In this blog entry, I am posting a recent interview with Rod Espinosa, award winning artist and illustrator who was chosen by my publisher, Sarah Publishing, to illustrate my newest children’s book entitled, Ariel: Therapy Dog of the Rio Grande Valley. cheap albion silver You can see some information (including how to order it) about the book here:
1. What is the best website to go to for information about you and your work?
2. How long have you been a full-time artist? How many works have you produced?
3. buy albion silver When/how did you discover your interest in art? What was your first really big break?
4. Though I know you have several artistic skills, I know you primarily as a digital artist? How is that different/similar from traditional art forms? What are the basic tools/programs needed for digital art? Do you see or can you predict any changes in the genre of digital art? How/where can a young artists get training in this art form? Are there any contests you’d recommend to young/beginning artists?
5. adidas eqt damskie cheap albion gold Who are some of your favorite artists?
6. You live in the Philippines but you spend a good bit of time in the states?
7. One recent project is your work on Ariel: Therapy Dog of the Rio Grande Valley (Sarah Publishing) Comment on this project. Have you done work that featured animals before? What stand outs to you (or what is most important) about the story of Ariel? Tell about how/why you designed the layout. What is your favorite quote from that book?
8. You have received several awards as an artist. Tell me about those.
9. What advice would you give to aspiring artists today?
This to me, is the bedrock of a good career in art. If you’re not an overnight success with your first book, you have to be willing to do what it takes to keep your place in the sun.
10. AJ McCarron Jersey albion silver Is there anything else you’d like to add?
A Southern Missive: Jan.-Feb. Issue
Bardofthesouth.com
Date: January/February 2014
A Southern Missive: Containing special news, interviews, reviews, and articles, written by Rickey E. Pittman—award-winning author, storyteller, college writing instructor, folksinger, and songwriter. ————————————————————- About the Bard of the South: Rickey E. Pittman Read his complete bio here: ============================================================= The Latest news from http://www.bardofthesouth.com/ ============================================================= The Bard of the South has been booked for the main stage at the 2014 World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Hot Springs, Arkansas, Monday, March 17. Jim Belushi will be the celebrity Grand Marshal for this event. Read more about the event here: You can listen to some of the Bard’s Scottish and Irish music samples here: New Original Songs by the Bard of the South “Miss Rio Grande Valley”- So many beauties have come from the Rio Grande Valley. Here’s a song about a man who falls for a beauty queen! (Model for single release cover is Tyler Zimmerman, Miss South Texas) Preview and spend the 99 cents to order the song here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rickeypittmanbardoftheso3 “The 13th Floor” – If you’re superstitious or if you’ve heard about the wild nightlife of Dallas, you are sure to like this song! (Model for single release cover is Amanda Brady) Preview and spend the 99 cents to order the song here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rickeypittmanbardoftheso4 These songs (along with other originals) will be on the Bard’s 4th CD, which should be available by Summer 2014. The CD’s theme is songs of Texas and the Rio Grande Valley. ============================================================= ============================================================= The Bard’s calendar is filling up for the spring! Book the Bard of the South for your own school, library, organization, festival, church, banquet or other event. His positive, energetic presentation of stories and songs are sure to delight and edify those in attendance. His rates are reasonable and he pays his own travel and lodging expenses. Contact information: Rickey Pittman Cell 318-547-2906 Email: rickeyp@bayou.com ————————————————————- ( 5.) This Week’s Article ============================================================= Advice to High School Students on Making Money in the Future After living as long as I have, reflecting back on the smart and dumb choices I made, I decided to write a blog of advice to young folks listing ideas on how they can make their financial future more secure than mine has been. These are just ideas on how to make you employable, and I know these ideas may not be suitable for all. Just take these suggestions as advice. air max 90 blu donna
