terrible thing to view. I don't know what I thought.,  but I cannot stop crying, thinking of the terrible nightmares she endured, the demonic influence of this awful, unspeakable man-concocted evil drug: For we know that Satan's plan includes drug addiction--anything---to turn the soul away from the Lord Jesus Christ. It is the last straw in the battle, in the unseen warfare-- as is homosexuality, before the soul and mind turns itself away from the Lord, and the heart hardens and, if repentance and a turning away from evil is not eminent to God with His child, He takes her Home. Prematurely, a life that might have borne fruit and flourished, a life wasted, instead.  Yet she is with Jesus, because it is His righteousness which saves, not the acts nor deeds of man. Which many cannot comprehend, but we who have studied His living Word, know to be true. So with this in mind, through my tears, I can still praise the Lord that her suffering is over, that no more will she have to endure the insults of life on the street, the abuses of mankind, the hurts of the life her stubborn will chose. Now, the flower that she would and could have been blooms in the garden of God. Forever.

Monday, December 30, 2013


I live down the street, and maybe next door.
      I'm made in a lab, but not like you think,
        I can be made under the kitchen sink--
 in your child's closet and even in the woods.
If this scares you to death, well--it certainly should.

  I have many names, but there's one you know best;
I'm sure you've heard of me, my name's Crystal Meth.
       My power is awesome; try me, you'll see....
           But if you do, you may never go free.
    Just try me once and I might let you go--
  But try me twice, and I'll own your soul.

  When I possess you, you'll steal and you'll lie;
     You do what you have to---just to get high.
  The crimes you'll commit for my narcotic charms
Will  be worth the pleasure you'll feel in your arms,
                       Your lungs, your nose.

You'll lie to your mother; you'll steal from your dad.
    When you see their tears, you should feel sad.
But you'll forget your morals and how you were raised,
    I'll be your conscience; I'll teach you my ways.

I take kids from their parents, and parents from kids,
     I turn people from God and separate friends.
I'll take everything from you--your looks and your pride--
          I'll be with you always--right by your side.

    You'll give up everything---your family, your home,
   Your friends, your money, and then you'll be alone.
I'll take and take, 'til you have nothing more to give--
  When I'm finished with you, you'll be lucky to live.

         If you try me, be warned, this is no game--
            If given the chance, I'll drive you insane.
        I'll ravage your body, I'll control your mind--
I'll own you completely--Your soul will be mine!

   The nightmares I'll give you while lying in bed--
      The voices you'll hear from inside your head.
The sweats, the shakes, and the visions you'll see--
  I want you to know these are all gifts from me.

But then it's too late, and you'll know in your heart,
         That you are mine and we shall not part.
   You'll regret that you tried me, they always do,
              But YOU came to ME, not I to You.

You knew this would happen, many times you were told,
   But you challenged my power, and chose to be bold.
      You could have said, "No" and just walked away...
 If you could live that day over, Now, what would you say?

               I'll be your master; You will be my slave,
        I'll even go with you when you go to your grave.
          Now that you have met me, what will you do?
               Will you try me or not? It's all up to you.

        I can bring you more misery than words can tell,
           Come take my hand, let me lead you to hell.

             I'll be your master; You will be my slave,
       I'll even go with you when you go to your grave.
        Now that you have met me, what will you do?
             Will you try me or not? It's all up to you.

      I can bring you more misery than words can tell,
       Come, Take my hand---Let me Lead you to Hell.
                                   Amber Harris

(A note from the author: I hope that when you want to use, you'll remember this poem and think about how maybe at first you feel better but how in the end it never turns out right. I wish you the best of luck on staying clean.     Amber Harris)

       Reposted by Norma A.Vincent. Found in the stack of papers in one of my dead daughter's folders
a month after she OD'd on Meth, which she always HATED. Still want to try it? Go online, look up BEFORE and AFTER Meth pictures. The AFTER is what she looked like months before she died.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Just A Housewife

               Sheri Beth Heisey Bickmore
         August 8, 1960   November 19, 2013

             Found in her treasures yesterday:

              Just A Housewife

                      Pet Doctor
               Interior Design
          Travel Arrangements
          Child Care, Nutrition
             Food Preparation
                        Animal Care
                      Detailed Work
                   Follow Through
                Money Management
                           Financial Planning
                      Communication Skills
              Small Appliance Repair
                           (Machine Manual Skills)
                   Coordinating and Scheduling
                                Referring, Budgeting
                         Intuitional/ Innovating Skills
                                         Morale Builder
                                                     Bible Teacher


Saturday, December 21, 2013

And Then There Were Three, by N.A.Vincent

    When she was a little girl, the Monster lived in the bathroom of the airplane carrying us to Guam, where her daddy was stationed. She refused stubbornly to confront the dragon in that little cubbyhole.
Everything was ok for that time we spent there, until it was time to take the Flying Tigers shuttle to Hawaii; the plane bumped and ground its way through turbulent weather, and finally, another to the States. To her the Monster still lived in the bathroom of that plane. She was fine as long as the Bathroom was inside a normal house, but up jumped the Monster again in Missouri. We relocated to a beautiful old Farmhouse with no bathroom, not even an outhouse. She was terrified of the Monster that lived in these places.
      Gradually, though, our girl toughened and shaped into the person she would be. She was our Firstborn, a little different, a little slow in some things, but her own self, her own person now. By this time there were four, the youngest a bratty, adventurous boy kid, but then, in a family of Independents, only what you'd expect. Each unique, sisters who grew to love each other and their little brother. They could ride,  swim in a snake-and snapping-turtle infested pond, boldly march forth towards whatever life was going to hand them: The day she came home yanking the Morgan mare behind her, madder than a hornet that she had been thrown. The day of the horse show, when thunder, lightning and rain meant a hard, fast gallop for home a mile away for the three girls: the day the cottonmouth raised up in the creek and the Fearless One ignored Mom and had to wade in closer "to see". Always the funny one in class, miming the teachers, getting a laugh and disrupting everything. Galloping out to pasture with her miniature classmate, David, ignoring the huge bull, David on his pony and she on her horse. A military brat, a gypsy. Passing the years with outrageous stunts and actions, not setting a good example for the younger ones of her clan, then, Daddy going away and the home left to be rebuilt by Mom. Carting up the goats, the chickens, the dogs and cats and headin' off to Washington.
    In those days, then, six became five: three sisters, a boy, and their Mom. To Mom, there were Four, because she was Mom.
    No more Monsters then, for awhile.
    She wanted to be loved, this Firstborn. All she wanted was to be loved. She knew God loved her, because Christ had saved her those years ago, but she didn't know we loved her, too. And somehow we could never get her to see that she was one of us, and that we loved her.
    Then, marriage and a little girl born. She thought he loved her fiercely like she loved him. He did not. She thought her best friend loved her. And that was not true, either. Her smile faded. Less frequently now. Still she kept on keepin' on, tried to make do when he went behind her back and for two years cheated on her with the wonderful best friend. Then, disaster; the babies of the two families became victims of two dirty ol' men. The cheating husband divorced her, the one dirty ol' man divorced the best friend and the husband of the Firsborn married the cheating best friend, and took her baby away from her--two families destroyed. By the Monsters, Cheating, Lying, Adultery.
     How much more could she take?  She thought she'd found love again, but little did she know that once again a Monster was lurking in the bushes of her life. First, his offspring was called Booze, and Booze visited every chance he could get, making room for Daddy. There was this wonderful man who loved her, and so she began to know they would live happily ever after. The Monster showed itself, ugly, unforgiving, its appetite voracious and insatiable. They called him Meth, and he was made to destroy the lives of all he gobbled up. First he took her man, who became a Changling, a Monster in himself, whom she did not know, a raging Monster who wrapped a blanket around her  one night in the deep woods while she slept in their trailer --and tried to squeeze her to death. Our girl fought for her life and he dropped her, grabbing up a butcher knife while she ran out the back door. Thank God she did not have it blocked, as it usually was. Down the slippery path to the creek she ran, across the plank bridge she scurried, up the steep path in the dark night, fleeing for her life; Reaching the other trailer where people lived just in the nick of time. Hidden by them from him: They lied and told him she was not there. But she loved him fiercely and cried over his loss. And cried. And wrote love poems to him, that she did not send. And cried. And her heart broke.
     But still she loved him. She lied in court and said he had not tried to kill her. Because she loved him. She did not want her love to go to prison.
     It was the beginning of the end, the last straw. Our firstborn battled the Monster and all his evil little children by herself. She was not one to open her huge package of problems to the world. She was slipping. She had no home. She collected all she had from "The Free Box". Before the eyes of her family, she was going. No more sparkle in her eyes. The light dimmed. The life died. Before our very eyes she was gone, left with only an empty shell of the lively spirit of The Firstborn. She fought her battles alone, finally able to get a home again, her own. She was happy again. But we did not know that she was chained, that The Monster had enveloped her, that he was grabbing all she had and would not let go. We did not know that she only had a short time now until she stepped into Eternity.
      So there were Four, two sisters and a brother who loved her, and kept wanting her to be happy but not knowing how to help her be happy, or even whether or not she needed help being happy.
     She was going to be a grandma, and so happy. All the while the Monster in subtle, silent stealth crept up on her, she unaware, or unable now to control the raging beast. Time was closing in on her.
The Grim Reaper thought he had her, but at the last minute the Lord snatched her up and carried her away in a brilliance of white clouds and happiness, and incredible light far more brilliant than any star, sun, or moon, carried her to her Forever Home, where never again would she know the pain nor the sorrow of being rejected, unwanted, unloved. Where never again the Monster's horrible claws could reach and ensnare.
      Sometime in the early morning hours of November 19, in the year 2013, our Firstborn rose to meet the Lord in His dwelling place, carried up beyond the highest stars, to the arms of the Lord.
    And then, there were Three.

