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RUST
ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed
Internationally) (A new Series that began on Tues April 13th and will continue
every Tuesday thereafter until finished) (Thursday & Sunday will continue to
cover a variety of subjects as in the past)
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INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)
In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
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INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)
In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
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Midmorning
I must get to work, but I can’t seem to concentrate. Perhaps this writing will fill the void I feel inside.
I made Nancy cry this morning. Not the usual mad or frustrated crying that is normal around the house these days.
Rather, I gave her a ring for our anniversary, an anniversary ring the jeweler called it.
“I thought you’d forgotten for sure this year,” she said, and started to cry.
I’ve never forgotten in twenty-seven years. Has this year been so much worse than the rest? Have I been so wrapped up in me that I’m that different?
I know it hasn’t beel all Nancy’s fault. There were the early days when she’d put out my favorite magazines, lemonade and brownies and try to lead me out to the hammock to rest.
She’d remind me that even Superman needed some relaxation. I appreciated her attempts but brushed them off.
Then there were the days she’d meet me with a kiss and I’d absent-mindedly offer her my cheek. And there were the evenings I filled with work or football games.
This wen ton and on and we communicated less and less. Finally she just stoped trying. No, it certainly hasn’t all been Nancy’s fault.
Why did we build such roadblocks to our own happiness?
Evening
Got another one of those letters today; “Dear Sir: You have been selected…”Last month it was, “A man of your standing will certainly want to have…” It would be ridiculous, except that it works. Vanity is our Achilles’ heel; after a while flattery can beat down most men’s resolve.
We all want to play Hamlet” is the way Carl Sandburg put it.
Which reminds me, we have a new status symbol in town; box seats at the pro football games. Several years ago it was hot tubs and before that Lincoln Continentals.
At least this year’s is cheaper.
I am never sure who or what establishes the trend but once it has gotten up momentum any deviation is treated like a kind of betrayal.
In the land of the free and the home of the brave, conformity seems to make slaves and cowards of us all.
Evening
If I could manipulate God for my own purposes, I would.
I’m the center of my universe just now and I know it. My joys and my sorrows are motivated solely by what happens to me.
One wit wrote, “Neither an egg nor an ego is any good until you break it.”
I laughed the first time I heard it. Today I’m not laughing.
I must get to work, but I can’t seem to concentrate. Perhaps this writing will fill the void I feel inside.
I made Nancy cry this morning. Not the usual mad or frustrated crying that is normal around the house these days.
Rather, I gave her a ring for our anniversary, an anniversary ring the jeweler called it.
“I thought you’d forgotten for sure this year,” she said, and started to cry.
I’ve never forgotten in twenty-seven years. Has this year been so much worse than the rest? Have I been so wrapped up in me that I’m that different?
I know it hasn’t beel all Nancy’s fault. There were the early days when she’d put out my favorite magazines, lemonade and brownies and try to lead me out to the hammock to rest.
She’d remind me that even Superman needed some relaxation. I appreciated her attempts but brushed them off.
Then there were the days she’d meet me with a kiss and I’d absent-mindedly offer her my cheek. And there were the evenings I filled with work or football games.
This wen ton and on and we communicated less and less. Finally she just stoped trying. No, it certainly hasn’t all been Nancy’s fault.
Why did we build such roadblocks to our own happiness?
Evening
Got another one of those letters today; “Dear Sir: You have been selected…”Last month it was, “A man of your standing will certainly want to have…” It would be ridiculous, except that it works. Vanity is our Achilles’ heel; after a while flattery can beat down most men’s resolve.
We all want to play Hamlet” is the way Carl Sandburg put it.
Which reminds me, we have a new status symbol in town; box seats at the pro football games. Several years ago it was hot tubs and before that Lincoln Continentals.
At least this year’s is cheaper.
I am never sure who or what establishes the trend but once it has gotten up momentum any deviation is treated like a kind of betrayal.
In the land of the free and the home of the brave, conformity seems to make slaves and cowards of us all.
Evening
If I could manipulate God for my own purposes, I would.
I’m the center of my universe just now and I know it. My joys and my sorrows are motivated solely by what happens to me.
One wit wrote, “Neither an egg nor an ego is any good until you break it.”
I laughed the first time I heard it. Today I’m not laughing.
TO BE CONTINUED
(Complete book available on amazon.com) (great
prices)
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Three of Neil’s books are still
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RICHARD’S ALMANACK FOR THE 20TH CENTURY (Written as if Ben Franklin had come
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