I Just Can't Win...

My wife has a dog, and I have an archenemy. Batman has many nemeses like The Riddler, The Joker, The Penguin, but not me. I just have The Thor. Eighteen pounds of pure spite that one is. Thor is a master criminal in his on right, that is, as far as dogs go. He knows exactly what he wants, and exactly how to get it. I wish I were that lucky. The both of us vie for my wife’s attention, and that little ball of fur always wins.

In past times, when he could jump that high, I would arrive home to see The Thor dog in my chair lounging around in all his glory. If I wanted to sit down, I had to exercise my authority. Most times, he would growl at me before begrudgingly giving up his spot. Point for me.

He is very cunning that little dog. If I make him get out of my chair, he jumps up into his mother’s lap. She pets him and rubs all over him, all the while he stares at me with his one good eye. Fourteen years have passed, and I have yet to figure out which one the good one is, but he stares at me all the same with his smug little nose and furry face. Point for the dog.

Being a man, I decided one day to be the Alpha and teased the dog before I went to work. I came home after work only to find the dog sprawled out all over my pillow on my bed. Bad enough he took over my spot, now he was trying to take over my pillow. I yanked him up; he growled as usual, but I didn’t care. That is my pillow; no way he is going to get everything I own. He waddled away all hunched up like he was somebody. It didn’t bother me cause I got my pillow back. Point for me.

He still persists in tormenting me. If I sit down in “my chair,” he comes over and bumps my feet with his back until I give in and rub him with my feet. Thor knows that I don’t care for cats, and this action is purely to annoy me with his cat-like behavior. Then, he reverts back to being a dog. Thor brings a toy over and drops it at my feet and then growls at me until I give in and reach for it. Like a shot he grabs it and backs up just out of reach. He knows I am too lazy to get up, and uses this to his advantage. Point for the dog.

Like me, he is steadily aging and his legs don’t work as well as they used too. One would think that on any given day a grown man could outwit a shih tzu, but sadly for me, this is not the case. The only way he has survived for fourteen years is the fact that my wife loves him, protects and baby’s him, and I no longer have the will to kick the elderly. Game, set, and match. The Thor dog wins.

Selling Your Soul to the Devil

So, after much deliberation and arguing with myself, my publisher, and the marketing department, my book is now available on Amazon for purchase. The aforementioned people have convinced me in order to meet a global audience, listing my book on Amazon is a necessary evil. I understand their points and they make compelling arguments, I just hate giving a corporate giant my money. Not that I don't do it on a regular basis mind you, I just don't like it. Just saying.

Also, my book has now been formatted and available for purchase on eReaders, just follow the link on the blog to do so. I did not list the eReader with Amazon as their publishing forum takes more of my rights than I am willing to let them have. You can still buy the Kindle version, just not from Amazon. I had to draw the line somewhere, and misguided or not, this is where I drew it.

Mother's Day 2015

I woke up early this morning, and realized it was Mother’s Day. I text my mama and asked if she would like me to cook her breakfast. Before I could set the phone down, there was a “yes please” reply. My wife sleeps in, and then takes an hour drinking coffee before she eats, so I left her to do her own thing.

I dug out a pack of good old Hansard Farms sausage from the back freezer, jumped on the golf cart, and headed up the dirt road. The morning was beautiful. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the east, the sun was steadily rising in the sky, and I was chasing squirrels that happened to be in the road just daring me to run them down with my golf cart. Needless to say, I didn’t hit any squirrels because those little buggers are fast.

I went in the house, even at my age it is still home, and I rarely ever knock. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen like they were waiting on me. I know the anticipation wasn’t really directed at me, they were waiting on the sausage. Yes, it’s that good.

I went straight to work, slicing and frying, butter spreading, and breaking eggs. No, I didn’t bring any eggs. I used theirs. I’m a lousy son. I get it, but they don’t care.

Dad peaks over my shoulder inspecting my work, and I’m sure he just wanted to know when the sausage was going done. Determining that I ain’t quick enough on putting the heat into the meat, he gave up, “I’m going in here to read, call me when it’s ready.”

Mama just sat patiently at the table doodling with her iPad. I guess she got done and decided she was going to help me. I fussed at her and told her to sit down. “How’s this special if you have to work,” I asked.

She sneered and replied under her breath, “I’ve had to work my whole life, why is today any different?” I let that go because today is Mother’s Day and all.