Friday, December 6, 2013

The Valley of Shadows

    Yeah, though I walk through the valley....of the shadow of death....I will fear no evil.
      THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD,   I shall not be in want
   He makes me to lie down in green pastures........
He leads me beside
          the still waters.
He Restores My Soul.........
     He guides me in the paths of
    for His Name's Sake
Yeah......Even though I walk
      through The Valley
Of The Shadow of Death,
I will fear No Evil,
    For Thou, God, art With Me
Thy Rod and Thy Staff
       comfort me.
You prepare a table before
In the Presence of
    Mine Enemies.
You anoint my head
     with oil;
My cup Runneth Over.
Goodness and Mercy
   shall follow me
All the Days of my Life
   And I Will Dwell
In The House of the Lord

As for Me and My House
    We will
Serve the Lord.
the enemy rages
and roars and
   seeks whom
he may devour
We shall not fall,
Nor shall we fail,
Nor shall harm come
      to us,
Though we die and pass
    unto Life Eternal,
The enemy shall be
Death hath been swallowed up
      in victory--
Where, Oh Death,
    is thy Victory--
Where, Oh Death,
    is thy Sting?
But Thanks be to God!
   Who gives us the Victory though
Our Lord Jesus Christ!

Now we know we shall see our
    Beloved One Again.
     She does Not Sleep
         But Lives!!
         She Lives!!
 In the Precious, Glorious
    Realm of the Kingdom
     Which is our
       Eternal Home.
......In loving Memory
        of Sheri

Monday, September 2, 2013

ANNOYING BACKGROUND MUSIC:Comments on The Way You Wish Things Were, by N.A.Vincent

     Lately it seems difficult to enjoy any television program. What used to be pleasant is now irritating. For the longest time we haven't had television. Then my son hooked up "the box" and "the antenna", and we now get a few programs, including some mysteries and some news in foreign countries and languages, which are interesting. The list also includes 4 "religious" channels, aka "Christian channels". Many of the programs on these channels adhere to correct doctrine, but most do not. At any rate, I began watching a few programs of the various channels, hoping for some good entertainment, at least a story line in which I could be interested. I don't "do" run of the mill stuff.
    It didn't take long to realize almost every program, spiritual or not, was irritating to me. The cause: the annoying background music, which almost never stopped: The same notes played over and over again until the repetition trampled on the dialogue. Then a loud crescendo, through which any dialogue simply disappeared, leaving no room for the suspense which might have shined on its own if left to silence. This happens with every show, no matter what the subject.
    I have watched a lot of obsolete films in which expression and silence said a million things more than the "building" of "suspense" with music. I watched a Japanese movie called "Fire On The Plain", which was one of the best movies I ever saw. The dialogue was Japanese, with English dubbed on the screen. You had to be there to watch what was going on, and it was neat. From the Japanese viewpoint, a small band of straggling Japanese soldiers had been sent to a certain point, where they were supposed to meet up with troops. In the meantime, the war was ending, but their struggle for survival was the story: they were starving, mistrustful, bickering, confused, hoarding what small morsel of food one of them might find. (They dug up roots of some kind and cherished these). In the background, over the hills, you could see fires burning all over the place, where something had been set ablaze.
    I don't recall any background music at all in this film, although there might have been some.
    I watched a short documentary that Franklin Graham's ministry had put out, promoting their new program for My Hope series. The statement that was being made would have been far more impressive to me without the constant drone of drums and other annoying continuous "beat" music. You find this every time you watch something. Even the news media can't make a statement without "music" to see them through.
    I'm not against music. My son's a musician. (Skotty Heisey....used to be a member of the now defunct "Villan" band in the Pacific Northwest). I just would like to watch a movie, news, documentary, etc., without a drumbeat and repetitive irritating notes--all the time, in every work that is put before a camera. Some music? Yes. But a constant flowing tidal wave? No.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

More Dude Ranch Soon

Have been extremely busy doing nothing important. Hope to get priorities straight and get the ending in. Hopefully another couple of chapters today.


     The trampling of American Rights and the Constitution of the United States of America is now in progress, not only from alien nations and alien religions from abroad, but from within, by the very people who have been "elected" to the power they now hold in "governing" us.
     We are no longer a basically "Godly" nation, respecting Who and What God is and what He has done for this country because our forefathers saw the wisdom of loving and worshipping Him.
      Instead, the majority of people in this once great nation have become fools, electing fools to office, delighting in their "liberty" from "religion" (meaning Christianity: All other religions are accepted), when in fact, they have enslaved themselves into the satanic (cosmic) system of false religions, while the truth and the True Giver of Truth (Christianity) becomes the persecuted church, and our Savior ridiculed, blasphemed, and scorned.
     I've just finished reading General H. Norman Schwarzkopf's autobiography of his life, including his command of the Middle East forces when Iraq made war on Kuwait. Our country was asked by the Saudi Arabians to intervene, to help against the invasion from their "Arab brothers". The United States complied, and The General was chosen to head the entire command. (I will hereby refer to General Schwarzkopf, for the most part, as The General.)
     I have found The General to be not only a brilliant military strategist, but a man of extreme common sense, a quality lacking in many of today's politicians as well as many military leaders. He was also an honest man. Whether or not he was saved (a believer in the Christ as the only Way to God) I do not know.
    He was in control of hundreds of thousands of men in a country which lives in the dark ages and worships one of the cruelest false gods in the history of man: a dark religion which forbids just about everything and holds women worthless and expendable and thinks nothing of murdering those who do not do as they say. I'm amazed that he was able to remain sane what with all the demands put upon him by the Arabian government, as to what our troops could do and what they could not do: so much activity was condemned and rejected by the King and the  ruling princes, it is a wonder any victory was achieved at all.
   The compromise of United States values was achieved by any chaplains' adherence to Saudi Arabian Muslim laws--chaplains were not allowed to openly worship Christ, publish services, wear crosses or bring Bibles into the country. Whether or not he agreed with their "culture developed over thousands of years" The General had to placate both the American servicemen who were used to their own type of "girlie" entertainment, and the Saudi government, which strictly forbid any such activity.
    My quotes are from the aforementioned autobiography.
    After explaining to the troops what they could and could not do, The General read them excerpts from a book called The Arabs by journalist David Lamb. "I explained that the Middle East had a culture developed over thousands of years, yet we'd come flying in, thoughtlessly expecting to operate the same way we had in Hinesville, Georgia, or Fort Campbell, Kentucky. I repeated what I'd told the chaplains about religious insignia and the publicizing of religious services.
     "One commander objected to my ban on sexy magazines, claiming the troops had a 'constitutional right' to the same reading matter they enjoyed in the United States.
     "I rejoined: 'I hope you recognize that the Constitution of the United States applies only on U.S. soil, and therefore we don't have any constitutional rights in Saudi Arabia. The law of the land here happens to be Saudi law. SO JUST LIKE WE REQUIRE THEM TO OBEY OUR LAWS IN THE UNITED STATES, THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO REQUIRE US TO OBEY THEIR LAWS HERE." (This made an impression).
     Now, I have capitalized the above sentence and enclosed them in the brackets, to EMPHASIZE my own point: They ARE NOT "obeying our laws". Instead, they are coming here TRYING TO ENFORCE THEIR OWN LAWS to usurp the authority of the CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES and are NOT BEING MADE TO ADHERE TO OUR CONSTITUTION AND TO OUR STATES' LAWS AND FEDERAL LAWS.
    Why? Their laws are in DIRECT OPPOSITION to God's commands and rules of establishment for THE FREEDOM OF A NATION.
    I will conclude with another quote from The General as he left Saudi Arabia: "The day I left Riyadh to return to the United States, General Khalid made a statement in a speech that every American should think about. He said, 'If the world is only going to have one superpower, thank God it is the United States of America." When I think about the nations in the past fifty years that could have emerged as the world's only superpower--Tojo's Japan, Hitler's Germany, Stalin's Russia, Mao's China--and the darkness that would have descended on this world if they had, I appreciate the wisdom of Khalid's words. Because we have emerged as the only remaining superpower, we have an awesome responsibility both to ourselves as a nation and to the rest of the world. I don't know what that responsibility will mean to the future of our great country, but I shall always remain confident of the American people's ability to rise to any challenge."
     THE CHALLENGE is inside our gates: the insidious takeover of our nation by ungodly forces, by alien nations attempting to force their beliefs upon us.
    Whatever it takes.
    Whatever it takes: Our nation is under siege. Who will come to her rescue?