1. Learn at least one trade. New Balance 373 mujer According to William Barclay, the Jewish rabbis had a proverb: “He that does not teach his son a trade, teaches him to steal.” I talked once to a successful contractor about how to learn various different trades. He said, “If I wanted to learn bricklaying, I’d find a mason, tell him I’d work for him as an apprentice for two weeks for nothing. And if he liked my work, he could hire me or recommend me. There are many trades our society will need for many years in the future, including, electric, cable, plumbing, carpentry, painting, auto mechanics (I’ve paid mechanics more than I have doctors!) and music (private instruction). 2. Learn sign language for the deaf. Not only is this a service that will benefit society, it is a service that can make you money. Courts, hospitals, churches, and media often use translators. 3. Become fluent in a second language. If you intend on staying in the U.S., I would suggest Spanish, though certainly there are so many different ethnic groups coming into our nation with big population pockets in various parts of the nation, so if you wanted to specialize in one of those, I’m sure there would be opportunities for you as well in legal courts, schools, individual tutoring, and other translation opportunities. I predict that excellence in Arabic or Korean languages would be of value to the government and military in the future. 4. Start a saving’s account early and put something in it every month and never touch it. albion silver Let your money make money. 5. Make sure you are skilled in keyboarding (old word is typing) and in general computer skills. This is an expected skill in today’s society. 6. Get certified in specialization areas such as a notary, teaching, substitute teacher (a substitute teacher in Texas for example can easily make $30,000 a year), lifeguard, EMT, real estate, nursing, paralegals, welding, commercial and truck drivers. I’m sure there are many others areas I could list. 7. Read. I would suggest you read about entrepreneurs and bios of successful people. These readings will not only give you ideas but will inspire you. Build up your personal network of people you know. Never burn bridges. Keep up with those contacts. This is a fast-changing world and friends tend to be willing to provide friends with economic opportunities. ————————————————————- Like Bard of the South on Facebook! Click here: Rickey E. Pittman ============================================================= ============================================================= Apollo Descends: A Short Story by Rickey E. Pittman
Apollo Descends
I remember all the ruckus about that movie they called The Fight Club. Shoot. I live on a farm outside of Hendrix, Oklahoma, where we been having barn fights rougher than that since Indian Territory days. Fights where the blood is real, and the bruises deep, and where a man can make one careless move and be stove up for a month. My daddy said the old Chickasaw masters had some white man vices in them and enjoyed watching their slaves duke it out with slaves from other plantations and ranches. Well, after General Stand Watie surrendered to the Federals in 1865, slavery ended in Indian Territory, but the barn fights didn’t stop. No, sir. Nick Marshall – Auburn Tigers Jerseys The rich Chickasaws switched to gamblin’ on their sharecropper and field hand fighters. They knew a poor man will do about anything for a chance to climb out of his misfortune. They’d throw a little money to the winners so they could feel better about using them so, but the fighters didn’t mean nothin’ to them. Barnfights were their recreation. They didn’t lose a bit of sleep over broken jaws, busted hands, or bruised ribs. The Chickasaws called the fighters Southern Gladiators and talked with admiration of how these men were fightin’ for a better life, but I think they just wanted to get the poor man’s hopes up with such talk and keep the gristmill turning so more fighters would come their way. I’ve watched many a man step in this gristmill, saw many a man make some money and win a woman’s eye, but I never saw one that could fight himself enough to get out of the fightin’ once he got the big head and started winning.
I know about the barn fights because my son Phorbas was a barn fighter for a long time. cheap albion gold No one could whip him till ole Sol came along. That was a long time ago. I’m an old man now, but I still come to the fights. I can spot the old hands. The moment a fighter steps up to the scratch line and peels off his shirt and I see his scars and the way he carries himself, I can tell how tired, how drunk, and how scared he is. Most new fighters are rattled, unsettled by the blood and ruthlessness of it all. There’s a new fighter tonight, a big white boy, and I can tell he ain’t scared at all. When the boy’s face turned, I saw how his eyes were the same as a wild-eyed dog that you knew was bout to bite you. He’s one of the mean ones who are always fightin’ with something, even if it’s just himself. He weren’t drinkin’ like the others, just leaning against the post, arms crossed, with almost a bored look on his face. Just like Phorbas used to do. I reached in my overalls pocket for a wad of bills, thumbed through them, and decided to bet on him tonight. Directly, he looked me right in the eye, half-smiled, and nodded his head. Yes, sir, he and I knew this would be his night. Mr. Rainwater sponsors the barn fights now, just like Mr.