I finished beating the eggs into submission, crisping the bread up like a brick just the way they like it, and fished the sausage out of the grease. I managed to serve the eggs and toast on the plates before my father stampeded to his seat and reached for the sausage.

We blessed the food in our own way, and sat quietly eating.

“I don’t know what you did different this time, but I think this is the best pig yet,” Mama said as she plopped another piece of meat candy in her mouth. Dad stopped chewing long enough to agree.

“Yep, you could be right,” I said just before swigging down some Red Rock Ginger Ale.

I am lucky to be blessed with such good parents, and it’s the small things that make life worth living. Happy Mother’s Day!

Why Bother Going to Wal-mart Anymore?

Today, I did my research on-line, as usual, found what I was looking for—of course. Then, found the best price, again—as usual Wal-Mart. I am not a fan of corporate giants, but I wanted my external hard-drive and I wanted it right then. So, out the door I went, no sir, I didn’t order on-line because I wanted it now.

Once inside Wal-Mart, I walked down the aisle and found the hard drive I was longing for; a one terabyte—USB—plug and play hunk of plastic with enough memory to back up all four of my computers. That’s right, I have four computers. Mouth watering, I picked up the box and double-checked the specifications section on the reverse side. Yes, this was it. This was the one I wanted.

Then, as any prudent consumer does, I looked at the price tag. My mouth fell open, as my heart sank into my belly. I was trying to wrap my mind around this conundrum. The price on the tag did not match the price that I saw a mere twenty minutes earlier on Wal-Mart’s website. Perplexed and disheartened, I did what any man on the 21^st Century would do. I pulled out my cell phone, went to the web and investigated. The price was listed at $80.75 on the website. That was the total price delivered right to the Wal-Mart that I was standing in.

Now, I was confused more than ever. The very same hard-drive that I was holding in my hand had a price of $99.95. How can this be? Determined to get an answer, I headed straight for the Electronics Sales Desk. I got there and there was no one—this was strike two as far as I am concerned with Wal-Mart. After a few minutes, a nice enough older gentleman showed up and asked if he could help me. I suspected that he couldn’t really help me, how could he? He was not the guy setting prices.

Anyway, I proceeded to tell him my situation. I even showed him the Internet advertisement on my phone—I am very big into supporting details. He simply shook his head and said, “Yes sir, it will be cheaper if you order it on-line and then come back and pick it up next week, but if you want it today you have to pay the price on the label.” This shook me for a minute and I now regret not pulling out the price match guarantee card on him. I would have really liked to have involved a manager on that one, but my mind doesn’t work as quick as it used to.

Feeling jaded, I walked back over to the aisle and returned the box to its resting place all the while trying to make sense of what just happened. Apparently, I wasted my time and my gas only to be told I could have saved money by never stepping foot inside the store. Well, that’s just fine by me. I could really care less if I ever go back to Wal-Mart. If they don’t want me in the store; then, I just won’t go.

When I got home, I did the only thing I could do. I ordered my 1 terabyte external hard drive on-line—from Amazon. They will ship it right to my door and do so for a whopping $0.76 cheaper than Wal-Mart. I very seriously doubt the faceless giant will feel the sting of my wrath, but I feel better about not giving them my money. Take that Wal-Mart.

Finally!

I have my new book in hand. All the blood, sweat, and tears have finally paid off. Well, not really. There was no blood spilled in the writing of this novel, nor did I sweat except when my A/C wasn't working properly, and I didn't really cry either.

Any who, the work is done, and I have my book. You can have one too! Just click on the link to the right and follow the directions, and poof the magic elves will put one in the mail.

Book Release Announced

The books have arrived and the official release has been announced, Everything Engraving is proud to release "Falling From Grace" by Lance Hansard on May 7, 2015 at 4:00 pm. Don't wait order yours today!

Painful Memories

Every time I wash my hands, I see it. Now, I cannot even remember when it wasn’t there. Carved into my palm like a river; jagged, rough, white. That damn scar always reminds me of kindergarten!

I begged my grandmother for the jar, she must have said no a dozen times, but I wore her down. When she held it out to me, it was like I had just won the lottery. I snatched it from her hand and darted like a mad man for the screen door. “No time to waste,” I thought to myself. “There are bugs to be caught, and bugs wait for no one!”