Sunday, April 21, 2013


   LOOKING FOR THE FAMILY OF JACK ELMAR WILLIAMS, former navy man, AND DOLORES WILLIAMS, who was from Portugal. Both are now deceased, but I am trying to locate JACK'S SON, DAN, and wife DIANNE, and CHILDREN.....TIM, TANYA, AND TINA.
    The children would be close to or in their 20's by now. Last known Address,
 Sacramento, California
    RELATED FAMILY MEMBERS WHO might know where they are, listed:
          Faron Yeo, Fruita or Mack or Grand Junction, Colorado
          Jack Williams, singer songwriter, Nashville, Tennessee
               (assiciated w Blackwell Music)
          Sue, Barb, and Al Williams, last known addresses, Middletown, California, 8 years ago.
    Aunts/uncles Bob and Marylyn Williams, Grand March or Hales Corner, Wisconsin, and James and Ruth Williams, Newport News, Virginia.
      A "family" member, Dan and Kim Williamson.
      I need to find Dan and Dianne, or Timmy, Tanya, or Tina. Help would be appreciated. Please call 1-360-895-4101 if you know where any of Jack's family are, particulary Dan and his clan. Thanks. The Old Cowgirl. Ask for Norma.         

Thursday, April 18, 2013


Now comes the CHAPTER SEVEN, 10th installment,  which should have been CHAPTER NINE, this installment  14th, (Go back and read it again. Or I might have to reinstall it and I haven't quite figured out how yet).

THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS, by N.A. Vincent, 13th Installment

                                CHAPTER NINE

   When I left Paul I went back into the general lounge area where Deputy Rance Crawford was riding herd on those of the guests who hadn't still gone to bed. He'd been commandeered into the ten to six shift at the Ranch, to see that no one left, and Asa Greer was stationed in the parking lot, keeping the cars under wrap, in case someone decided to sneak out. He'd just showed up unannounced while Paul and me and Victoria were still in the den. I thought, it wouldn't have occurred to them just to round up the keys to all the vehicles---or at least those of the guests--to prevent their leaving, instead of wasting an extra man. But then, on a ranch, you can't do that. You never know when you're going to need a ranch truck.
   Then I laughed to myself. I suppose someone could still make a getaway on a tractor. Or a horse. What'd you do then, lock up all the horses? And the saddles? Dudes weren't much for riding without saddles. Keystone cops. Well, I don't think any murders had happened around here lately, so they were all out of practice as to what they ought to do and not do. But I'm not being fair, am I? Rance was a friend of ours, as were most of the guys to ranchers in the county. We hardly ever had a turnover of deputies in our county. Everyone knew everyone else.
   Georgia Long, the Lightfoots, Ralph Tully and Bob Dixon had retired for the night. Jim slept in the bunkhouse and was never in with the crowds, anyway.
   I thought, myself, again---it was rather silly to leave one deputy to keep an eye on so many people. I didn't have any suggestins as to what else they might do to keep everybody here, short of locking us all in, but still, I had my opinions.
   Richard Del la Cruz stood up. Rance asked him where he was going.
   "To hit the hay. I'd ask you to come along but that's Dixon's line," Richard retorted with a droll grin.
   Rance threw him a dirty look. "Murder isn't funny, hombre." But the look was really in retaliation for the queer remark. Rance was a red-blooded, all American range kid, and had no use for that sort of thing.
   "Never said it was. Look, deputy, I never killed anyone. I came out here to make like the Big Chief, you know--Appaloosas, and all? I got all the babes I need without robbing the cradle, let alone killing one. So how come I have to stay here?"
   He was bluntly sober now. in fact, I'd noticed he'd almost quit drinking since the girl's body was found.
   "Everybody stays, Chief. We can't let anyone go until we're satisfied."
   "Suppose you ain't never satisfied," Del la Cruz remarked facetiously.
   "Then this'll be the longest vacation you ever had," Rance concluded, a dry smirk on his face.
   "I've got to be home next week," Madge Boom said. "I'm a teacher, you know."
   "Look, folks, try just to relax a little. We'll know more in the morning, hopefully, when we finish questioning and checking out everybody. This isn't a picnic for us, either. We aren't exactly getting a lot of cooperation, you know."

   I guess they were all as tired of it as he was. Rance asked me what I knew of Jim.
    I thought of his hands on me that day I slipped and would have fallen if he hadn't caught me. And later, when he kissed me while we were out in the barn.  I didn't know what I felt---confusion, I guess. I didn't want to love Jim--I had my own ideas about love, and what kind of man I wanted. Yet I couldn't deny I wanted Jim---maybe only physically, maybe in some other way. I don't know. I do know he affected me: his look, his manner---whatever it was about him I hated and yet felt drawn to.
   Maybe if I'd met him before now things could have been different. But I was having my own problems. I wasn't ready to give up what I had. Maybe I was attracted to him because he wasn't like other men. He didn't think he was God's gift to women, and he could have been. He let Victoria strictly alone. He was a gentleman. If a man had my love, I don't know that he'd have to be a gentleman. Maybe he'd have to be a little more fun-loving, but serious enough about life that he'd meet it head on and not run away from it. Not like I had the feeling Jim was doing.
   Oh, don't get me wrong. I talk as though I didn't know what love was. I do. But I wouldn't be the first woman who ever fell in love with a man she couldn't have, who belonged to someone else. I knew what it was to hurt with the knowing he'd never be mine.
   I'd managed pretty well to hide what I felt. He didn't even know I loved him and neither did she, and it would have to stay that way. I'd never told Paul about it, either. I know what his reaction would be. I had enough on my mind without that.
   So when Jim Rhodes came along, doing all this stuff to my heart, my thoughts, adding confusion to a life I've always had under control, I thought maybe after all these years I could forget being in love with this other man, and I even hoped--wanted very badly to fall in love with Jim.
   But it didn't help. Jim wasn't in love with me, and wouldn't be. So it didn't help.
   I saw that Rance was waiting.
   "I don't know about Jim Rhodes," I said.
   "What do you mean, you don't know about Jim Rhodes? He works for you. You must know something."
   "He came from Virginia."
   "That's all?"
   "Look, Rance. We don't take life histories of guests who make reservations. He was a guest here. But he was obviously knowledgeable around a working ranch and was great with horses, so Paul hired him to work for us. We never asked questions. He keeps to himself."
   Rance gave me a studied look. "Seems to me, Kate," he said, "You folks got more than your share of odd fish this season."
    "Whatever on earth gave you that idea?" I cracked. I told him I'd be out on the veranda (only we called it "the porch") if he needed me.