Colbert used to do when Phorbas was on this earth. I saw him across the room collecting money, and I walked over to him. “How you doin’, Jacob?” he said. “I’s fine Mr. Rainwater, I’s fine.” “You bettin’ tonight?” he asked. “Yessuh, I’m goin’ to bet on that white boy yonder. Who is he?” I handed him fifty dollars. “Some boy from West Texas. And he’s an arrogant son of a bitch. You’re the only one bettin’ on him so far. If you win, you’ll win big.” “He reminds me of Phorbas years ago.” “That’s what I just said.” I looked at him. “Phorbas weren’t always that way, Mr. Rainwater. I made him that way, getting him started in these barn fights.” “Phorbas was a man who made his own choices, Jacob. We got to let them grow up on their own, even if they do make a mess of it. He was a good fighter—none better, till ole Sol rose up. He’s in the pen now.” “Who’s in the pen?” “Ole Sol. The law sent him down to Huntsville after he killed a man in a barn fight in Athens, Texas.” “Don’t bother me none that he’s in the pen. He should have gone to the pen for what he done to Phorbas.” I opened my pocketknife and cut a sliver from the Bull of the Woods tobacco plug and slipped it into my mouth. “That was a most unfortunate night, Jacob,” Mr. Rainwater said.
“Yeah, Phorbas was a good fighter, till all his winning went to his head. He messed up when he started drinkin’ and livin’ hard like all these others here. Started thinkin’ no one could beat him. But there’s always someone who can whip you. Always is.” “Yes, suh. Always is.” Phorbas believed anybody could be whipped—anybody but him, but I should’ve told Phorbas that he was wrong, that there ain’t no mortal man who can’t be whipped somehow. I guess deep down, I didn’t want to believe no one could whip him, and he was making so much money that I sure didn’t want to discourage him none. That was over twenty years ago, when Phorbas had his first fight, but I remembered it well.
* * *
PHORBAS and me were plowing a new acre of land I’d won from my bets the last winter. One morning after our breakfast of leftover fried cornmeal mush and sorghum syrup, we walked down to the field. I put Phorbas to plowing while I snaked logs out of the field with our other mule. Phorbas righted the plow and got right to work. He weren’t no lazy boy. “Come on, jenny,” he said. He snapped the reins and the mule moved forward, and the iron blade he had filed the night before bit into the black bottomland dirt. Directly, the plowshare hung up on a stump root. “Hold, jenny,” Phorbas said. He lifted the plow handle, and I could see the blade was bent nearly straight back. After he laid the plow on its side, he pounded the blade with his grapefruit-sized fist until the metal bent back to its original shape. He righted the plow, jackhammered the point into the ground, and said, “Go on, mule,” and then went right back to work. “Lord, have mercy,” I said. “Phorbas!” Phorbas reined the mule to a stop and turned toward me. “Yessir?” “Stop working and get you a drank.” He walked over, and I handed him a dipper of water. I studied him a minute, picturing that big fist of his connecting to someone’s head and making us a passel of money. Phorbas was a big boy—nearly six-foot tall, with muscles like I never had. Asics Corrido damskie He could lift a 480 pound cotton bale by himself and pitch hay bales for ten hours on the hottest of days. I let him take a good drink, and then I said, “I’m mite proud of you, Phorbas, graduatin’ from high school and all. You learn anything from all those fights you’s always getting in at school?” “I learnt it’s best to not get hit yourself.” “You never lost a fight, did you?” “Not even close, daddy. Most of them I only had to hit once and they went down. Ain’t nobody round here to fight no more.” “A man can always find someone to fight. new balance 1400 invincible What if I was to enter you in a little boxin’ match so we could make a little money? Let you use up some of that extra nervous energy you got.” “I don’t know. Jordan Hydro 5 How much money you talking about?” “How much you making workin’ for me?” “I ain’t makin nothin’ workin’ for you.” “Be a whole lot more than that.” Phorbas grinned. “Shore. Making some money would be good for a change.” “You finish up the field. I got some business in town,” I said. “You get cleaned up a little. We might go back later.” “Yessir,” Phorbas said. “I ain’t been to town in a long time. Chandler Jones And you ain’t never took me in on a Saturday night.” Phorbas wiped his bare chest with the rag he had looped on the plow-pole. “Well, after tonight, you’ll know where I been going.” I took my mule to the barn, and walked down what we call Peanut Trail toward Kemp. When I reached Mr. Colbert’s store, I stepped inside and pulled an orange pop out of the icebox. new balance 577 napes sale I laid down a quarter for the pop. “Mr. Colbert, I