As I reached the steps, it was like I was walking on air. “Wait a minute,” I thought, “I am walking on air.” I was falling, falling fast. I released the grip on my pimento jar, opening my hand to brace myself for the impact, but the jar remained in place. As I crashed to the ground, I noticed the jar had shattered under my hand. Wiggling and turning, I made my way back to my feet. Turning my right hand over, I could feel the warmth as two fingers fell lifelessly away from my hand. They dangled there like two crooks hanging from the gallows in an old western movie. A thin piece of skin was the only thing keeping my fingers attached to my hand. Feverishly, I tried to press them back in place, but the blood just kept oozing. I was calm, and there was no pain. “That’s odd,” I thought to myself. “I’d better go show mama.” I figured she was going to find out sooner or later anyways.

Holding my fingers in place, I approached my mother. Silently I stood there; I let go with my left hand. My fingers fell limp and the blood began dancing down my arm. My mother was naturally light complected, but now she was as white as fresh snow. Dragging me, she frantically rushed me into the bathroom. The blood stained the water like red dye as it drifted down the drain. She lost all of her senses that moment, but my father appeared, and he became the calm voice of reason. He led me out to the car and my grandmother struggled to keep up as she wrapped my hand in a dishcloth.

Thirty-six stitches and about eight pounds of gauze later, I made my way to the first day of kindergarten. I remember lugging my enormously bandaged hand into the classroom. Everybody starred at me, and then the giggles began. I wanted play with the other kids at recess, but I couldn’t because I had this gynormous bandage holding me back. I longed to get into that sand box and play with those trucks; instead, I got to sit quietly next to my teacher and stare at my hand while the other kids that had two good hands played catch. They would catch the ball and then look over at me and laugh. Every time this memory plays out in my head, the pain does not come from the cut or the scar on my hand. The pain comes from the scar imbedded on my soul as the other kids made fun of me. I hate that damn scar!

Escape

The walls of man close in on my mind

More to the front and less behind.

I struggle with haste to break free

As the world begins to strangle me.

I find myself in circles going round

Trying to fight the curse of a frown.

Searching and searching for a hint of light

To free myself from the daily trite.

A sea of darkness encroaches in

I struggle against the troubles of men.

When the path in front has come to an end,

My head does bow and my knees do bend.

Armoring my soul with an eternal fleece

The blessings from God that offer me peace.

A Conversation

So, the other day a father was talking to his daughter about life. He asked her, “what do you want to do after high school?”
She replied, “I want to go to college so I can get a good job.”
“Sounds great,” the father replied. “What is a good job?”
“I don’t know,” she answered with a straight face.
 Meanwhile, the father’s head slumped as he shook it slightly in disbelief. He mustered up some courage and asked yet another question, ” Well you already have a job, so is that the good job you are looking for in the future?”
Again she replied, “I don’t know.”
With a final thought in desperation he asked her, “Well if you don’t know where you are going, then how do you know if you are not already there?”
She just stood there silently glaring at him with eyes made of stone. I do not think she ever figured out an answer.

The Name Game

What is a name, a name that is not the same.

What a wonderful game, the name.

Parents are to blame for the name,

The name what a wonderful game.

Lance is my name, others have the same,

But Lance is my name.

Lance, where did they get that,

Did they draw it from a hat?

Did they see it on a cat?

What about that?

Lance is my name,

Crackers have the same.

My parents are to blame,

That my name and crackers are the same.

Lance in your pants that make ants dance.

What a wonderful game to play with your name!

Are my parents really to blame?

Maybe I will change my name, the re-name game.

Maybe it will be different; maybe I will keep it the same!

What a wonderful game, the re-name game.

What if my name was Pat, how would I feel about that?

Pat the cat, Pat with a hat! Pat, Pat, who said that?

If I change my name to Pat, what would others think about that?

My name is Lance, and Lance is my name!

What a wonderful game, the game of the name!

To think of a name, what a wonderful game!

Bob, Rob, or even Blob!

Billy, Jack, or Willy, is picking a new name silly?

Maybe Tony, Chad, Steve,

But then who would believe?

Maybe Tom or Harold,

What about John, if you think about it the list goes on and on!

It is always fun to play the re-name game.

If I change my name in this wonderful game,

Then I would be to blame that my name is not the same!

My Name is Lance, and Lance is my name!

I like my name, so I will keep it the same!

I wrote this in my creative writing class in college. I must admit this is one of my favorites.