   I was surprised when Vikki came up alongside me. She gave me a start, the way she just melted out of those shadows.
   "Aren't you scared to be out here alone at night with a murderer around?" she said. She kind of leaned against the rail, posed, one elbow seeming to support her graceful body.
   "Aren't you?" I retorted.
   "It's spooky," she admitted. "Who do you think killed her?"
   I shrugged. "Who knows? It's all so unreal---I can't imagine anyone being murdered on Sky High. First my folks---"
   "They were murdered? I thought their brakes failed." Vikki interjected quickly.
   "Oh, no--I didn't mean they were murdered. That was an accident. I meant.....death in general. I meant it's hard to imagine people dying here when we started out just for two weeks of fun."
    " She leaned out over the rail, relaxed, both arms folded  and her body bent over. She seemed to be
off to herself somewhere. She said suddenly without facing me, "Kate, have you ever been in love?"
She asked me that so suddenly I was caught off guard.
   I didn't answer. I didn't know Vikki well enough to confide in her. I said, cautiously, "What girl hasn't? I'm no different."
   She was quiet a moment. "Why didn't he marry you?"
   "It's really none of your business, Vikki. If you're going to be my sister-in-law you'd better learn one thing--Stay out of my affairs." I backed off from anything intimate from her. I just wasn't a woman who needed to tell all to other women, no matter who they were. My Mom included.
   "Kate, why do you resent me so much? Is it because of the horse? Or do you think I killed my husband."
   I couldn't understand why she was trying to be so nice. I thought we both understood one another quite well. "I frankly don't care whether you killed your husband or not, Vikki. But I think I know you quite well. Let's put our cards on the table. You have some idea that once you become Paul's wife you're going to undermine my position around here. I don't undermine easily, Vikki."
   Not at all to my surprise, I could see her smile as she turned her face to me. It being dark, I couldn't see her eyes or the look in them. I wasn't fazed, even with her next words. "We'll see, Kate," she said softly. "You think Paul was scared off, don't you? Well, he wasn't. You or nobody else is going to keep Paul from marrying me, Kate. One way or the other. So you might as well realize that I am moving in here and you had better get used to the idea. He's mine, and I won't let him go. One way or the other." She reitterated.
   I looked at her. There was no doubt in my mind she meant what she said.
   She smiled coldly at me and went off down the steps into the dark yard towards the main barn and corrals. 

THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS, vy N.A. Vincent, 12th installment

                                    CHAPTER NINE

   Paul was never too approachable when his sister was present, Vikki thought. Maybe that's why she didn't feel like saying what she saw out the window. Maybe it was nothing, anyway. The mood he was in now, who knew how things would turn out? She was upset, herself--upset and uptight. She'd been trying to tell him for weeks, and somehow couldn't bring herself to. And it wasn't exactly something that Kate would be happy to hear. She knew that about Paul's sister if she'd never know anything else, without even having to think about it twice. Kate was protective of Paul. Anybody who was Paul's enemy was hers. And, she was beginning to think, anybody who was Paul's friend was her enemy, particually if it was anybody female.
  When she again glanced out the window, all she was was the dark ranchyard. Whoever it had been hadn't come back out from the shadows. Maybe she hadn't seen anyone. Maybe it had been her imagination. What with all that was happening, people's wild speculations, fears, even panic, maybe she, too, was falling prey to the unknown. For all any of them knew, the girl had simply fallen into the grain. Anything was possible.
    It didn't help that the Sheriff's office had said no one was to leave the ranch without permission and instruction from them: Her going to town today was logged and noted, as well as her return. They couldn't keep track of everybody, out here in this wild country. There was only one deputy here to keep track of them all, but she'd noticed a Sheriff's car out on the main highway, where the mountain road intersected, miles down. The deputy here at the ranch had trailered in his own horse in case it was necessary.
   She glanced back at Kate, who was pouring more coffee. Paul was regretting that Tully and Dixon would both have to stay on the place when in fact he had told them both to leave.
   "Well, you want them to find the killer, don't you?" Kate reasoned. "They won't let anyone leave until they're sure who it's not."
   "Great! We'll have guests through the winter!" Paul said dryly.
   "Im going out," Vikki said, opening the door.
   "Vikki, wait a minute. I don't want you or Kate traipsing around out there in the dark alone. There's a killer on the loose, for godssake."
   Vikki had a strange look on her face. She said, "Awhile ago you thought I might be the killer! Now I'm a potential victim? Make up your mind, Paul. Either you trust me or you don't."
   Paul was suddenly overcome with compassion for her. She looked so tired, so defeated. He went to her and embraced her tenderly. "Vikki, I don't care what your past has been. I love you."
   But Vikki could be very unforgiving, very cold. She laughed shortly. "And Georgia Long, and Sherri, and all those other women you flirt with!" She released Paul's hold on her and stormed out, almost slamming the door behind her.
   "She's sure acting weird! Double weird!" Kate said.
   Paul stared at his sister. He walked over and picked up the discarded clippings. He looked at them a moment, then back at Kate. "Kate, did  you find these and leave them where I'd find them?"
   "Paul! You know me better than that! Why on earth would I do such a thing?"
   He was thinking that his sister was about the only person he could think of who might possibly do such a thing, but it would be hard to believe. Kate was willful, sure, and stubborn at times, but hardly vindictive. She'd never committed a mean act against anyone that he knew of, Everybody loved her. He felt embarassed that he'd even suspected her.
   "I'm sorry, Kate. I just don't know what to think."
   "Maybe she wanted you to find out. She might have wanted your reaction. Maybe she left it there herself."
   Paul looked thoughtful. "I never thought of it from that angle." He added, after a moment's consideration, "If that's the case, my score is zero." He looked at his sister. "Kate, who do you think killed that girl?"
   Kate shrugged. "We have about two or three weirdos aboard this trip. Tully's definitely high on the list. Dixon's also very strange. And you might not agree, but Jim Rhodes could even be suspect. This is all assuming we eliminate Vikki and her jealousy."
   "Rhodes?" He was genuinely surprised. "I was under the impression you liked him."
   She laughed. "I like you, too, but that doesn't eliminate you as a suspect."
   "Me? For godssake, Kate, that's not even funny. You know I wouldn't kill anybody."
   "Sure I do," she said, then added, "but then, aren't all military men trained to kill if they have to? Maybe it becomes second nature to them, more like an afterthought, than anything intentional if they're put in a situation where it's them ot the other guy, so---suppose---just supposing her death was accidental. Anyone can become an accidental killer. Then they'd get scared and try to hide it. Even you. Or me, for that matter."
   He laughed. "You? Now I know you're pulling my leg. You couldn't hurt a flea!"
   "See what I mean? I feel the same about you, Paul. I just hope Vikki's right for you. I don't want you to get hurt. You're all I have left now that Mom and Pop are gone. We both deserve to be happy. Vikki just doesn't seem to.....to make you happy."
   He looked at her oddly. "I guess that's just something I'll have to work out for myself, Kate."
   He grabbed his hat, said goodnight as he shoved it on his head, and went out to make the night rounds.

   Not too much later, undetected by any of the other occupants in the house, another person slipped out quietly and became enmeshed in the black shadows of the night, and in the unfolding murders.


Act nonchalant
Be comfortable
Control yourself
Fake what you don't know
Grab at passing opportunities
Have moments of wild abandon
Ignore the ignorant
Jog in your sleep
Knead people
Let it all hang out
Make friends with your neighbors
Nap often
Overstep boundaries....
Play with your food
Quit while you're winning
Return to your favorite place
See things others don't....
Take your time
Understand human limitations
View things from more than one perspective
Wait at least sixty seconds before responding
X-pect only the best.
Yawn and stretch at regular intervals....
ZZZZzzzzzzzz in the sunshine....!


  BASS and Walleye,
Catfish and Trout,
I'm tellin' you now
You better look out!
You were safe in your lakes
While I was home wishin'---
But be on your guard---
'Cause I'm goin' fishin'!!

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

MORE ON GRANT AND LEE, from a book by Gene Smith

I found out a lot of things I didn't know about the battles waged basically between these two generals, two completely opposites. Some interesting quotes and comments coming up, but right now I am going to try to win a hand or two of gin from Mom. (Not much luck so far: I got "Buzzard's Luck--When ya cain't kill nothin' and nothin' won't die."  (Happy Hillbillying........)