want to talk to you about the fight tonight.” “Sure. You wanting to bet?” “Yessir, I got me a little money I can put down. I want to bet on a new fighter.” “Who’s that, Jacob? Who? Big John from Stillwater is the only new fighter I heared of.” “No, suh. I want to enter my boy Phorbas into this here contest. You reckon he can make some money at one of these fights?” “If he wins, he can walk out with a pocketful. But pshaw, Jacob. Phorbas, big and strong as he is, ain’t no barn-fighter. He ain’t ever been in a fight like this before. Barn fightin’s not at all like a schoolyard fight. Odds won’t be in his favor.” “Phorbas ain’t a schoolboy no more. I learnt that today. He’s ready.” I laid down fifty dollars. “I want to bet this on him. Phorbas is gonna win tonight.” I pushed the stack of bills toward Colbert. Colbert picked up the money, then shook his head. “You ain’t got enough money to be throwing it away like this, Jacob.” “I earned every cent of this money, and it’s mine to throw away if I’m a mind to.” “Alright. But I think this is about a hair-brained scheme as you ever come up with. And Phorbas is the one who’ll hurt over it.” “We’ll see you tonight,” I said. nike air huarache italia Phorbas and I ate a supper of cornbread, turnip greens, and purple-hull peas, then walked down the highway together. We had walked about a mile when I said, “Folks say there’s a black boy from Stillwater who calls hisself Big John. He be comin’ to the barn fights and bragging he cain’t be beaten. This afternoon I bet some money that you could whip him. This here’s a chance for you to make some good money. New Balance 577 damskie Those hands of yours are a gift from the Lord. You think you can handle this boy?” “I ain’t found no man yet I couldn’t whip.” We cut up the dirt road off the Kemp Highway that led up to Hebert’s farm. We walked behind his house to the barn where the fighters and the gamblers had gathered. Mr. Colbert was there, and he held a clipboard on which he had the fighters matched. When he saw us, he said, “Phorbas. You and Big John are the two newest fighters. You go first. Let’s see what you got, boy.” While the men in the barn were cheering and placing last minute bets, Big John slowly circled Phorbas. Big John’s hands moved continuously in a circular motion in front of him. Phorbas’ elbows were pressed against his body, the fists close, protective of his face. At first, Phorbas circled with him, but then he set himself, dropped his hands, and didn’t move at all,. When Big John moved in, Phorbas’ front hand snapped out and that big fist of his flattened that Stillwater boy. The crowd got real quiet, looking at Big John lying there on the floor, like they couldn’t hardly believe the fight was already over. Mr. Colbert nudged big John with his boot, then held up Phorbas’ arm. “Here’s the winner. Pay up gentlemen.” He pointed at me. “Give this boy’s money to his daddy there. Let’s get Big John out of here.” “What’s they going to do with Big John?” Phorbas asked. “They’ll put him out along the road somewhere,” I said. “What if’n he needs a doctor?” Phorbas said. “He can get to one tomorrow, I reckon. Ain’t our concern, Phorbas. That’s the way it is in the barn fights.” “What if’n a man was to die?” “Then they’d leave him in front of a funeral home. They got undertakers at the fights now and then. They be glad to get the business.” “A hurt or dead man shouldn’t be done like that, just throwed out like he weren’t no good.” “Ain’t no good way for a man to die, Phorbas,” I said. “But don’t you worry about it none. There ain’t no one in the county that can whip you.” Then I’ll be durned if Mr. Colbert didn’t do something strange. He pulled me aside and said, “ Tell Phorbas not to knockout a man so quick. Drag it out next time, play the crowd. Know who’s betting on him. He’ll make more money. Some of the men like to watch a spell before they bet.” Phorbas didn’t pal around with many, but he did have one white friend that he favored. Called himself Brandon. He was a strange sort of bird with wild hair like that Mr. Don King I saw once on Mr. Colbert’s television. Neither Brandon nor Phorbas had a regular job. Phorbas said there weren’t no need to wear himself out with shift-work at the Pillsbury plant when he could make enough money in one night of fighting to buy all the whiskey and women he wanted for a month. buy albion gold I wanted to make life easier for Phorbas when I got him into this fightin’, but looking back, I don’t think he was suited for it. Phorbas turned mean and kept getting into scraps with people in town who didn’t know about his fighting abilities. That temper and mouth of his got him put in the Bryan County caboose a few times and he was fined pretty heavy. Eventually, Phorbas got so wild I could hardly recognize my own boy. He got a notion to look like someone he