   HOW HARD SHOULD it be to fix a sandwich? You know. You come home hungry from your outin', and think, I'll just fix a quick sammich to hold me 'til I feel like cookin'. The baloney's right there in the fridge (beef baloney: who likes that mixed stuff?), the bread is fresh, all it takes is a few minutes.
    Well, you are fixin' for two, and Mom, 94, likes mustard on her sandwich. But wait, I don't like my bread stale so I'll get the Miracle Whip and the Mustard out first. Can't find the mustard.....there it is, on the cupboard where I forgot to put it away last time . I'll get her her drink and set that by her chair. Then I'll get my glass of milk out, and I'll get our coffees and fix the little bowls of fruit first so's not to get the bread stale, and set all that stuff by our chairs.. That way I'll have everything done and can fix and eat.And Mom can keep the cats and dog out of the food while I get the samitch ready. Oh, wait, I'd better get the spoons for the fruit. Oh yeah---the paper towels for napkins.....
   Ok, so now I'll make Mom's sandwich first. Oh, the paper plates. Ok. Mustard first. Oh Mannnn---I grabbed that sucker by the neck and held her out at arm's length and started shakin' it for all I'm worth---gotta get it mixed good---Ohmigosh, the lid popped off a mile and mustard plopped all over the kitchen floor! Good thing I didn't set out the bread yet, it'd be stale by the time I clean up the mustard.
It takes me a few swipes with the paper towel and the wet dishrag. Then I gotta wash my hands all over again.
   Ok, so now I can FINALLY make the sammiches. I take her two pieces out and spread 'em with Miracle Whip and mustard and slap on her two pieces of baloney so they cover all the bread. This time I close the lid (on the mustard)..... So I carry hers in to her and she stops her solitaire to eat her sandwich and keep the critters from sneakin' outta my milk glass.
   Now, on to mine. Gotta wipe the mustard off the knife because I don't want to get any on my Miracle Whip. I'm not overly keen on mustard. Finally I get mine lathered with Miracle Whip and the two slices of baloney (yeah, I know it's balogna but who wants ball-log-nah?), and when you think of it, the Southerners eat Fried Hot Baloney, and can you think of anything you'd rather not have? Besides, the kitchen prisoner staff  made assembly line baloney sammiches that tasted like last year's stale bread and warm-slime baloney by the time it got out to us guards on the perimeter.  And who knows what the heck else they put in it..........
    So y'see, making sammiches is not that easy and not that much of a quick fix when you're too hungry to cook just yet
   I remember another time Mom and I were gypsying along the Columbia River Gorge on the Washington side and we stopped down by the river to eat. My bright plan was to make the sammiches out of the back of the van. The absolute minute I took one slice of bread out of the sack, gale force winds turned it into a slab of crust so hard Mom's little yapdog turned her nose up at it. Well, you get the picture. Good thing we'd planned on peanut butter and jam, as it soggied up the bread a bit and made it edible, eatable.....Except for the crusts, which would break a tooth. We left those for some bug to snack on.....
   I could'a just as well cooked a meal by that time, or went to McDonald's forty miles down the road..
        Lotsa  things can happen when you're makin' a sammich.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013


                                               CHAPTER SEVEN, revised: 11th Installment

   Paul poured himself another cup of coffee and asked Vikki and Kate if they'd like more. Kate cheerfully accepted. Vikki declined.
   He noticed Vikki smoked almost nervously. She seemed to be preoccupied with something. He had hardly seen her at all today, or Kate, either. The investigation was taking a lot out of him.
   They were secluded from the guests in Paul's den at the back of the house. Kate had gone for a long ride in the hills alone today, and Vikki had just returned from town. Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't mind telling you this killing has got me down. I'd just as soon get the whole bunch of them out of here and be done with it. Though how in god'sname this could've happened here, I don't know!" He glanced at Kate, as if seeking an answer from her.
   "Well don't look at me. I didn't do it." Kate laughed.
   Paul swore and ran his fingers through his hair again. "Kate, how can you joke about this? A girl's been murdered!"
   "Take it easy, Paul," Kate said. She put her coffee cup down and went to him and touched his arm reassuringly. "I react this way because there's no point in both of us being upset." She went back to her coffee. "You seem awfully nervous, Vikki," Kate said. Vikki seemed to be off in a world of her own. The worried frown on her face seem to increase with each cigarette. Her coffee was cold, untouched.
   "She has reason to be upset, don't you, Vickki?" Paul said tightly.
   "What?" Vikki glanced at him, puzzled, almost fearful.
   "I said, you have reason to be worried, don't you?"
   "Paul, what do you mean? I really don't know what you're talking about."
    Paul reached into his pocket and slid out the envelope he'd discovered amidst the letters Vikki had brought down from her room to mail, two days ago. He'd carried it around in agonized silence, giving Vikki every opportunity to say something to him, even providing openings, but she'd kept her silence. He was devastated. He'd loved her and wanted to marry her and now---
   Now he didn't know.
   Or rather, he knew only too well.
   He could never marry a murderous.......She wasn't actually convicted, Paul, a voice said.
He placed the envelope in front of her, wordlessly. She stared at it but made no move to touch it.
   "Go ahead. Look at it," he said.
   "I already know what it contains."
   He picked it up and took out the contents, spreading them over the counter. Several aged newspaper clippings lay before them, accounts of a sensational trial of a woman accused of murdering her wealthy husband because of insane jealousy. Vikki's face stared out at them.
   She didn't look at Paul. She didn't even touch the clippings. She just sat in silence. Without looking at Paul, her face set in a grim facade, she said, "I was acquitted."
   She didn't plead. Traces of stubborn anger flitted briefly across her countenance, then vanished just as quickly. She didn't plead.
   "Vikki, you didn't tell me."
   Vikki sat very still, controlled, the muscle in her face taut. But her heart smouldered, her eyes blazed. When she looked up at Paul, who stood in front of her seat, she glared, "Are you accusing me?"
   Paul couldn't answer. He looked at Kate. She studied her coffee cup intimately. Vikki glanced also at Kate. She stood up suddenly, causing Paul to step back out of her personal space. She smashed out the cigarette she'd just lit.
   "I see," she said coldly. "The least you could have done, Paul, was wait until we were alone!" The look she threw Kate was one of pure hatred.
   "I'll leave, Paul," Kate said. She started to get up.
   "You will not!" Paul shouted. "What'd you expect, Vikki? Kate's not only my sister, she's my business partner. Who I marry affects her!"
   "Then marry her!" Vikki yelled at him.
   "That's sick, you know that? Sick!" Paul turned on her. "I've been watching you, Vikki. I never knew how jealous you were before. It's a good thing I found out before I married you! The way you've acted when I flirt with the women who come here--You're even jealous of Kate, for godssake---my own sister! I'm surprised you're not jealous of that poor wretch Dixon!"
   "Paul, simmer down. I'm sure Vikki has a reason for not telling us." If Kate expected any sympathy from Vikki, she was mistaken. Vikki glared at her coldly,  the hatred undisguised.
   "I hope you're satisfied, Kate. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"
   "I want my brother's happiness. You really should have told us, Vikki. Paul's not inhuman. He would have understood. But finding out now.....makes it twice as hard, don't you see? This is hard on all of us. Look, why don't we all try to relax a little. We could talk about it if you want."
   Vikki turned almost savagely. For a long moment it seemed she held back some retort, for she said with somewhat more quiet restraint, "What good would that do? People either believe I killed my husband or they don't." Then, to Paul, "Why do you think my former fiance broke the engagement, Paul? Must I go my whole life living down something that happened--paying for something I was acquitted of?" She looked at him imploringly. "I thought you were different. Is there nothing in your life you keep silent about, or you, Kate?"
   Kate said nothing. Paul looked away, then back at Vikki again. He ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were bleary. "What can I say, Vikki? I'm not sure I'd ever be able to trust you....I mean, there'd always be doubt...I'm not sure I can handle that." He looked at her helplessly.
   "You said you loved me, Paul."
   "Vikki,... I don't know what to say. Let's give it some time."
   Vikki picked up the clipping. She stared at it. "How did you get this?"
  "It was in the letters you brought downstairs to mail a couple of days ago."
   "Doesn't that strike you as being a bit suspicious?" She was glaring at Kate, then glanced back to Paul. "All this time I've kept it in a safe enough place. Now all of a sudden Im going to be careless enough to do such a stupid thing as to leave it where you're sure to find it?"
   Paul didn't miss the implication of her look. "Are you making some accusation, Vikki?"
   "I wouldn't dream of it, " she said sarcastically. "But Kate can't deny she hasn't exactly been a member of my fan club since I came."
   "Vikki, that's ridiculous," Kate returned. "Sure I was mad because you took my horse. Anybody would be. On a ranch a person's horse is her own. Or his. Heck, I've forgotten all about it. You've got your own horse now, haven't you? She's as good as Misty, or better. When you've had her longer you'll know how I feel. Right, Paul?" Kate was trying to reconcile.
   "Sure. Sure. You women! You amaze me! I'll never understand how you can be all smiles and charm one minute and all daggers the next. I think we're all a case of nerves. This girl getting murdered---"
   "Maybe she just fell in the bin. Maybe it was an accident," Vikki said, lighting another cigarette.
   "No way it could be an accident. Even if she fell in, in order for her to get covered up like that enough to suffocate, someone had to pull the switch the moment she fell. Otherwise she'd have had time to get out with the safety bars.  The opening's not that big. Besides, we keep the lid on as another safety measure."
   "Maybe she fell in at feeding time," Kate suggested. "We pull the switches from downstairs then. That activates the upper chute." She was explaining for Vikki's benefit.
   "I don't think so, and besides, the lid would've been closed. Someone had to've opened it. And too, she was seen after that." Paul rubbed his hand over his head. "I can't understand what she was doing up there in the first place."
   Kate laughed a little. "Oh Paul, you know yourself a barn loft is the first place on a ranch kids head for---remember all the fun we used to have up there when we were kids? I'm sure it's no difference with teenage girls who've never been on a ranch before. Besides, there's a litter of kittens up there now, remember? Who wouldn't want to play with the kittens?"
  Paul wasn't deterred.He replied, "It's pitch black up there at night---spooky as hell, even for a man.
She left a note, so she must have intended on meeting someone with some purpose in mind."
   Vikki walked over to the window and looked out into the night. At least they'd gotten their mind off her. She didn't join in the conversation. Instead, she was thinking of the night she had gone up to the loft herself....how frightening the dark up there was. She'd been troubled by Paul's attention to Georgia Long. She fought against her own rising emotion, the heat of her anger, the strength of her jealousy.
   Yes, she had overheard. Her jealousy always made her mad enought to kill.
   Murder would not be hard for her. She knew that without a doubt. Her one blind passion in some moments could  very well seek out and destroy some victim. Wasn't the past enough to testify to that?
   Well, regardless of what had been said and done in the papers, she herself was the only person alive who knew whether or not she had been guilty of murdering her husband.
   As she stared out into the blackness, not really listening to the voices of Paul and his sister Kate as they talked, she saw a dark figure suddenly step away from the covering protection of the house shadow and run stealthily towards the barn. All she could make out was a somewhat stocky figure wearing a hat. He disappeared before she could determine anything more.
   She turned to tell Paul what she'd seen, then, for some reason, decided against it.

Sequential Correction to THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS, by N.A.Vincent

   The following are the missing CHAPTERS that were supposed to have been included before CHAPTER SEVEN was published. Please do note, as this has great effect upon the Mystery: THE PEOPLE MURDERED IN Chapter 7 are STILL ALIVE until that point in the story is REACHED (when we get to it, when the time comes, etc.): You see now why authors have such a hard time of it:! WE ARE WRITERS, NOT EDITORS nor promoters!
    So now we resume THE DAY AFTER the murdered teen's body was found: Heading, CHAPTER SEVEN, REVISED: llth Installment

Monday, April 15, 2013


In the meantime, so to sleep, and sweet dreams: Ha. My dreams are never sweet: I'm always running around all over the country on some misadventure or another. It's like watching an action movie every night. I wake up exhausted in the morning.........Will get another chapter in tomorrow.



    I was delighted to find American made flags while shopping to get a couple of small ones for my mailbox. I got these locally in Port Orchard from Scott McClendon's Hardware, at a very reasonable price. Though I'm far from being a tycoon rolling in dough, I'll sacrifice something else to buy American. I read the labels, and if I can do without the item, if it's not made in America I'm not going to buy it. Sometimes I have to, but, bringing up something Donald Trump said, "America is not manufacturing anymore. You can't find factories in America anymore."
    I'm proud to say Annin flags are in business, and I say, give them YOUR business instead of the companies sending labor to Timbucktu,. It's time we got back to SUPPORTING AMERICA AND AMERICAN VALUES.
    I got to wondering about Donald, after his speech, and about "putting your money where your mouth is", especially when I read somewhere that he had real gold-everything in his private jet. That speech he made was totally in agreement with my own views on life in devalued America--although I don't have his money. But he's rich enough he could start a few factories and put a lot of people back to work and put the money-grubbing liberals out of business of controlling the population of our country through fear, welfare, and other programs designed to destroy our individuality, freedom, and rights.
    Another company to buy from is U.S.A. gas stations, at Albertson's, because their refineries are in Alaska and supportive of America. We have enough oil in this country we do not need to buy from any ungodly country which allows its laws to murder women (their own wives and daughters) and which still lives in the Dark Ages. AMERICA AND AMERICANS CAN SUPPORT OURSELVES. We don't need foreigners or any "United Nations" telling us what we can and can't do. The Lord has set forth in His Living Word the precepts of government in all areas--from personal liberties to the marriage vows (the institution of marriage as ordained by God Himself is between One Man and One Woman, and homosexuality is an abomination to Him) to the national entity of government bodies:
    Liberalism and internationalism have NO PLACE IN AMERICA, ONCE A LAND OF FREEDOM,  now a PITIFUL SHADOW OF HERSELF.
   Yet we still have more freedom here than other places: I urge you all to read "VOICE OF THE MARTYRS" and find out what CHRISTIANS ARE SUFFERING for their faith. On all sides CHRISTIANS are being TORTURED IN TERRIBLE WAYS. (EXAMPLE: Christians in prison in Communist countries have been chained to the floors on their backs and used for latrines by their tormentors: Forced to work in ditches running in human waste up to their heads. Yes, this is true, not something made up). And currently persecuted and murdered by MUSLIMS ENSLAVED  IN THE SATANIC  ISLAMIC FALSE RELIGION full of lies, started by some fanatic now MOLDERING IN HIS GRAVE. Or COMMUNIST COUNTRIES WHO BELIEVE IN NO GOD AT ALL.
   CHIRST IS RISEN!  He is Alive, not moldering in any grave, and is the only true God and you know what? He came to die for sinful mankind but death could not keep the KING OF THE UNIVERSE. He LOVED US! You! and Me! Ain't that great? He is a God of love, not a murderer of woman and babies. He is full of GRACE and MERCY. He gives us GRACE. He shows us MERCY, when none of us deserves either!
      The Bible declares: All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.
                                   The wages of sin is (spiritual) death, but
                            The gift of God is eternal (spiritual) life through
                                      Jesus Christ our Lord.
                     For God so loved the world that he gave His only
                                begotten (uniquely born) son, that
                              Whosoever believeth in Him should
                                     not perish, but
                           Have everlasting life."
            He who has not the SON has not THE FATHER.
         and finally, the way to salvation:
            "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."
         All of the above are truths written in the living Word of God, as well as,
    "In the beginning was the Word (Christ), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."
                     I John
                Praise God for His grace and mercy to mankind.
      Christ is THE ONLY ANSWER TO the depravity and SINFULNESS of mankind, and to MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN.
      We have enjoyed freedom in this country because this nation was FOUNDED ON GODLY PRINCIPLES. The majority of the nation's population HAVE TURNED THEIR BACKS ON GOD.
      We are now suffering the DOWNFALL of our ONCE GREAT NATION.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

KIDS KNOW THE ANSWERS.......(Ask them anything!)

"What is a publican, Billy?"
 "A republican is a sinner mentioned in the Bible."
"Who was Noah's wife?"
  "Noah's wife was Joan of Arc."
"And Lot's wife?"
  "Lot's wife was a pillar of salt by Day and a ball of fire by night."

A CHRISTMAS POEM by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
and to see just who in this house did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see.

No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
and on the wall pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this house was different, so dark and so dreary
the home of a soldier, now I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice,

I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
my life is my God, my country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over and soon drifted to sleep.
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
and we both shivered from the cold evening's chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark, night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas day, all is secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night."

Saturday, April 13, 2013


   When the United States began to explore outer space in the race with the Russians to be best at everything, it was discovered that ball point pens would not work in outer space.
    Typical beaurocrats of our country then spent billions of our taxpayers money PERFECTING A PEN THAT WOULD work in Outer Space.