called Jimmy Hendrix, so he let his hair bush out like Brandon’s. He said that once he retired from fighting, he wanted to learn to play guitar soon as he found someone who would teach him. Brandon helped Phorbas get ready for the fights by giving him water and wrapping his hands. Phorbas was mighty particular about his hands, so he never would fight bare-knuckled. Brandon would wrap each of Phorbas’s hands with some strips of soft leather, once around his knuckles, then a diagonal wrap across palm, then he would tape or tie it off. Brandon had told him that was how the ancient Greek fighters did it. Whilst they got ready, they talked about who Phorbas would fight that night. The last time I saw my boy fight, the night he fought ole Sol, I was sitting behind him and I heard them talking. “I ain’t looked at the roster. Who am I fighting tonight?” Phorbas asked Brandon. Brandon tore off a piece of tape with his teeth and wrapped it around the leather on Phorbas’s wrist. buy albion silver “You got one white boy,” Brandon said. “He looks burned out and I don’t think he will give you any trouble. He’s got too big a belly to be a boxer. albion gold And his shins are too thick, so he won’t be able to move round much. I think he’ll go down quick. The other one’s name is Sol. bns gold He’s a black boy who’s been winning fights over in Athens and Bonham. I’d shore watch him close. He’s near as big as you, Phorbas. That’s him over yonder.” Phorbas eyed the black man across the room. Sol had a woman in his lap and a bottle of beer in his hand. He locked eyes with Phorbas and hooted, “That’s it! Give me some of that padding. I mean to retire you out good. Yes sir, this is probably your last barn fight. They’ll find you in your car on the highway in the morning.” “Aw, Sol, I think he’s kinda cute,” the girl said. “You hear that, meathead?” Sol said. “My no-good sister thinks you’re cute. But my folks used to drop her on her head now and then, so I wouldn’t pay Diane here no mind.” “That high yellar is an arrogant son of a bitch, ain’t he, Phorbas?” Brandon said. “Why don’t you just fight bare knuckle tonight? Ain’t no reason to worry bout padding your blows on this man.” Phorbas pounded each fist twice into the palm of the opposite hand. “I ain’t worried bout protecting his face. Just don’t want to break my hand. If I break my hand, I can’t fight no more and can’t make no money.” Phorbas coughed. “You wheezing again?” Brandon said. “You better lay off those Kools.” “A few cigarettes ain’t gonna kill me. A man’s gotta have a few vices. I ain’t lost a fight yet, have I?” “No, and I don’t reckon you oughta start tonight neither. But I know you’re hungover, so you ain’t gonna be at a hundred percent tonight, and this boy from Athens might be trouble. I was listenin’ to some of the farmers. They’s thinkin’ your luck’s going to run out.” “Aint no luck to winning a fight,” Phorbas said as he stood and moved up to the scratch line. He and Sol eyed each other for a spell. Neither got in a real hurry, just circling each other, tapping out in the air, blowing once in a while like a deer that jumped out of a thicket. Ole Sol sure knew how to box, almost like he had been the one to invent the sport. A natural—fast, strong, and vicious—just like Phorbas was. He knew things that Phorbas didn’t. I lost a bunch of money that night. After the fight, two of Mr. buy albion gold Hebert’s friends helped me load Phorbas into my old Chrysler, and I drove him to Mr. Smith’s funeral home up in Achille. Mr. Colbert offered to tote him up there for me, but since I was his daddy, I thought it was right for me to do it. nike air max 95 donna Yes, sir, that was a long time ago, but I ain’t forgot that night yet. Much as I like coming to these barn fights, ever time I see a strong man go down, I think of my boy, and how Phorbas crumbled when Ole Sol laid into him. I saw him going down in my head again just as this new white boy flattened his third opponent for the night. The noise of the crowd softened inside my head, and it was no longer night. Maglia Damian Lillard For a moment it was like I looked right into the sun. Nike Pas Cher Then I could see the fields and the blue sky, and I was chasing a little Phorbas round the tree while his grandfather and the other field hands were picking strawberries. Then I saw an older Phorbas pitch one hay bale after another up on a flatbed truck. I was mighty proud of Phorbas. Before Phorbas went out on his own and before he started drinking so hard, he used to say that he couldn’t have had a better daddy. I ain’t made up my mind about that yet. cheap albion silver Good Lord! That West Texas boy’s done knocked down another one . . cheap albion gold . I reckon I’ll go home with some money tonight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Feel free to forward this Ezine to your friends.