    I'm reading the biographical accounts of the two Generals, Grant and Lee. Very surprising to find out that U.S. Grant was called "useless" by his own father. Grant was very good with horses and good at math, but otherwise failed in every endeavor to which he applied himself. His first name was Hiram, but his mother called him by his middle name, Ulyssys. He worked in his father's tannery until he was sent to West Point, which was a free academy. When he arrived, he was told no "Hyram Grant" was listed, only a U.S. Grant, so he from then on became U. S. Grant. He was called "United States Grant". He was a mediocre soldier as much the same when he was just a mediocre man. He served in the Army many years and lived in poverty and was not well thought of by most military officers. When he resigned, he had no job, a wife and a bunch of little kids and no means to support them. He tried investing what little money he did have in several businesses, and each endeaver failed miserably. He was very poverty stricken.
     When stirrings of war and rumors of Southern action came to his ears, he tried to reenlist in the Army and no one would have him. Since he had started drinking because of his failures and inability to support his family, he was looked upon with scorn by the officers who had either been his teacher at West Point, or under whom he had served, and all blocked his request to reenlist.
    Discouraged, he was looking for work when an urgent need was posted for soldiers and a militia in his area for the Union.. He was immediately accepted, but none of the other men in the newly formed regiment had ever been a soldier and knew nothing of military tactics, so Grant was made their leader, advancing in rank. He promptly paid back each creditor with his new Army pay. He showed himself to be a brilliant leader by use of his calmness in the heat of battle and his common sense. He reversed several panic-caused withdrawals by making the men think they were winning, and thus he won the battles and brought about surrender, more than once..
     Abe Lincoln personally took an interest in U.S. Grant because of the way he had won his battles. So when his detractors sent letters to the White House bringing unjust charges against Grant out of jealousy and spite, and since one of Abe's Generals (McCllellan, who designed the Army saddle) was sitting on his saddle planning and planning and planning, while around him the battle swarmed,  Abe shot back to the detractors: "Request denied.(to muster Grant out of the service): Abraham Lincoln then concluded: "He fights."
    When Grant had rallied his men and driven the Rebs back into their fort, he sent an emissary, who asked, "What are the conditions, sir?" Grant replied, "No conditions: Unconditional Surrender."
    Thus another nickname was born: First, Useless Grant, then "United States Grant" (at West Point) and now "Unconditonal Surrender" Grant. The men surrendured unconditonally.
    There's a lot about Lee, too, but I find the more interesting of the two men is Grant, who was never thought of as anything but a failure and a mediocre man. This last battle is as far as I've gotten.
     Incidently, this book condensation is in the Reader's Digest condensed books. Usually full of excellent stories of all kinds, autobiographies, fiction, romance, suspense, you name it, and not a one full of today's toilet-mouthed authors. A pleasure to read!
    Today's movies certainly don't require any writing skills when all the characters speech is a foul word every other word. Time is coming when some "brilliant" writer is gonna sit down and write nothing but filthy words repeatedly, no other dialogue, and I'll be you a dollar to a dime the ungodly will rush out and spend millions on it! Characters spouting nothing but sewage and more sewage....
     More coming soon on Dude Ranch Murders. Busy week, long days.

Sunday, April 7, 2013


   Somehow the COMMENTS step was blocked. My trusty henchman and his pard fixed that for me! So Now I am able to accept comments, and please let all your friends know that my blog has original novels by the author available. Even if this first one has turned into a crazy quilt puzzle with the middle first and the intermediate bypassed. Like some heart operations, guess I failed! huh!

IMAGE OF A PERFECT SON by N.A.Vincent now available at Authorhouse.com Archives 2003

My first book, Image Of A Perfect Son, is availabe in ebook and paperback at Authorhouse.com, Archives year 2003, and also listed in the 2012 Miami Book Fare's catalog for Authorhouse. This is Book One: The Rise, first in a series of 5, then sequences of the era. All sequences are written, and available a little later on to the public on electronic means. (As soon as I find out how to do it.....). I can be contacted through my blog, if you are interested.
    I designed the cover for this book myself, but the artistic staff at Authorhouse put it all together and did the final draft. I wanted to have their names so as to give them credit, but the company said something like it wasn't their policy. Well, credit gives where credit is due, I say. So much for big corporations.


    My apologiers: Chapter 7 comes much later in the book. I have just about completed the "In Order" sequences which I had neglected to edit before I started. I will post the sequential order from the end of Chapter 6, and then insert Chapter 7 as a future chapter, where it belongs in the book. (Well, folks, I'm a writer, not an editor. A lot of folks don't realize that writers do not always write in sequence, but they certainly should edit before posting. I haven't been through this manuscript for some time and "assumed" it was all in order. It is not. When last I worked on it I'd been doing some revision, and lost the whole works when I hit "delete" and at the time I didn't know diddley squat about computers. Now I know "diddley" but not "squat"....... And I had inserted pages but not sorted. Then I moved. So everything was a mess.
    I will be republishing "CHAPTER SEVEN" as "Chapter Seven Revised." then you will find the published C. 7 further on down the trail, after a few more things happen. Chapter 7 revised will begin the day after the discovery of Sherry Hilliard's body.
     Does anyone have a guess who the murderer might be?
Hopefully I'll be republishing that chapter  insertion today. Sam James (aka oldcowgirlmom77 and N.A. Vincent


Folks, bear with me. It's been a long time since I went through this manuscript and I failed to see to it that I had everything in order. Installment "10" was premature, so now it's all mixed up. Will try to straighten things out when I get the pages in order. Sorry 'bout that.

THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS by Sam James, 11th Installment

                                                          CHAPTER ELEVEN

     Paul poured himself another cup of coffee and asked Vikki and Kate if they'd like some. Kate cheerfully accepted. Vikki declined. They were secluded from the guests in Paul's den at the back of the house. Kate had gone alone for a long ride in the hills today and Vikki had just returned from a trip to town.
   He noticed Vikki smoked almost nervously. She seemed to be preoccupied with something. He'd hardly seen her all day today, or Kate, either. The investigation was taking a lot out of him. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't mind telling you, this killing has got me down. I'd just as soon get the whole bunch of them out of here and be done with it. Though how in god'sname this could've happened here, I don't know." He glanced at Kate, as if seeking an answer from her.
   "Well don't look at me.I didn't do it." Kate laughed.
    Paul swore and ran his fingers through his hair again. "Kate


Things to look out for:
     I will be shortly adding information about our "Home buying" experience soon to my blog. This is a program offered for low-income singles or families who want their own place. It does take some money upfront, and despite the laws of  "full disclosure" you can be cheated on every side if you get in a hurry to buy a place. You can end up in a neighborhood you don't want in a house you don't like, such as I did. Your mortgage payment can change if the escrow amount comes up short of the yearly tax amount, for which, as a "home-owner", you are responsible. Problems which were supposed to be "fixed" before the loan approval, can be jerry-rigged so that you don't find out until weeks later that you're stuck with something which is on the brink of collapse, broken, or doesn't work properly.
      My first advice: DON'T BUY A HOME IN SUMMER.
                           Our back yard IS A SWAMP in the WINTERTIME.
                           One half of the wall furnace DOESN'T WORK.
                            The Light fixture on the ceiling was TAKEN DOWN instead of replaced to
                                     pass inspection: The reason I turned down a "new carpet" was because
                                     I knew the proper installment of the fixture would run at least the price of
                                     a new carpet, and a new carpet with all my pets wasn't a priority. The
                                      light fixture was.
                             The handicap bars were taken off the tub; It's one of the reasons I agreed to buy
                                     the house. My 90+ Mom needs them to get in and out of the tub.
                              Never let anyone else influence your decision: In other words, don't use friends or
                                      family to help you find a house, because you might be encouraged not to
                                      make waves just to please a son or daughter, whose friend is helping you.
                              Never let the realtor PRESSURE YOU into buying
                                      RIGHT THIS MOMENT because 'THE   PRICE
                                       JUST DROPPED" or some other "reason". Places
                                       don't just sell that fast.
                             DON'T be pressured into buying the THIRD HOUSE
                                        you see. FIND ONE YOU REALLY WANT 
                                        TO CALL HOME.

More next time. Now, On to THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS.                                    

Monday, April 1, 2013

THE DUDE RANCH MURDERS, by Sam James, 10th Installment

                                                                    CHAPTER SEVEN

   It was that time of evening in which various of the guests were scattered....some out of doors, some in the lounge, others in their rooms.
   The killer walked along the hallway with a deliberate step, confident of a free hand dealt in the next play. A slight smile played on the full lips: a light gleam lodged itself in the eye. There would be no more waiting here. Days the killer had waited for this chance. Now the moment was here.
   The killer stopped before the closed door, checking the empty hallway. The others were occupied elsewhere. But still, this had to be done with speed and caution.
   With gloved hand the killer checked the knob, finding it locked, then defly picked the lock, glanced again to see if the coast was clear, then turned the knob and slipped quickly into the dimly-lighted room; relocked the door, glanced around.
   By now the habits of Mrs. Long were known. She took baths instead of showers. She took her time, usually in a full tub.
   It hadn't been hard to decide how to kill her--only when.
   Very quietly the intruder turned off the lights in the outer room. Switching to the flashlight, the killer moved stealthily across the rug to the bathroom door. Very slowly the killer turned the knob of the bathroom door and found it unlocked. Georgia Long was singing along with the radio. The radio blared: the killer heard the sounds and smiled.
   In one swift motion the killer's hand reached through the tiny opening of the doorway and flicked the light switch off.
   Georgia stopped singing.
   "What the heck?" she muttered. "What a time for the lights to go out!"
  She realized suddenly that the radio was still on, and had gotten louder. Fear clutched her heart. "Who's there? Is someone there?"
   In the split second she spoke a light beam suddenly flicked on and blinded her. She closed her eyes, raising her hands to keep the glare out. "Don't! Who are you? What do you want--get out--get out of here---"
   All she heard was a short laugh. She had neither time nor effort to try to determine anything else, for her hair was suddenly seized  and she was yanked backwards and felt her head being slammed against the back of the tub with tremendous force even as she was pushed down under the water: Whoever her assailant was had taken her so completely by surprise and was so strong that all her efforts at resistance were short-lived.
   Georgia Long was drowned in her bathtub.

   Delia Lightfoot decided to retire early. Oscar had found an ardent listener in the Sergeant, and was busy recounting his days in the Army. He told her he'd be up in a little while.
   Delia walked up the stairs and was a little frightened. They had found the body of that girl today and they were all being questioned. Everyone had been told not to leave.
   A Sheriff's deputy was even now on the premises, keeping an eye on things. They'd come in from town with cameras and instruments and people had been told "not to worry". Ralph Tully had been taken to town for questioning this afternoon and released and was back here again.
   How could you not worry? Murder was Murder.
   They should never have come. All this looseness, this talk about sex, which should be kept between a man and his wife. All this flirting and forward behavior. Why would anyone want to murder anyone at a dude ranch? There were certainly some abnormal people here.
   She decided she would seek permission to leave. Surely they couldn't be suspects! She went into her room and closed the door. The more she got to thinking about things as they were, the more she fretted. She looked around the room and the shadows seemed more frightening, somehow. The room so warm and rustic and cozy, now seemed to hold sinister shadows.
   Delia, you're being silly, she told herself. But she decided to go back down to get Oscar, nevertheless.Just as she opened her door and stepped out into the hallway, someone came out of Georgia Long's room face turned away from Delia. Since Georgia's room was a few doors down, and her eyesight was no longer as sharp as it used to be, Delia didn't at first recognize the person, who glanced her way and stood dead still.
   Delia was somewhat discomfited. Funny way to look at me, she thought.
   "Mrs. Lightfoot--Delia, you surprised me. I thought everyone was downstairs."
   "But I thought you were supposed to be---" Delia began.
   "Well, it's not important now, is it. You look tired, Delia." The smile dazzled, charmed, set Delia at ease. She began to relax a little.
   "I am, a little. More jittery and tense than anything else. I suppose it's everything that's happened these last few days. And now, finding you here when I thought you were---"
   "Surprised you, eh?" the killer laughed. "If you knew me better you'd know I'm full of surprises. Why don't we go into your room and I'll give your shoulders a rub? Relieve a lot of that tension. Best cure in the world I know of."
   "Why....Why I suppose that would be all right. You....don't think it would be improper, or anything, do you? I mean---"
    "Of course not."

   Delia had scarcely realized she was being charmed and pursuaded into the room. She failed to notice that the killer locked the door behind them.
   Delia sat down on the chair in front of the mirror and proceeded to relax while her shoulders were massaged . Oh, that felt so good....She could feel herself relaxing.....Her eyes closed, her mind drifted.....She felt a heavy pressure on the vulnerable areas of her neck---the cauteroid arteries----and opened her eyes instinctively. She had heard somewhere a person could be put unconscious by pressing those spots.....She felt faint, lightheaded......
   "Oh, that's enough, too much---I'm getting faint---"
   "Are you?"
   Something in the voice made Delia look up in the mirror. The hands were now like iron against her neck---she was going out, too weak to resist.
   But the face!
   The lips smiled.
   The eyes hated.
   It was the last thing she thought before she slipped into oblivion.

   When the old lady slipped into unconsciousness, the killer, still wearing light gloves, quickly drug the inert form to the bed, suffocated her with a pillow, placed her on her side under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, arranged in bed as though she were sleeping. No time could be wasted undressing the old gal, and now the climb out the window and down the porch would have to be used. No more taking chances.
    Standing over the dead woman, the killer, almost with regret, murmured, "I had to do it, you understand. You saw me come out of her room, you see. I couldn't take the chance you'd tell them...and besides, there is too much at stake, here, Delia---I could lose everything, you understand: Everything!"
    The killer slipped out the window onto the terrace and was over the railing and down to the ground in a heartbeat, having closed the window upon exit.
   While Delia slept on, oblivious ever again to the killer's voice and the killer's smile.

   Oscar came out of the bathroom and went to his side of the bed. Delia had left the nightlight on, on his side. He didn't want to disturb her. She was turned on her side with the covers pulled up, dead to the world. He smiled. Was a time she'd have waited up for him, but now they were old, and wearied easily.
   This last few days would make anybody tired, he thought. I'm pretty tired myself, all the crazy shenanigans that're going on around here. I should never've brought her here. Well, we'll see about leaving in the morning---We'll not only see about it-we'll do it! Sheriff or no Sheriff.
   He turned out the light and slid into bed, suddenly tired from the long day and sore from the long ride."Goodnight, dear," he murmured softly to his sleeping wife as he turned his back to her and fell almost instantly asleep.

   Ralph Tully glowered at the Sheriff's deputy. So, they had found out about his record. Once a man had a record, it dogged his heels like a hound at bay and on track. You might as well paste a label on your back.
   They'd already told him he was their number one suspect. Just because he had a past history of molesting young girls.....McFarland had told him to get off the place and don't come back as soon as this police deal was done. What he should've done, was, he should've cut outta here the day after that babe disappeared. He'd do it now. the deputy couldn't watch them all at once. He could take a horse and cut across these hills and be miles gone before they knew he was missing.
   He stood up.
   "Where do you think you're going?" The deputy launched upright, alert.
   "I know my rights. You got nothin' against me. You can't hold me."
   "Well don't leave the premises until you get an ok from us." The man had an almost easy manner about him, but he could turn wolf in a hurry if he had to. Tully wasn't deceived. The man was in his forties but he was no hick town fool.
   Grumbling, Tully went up to his room. it was dark outside. He locked his door, went to the window and looked out. There was an old veranda running the length of the outside wall, and not too much of a drop to the ground. He opened the window and climbed out onto the veranda, not bothering to take more from the room than his coat and Stetson and his knife. He walked along the porch as quietly as he could and when he got to the lowest corner where the ranchhouse banked against a hill, he swung over, dropped down, and headed for the barn, staying to the shadows.

   Bob Dixon walked over from the lake, sick at heart. He had thought in coming here things might change, that troubles would remain behind him---that even his "sickness" would go away, or at least not bother him for awhile.
    Loser, he thought. All his life he'd been a loser. He led people to believe he was a detective because it added excitement to his life to have people think he was brave and tough. He wasn't. All he was in reality was a clerk in a library. A clerk with what some people labeled an "abnormal passion" for other men.
   He'd been thrown over again for another lover. The humiliation, the anger one felt at rejection: The others always did this to him, forsaking him for some younger, more handsome lover. And then, Paul. He'd come so close to telling Paul how he felt, and tonight he would. He knew Paul made the rounds in the barn to check the kept up horses at night. It was getting unbearable. He was so jealous of those women who flirted with Paul he could hardly stand it anymore.
   Those others: sneering at him, giving him those snide looks, laughing at him. As if they think we aren't human! Just because we love differently, he told himself--as if they think we don't have feelings too!
   Dixon felt himself slipping away, like before. Once before he had broken, gone off the deep end, taken drastic action for which he'd paid dearly, incarcerated with lunatics. Blindly, through his tears, he made his way to the barn.

   The shadows seemed to laugh at him. He heard their voices. He stumbled on, stumbled over something. He almost fell on the pitchfork some fool had left in the way. He didn't remember picking it up.
   Pitchfork. Something in his mind reached back. Yes. Insane, they said he was. Claimed he had gone berserk, attacked his uncle, with whom he lived, with a pitchfork.....
   That was a long time ago. He didn't remember doing such a thing to his uncle. He did remember his uncle making fun of him, calling him a pansy, a queer, a pervert--unnatural........
   It's that Tully, he thought. He's the pervert. And those women, they deserve what they get, flaunting themselves at Paul, the little tramps!
   Back to the pitchfork: They said he was cured. He hoped desparately he was cured...But how can I be cured of something I don't remember being and doing?
   If Paul rejects me I don't know what I'll do! I won't stand it, that's all. I'll--I'll leave, or kill myself, or.....What will I do if he laughs at me? I couldn't stand that!
   He found himself staring at the pitchfork. He felt his mind walking away from him, leaving him standing, looking on like some unconcerned bystander.
   He heard a noise. Someone was coming. He'd have to hide! (Why?) (He couldn't think why....)

   Pitchfork still in hand, he darted into the nearest hiding place.