“Welcome Home, Our Son”: A Song for Veterans on Memorial Day
About two years ago, I was driving to Texarcana to do school programs on America’s Civil War (more correctly–The War Between the States), and I passed a driveway on Highway 71 that had a big sign that read: WELCOME HOME OUR SON. Asics Kinsei 4 damskie sac fjällräven kånken cheap albion gold The driveway was decorated with flags, yellow ribbons and balloons. goedkoop nike air max 2017 cheap albion silver buy albion gold I couldn’t get that image of a family welcoming home the returning son/soldier, so soon the image became a song. Asics Whizłer damskie asics gel lyte 5 mujer albion silver I’ve posted the lyrics of the song below and a link you can go to to hear the song or download it. Los Angeles Clippers Nike Air Jordan 5 Womens
albion gold I salute all our veterans who have given so much to our country. Nike Air Max 2016 Dames Zwart nike free run 2.0 homme cheap albion silver You can listen to and download the song here: “Welcome Home, My Son”: A patriotic song by Rickey Pittman, Bard of the South VERSE ONE: My tour in Iraq was over, And at last I was going home, The sun was setting to my left, As I drove on alone Outside of Shreveport, On highway 71 A sign stood by the driveway, Saying, Welcome home our son. Mujer Air Jordan 3 Nike Air Max 2016 Dames Wit buy albion silver VERSE TWO: Balloons and American flags, Danced in the Southern air, Yellow ribbons were tied to trees And to the mailbox there. Women Air Max
nike air max 1 essential mujer buy albion gold My dad met me at the door Grinning big as you please, My mother started crying The moment she saw me, VERSE THREE: After supper we took pictures, And talked till it was late, But we didn’t talk about the war, Or mistakes we all had made I lay down on an old iron bed, That I’d slept in as a child In days when life was simpler And I roamed free and wild VERSE FOUR: I heard a lonely whippoorwill Coyotes and Bob Whites But no rockets or rifle fire, Troubled me this night. LUNARGLIDE 8 nike air max Flyknitdamskie cheap albion gold CHORUS: Welcome home our soldier, Your tour of duty’s done You’ve been gone 400 days, Welcome home our son.
News for South Texas Sons of Confederate Veterans!
Sons of Confederate Veterans
Alamo City Guards Camp #1325
San Antonio, Maglie Chicago Bulls Canotte Orlando Magic Soldes Asics 2017 buy albion gold Texas
Invitation
The Sons of the Confederate Veterans, billig nike air norge nike air max femme pas cher Maglia Shaquille O’Neal cheap albion silver Alamo City Guards #1325
Invites you to our meeting with a program on The Confederate Soldier and induction of new members from the Beeville area to the Alamo City Guards Camp #1325. Nike Air Max 2016 Heren groen Scarpe Running Nike Uomo
Under Armour Curry 3.0 albion gold The meeting will be held at Norma’s Real Pit Bar -B- Que located at 2301 West Corpus Christi St. NIKE AIR MAX LD-ZERO Maglia Larry Bird asics gel kinsei 4 hombre albion silver in Beeville Texas. Nike Air Max Flyknit Dames NIKE KOBE 11
nike air max 2017 heren groen buy albion silver At 12:00 Noon On March 29 in the year of Our Lord 2014.
This meeting is open to the public and is approximately one hour. asics gel lyte 3 mujer NIKE FREE 5.0 asics gel lyte 3 pas cher cheap albion gold For more information contact Mr.
Midnight in Mexico by Alfredo Corchado: A Short Review
As I continue my reading on Northern Mexico and the Rio Grande Valley I find myself continually surprised. Femmes Air Jordan 7
Just when I thought that journalists in Mexico and the U.S. nike air max 2017 femme blanche nike air max pas cher were either living in silence (self-imposed or because of the danger of publication) or naivety, I find a journalist who has poured his life into Mexico and has shared his experiences, thoughts, and insights into the social and economic disaster facing Mexico. nike femme 2017 Midnight in Mexico: A Reporter’s Journey Through A Country’s Descent Into Darkness by Alfredo Corchado, is a bold account, that once again, like other books I’ve reviewed, is not for the timid or one for those who take every word of our politicians and media commentary on Mexico as truth. Richard Sherman Seattle Seahawks Jersey There is so much we don’t know, so much perhaps we don’t want to know, but I believe that one day or another, one way or another, we will have to face the truth of how, at least up to this point, we have lost the war on drugs. Kole Calhoun Baseball Jersey And most unsettling to me, he touched on how the cartels, the violence, and all the other attending crimes and criminals of that dark world, are spilling over into the United States. NIKE ROSHE TWO As he says, at times when he traveled, it was hard to tell “where Mexico ended and the America began” (247).
Corchado was a reporter for the Dallas Morning News, The El Paso Herald-Post, and the Wall Street Journal from 1986-2012. Nevada Wolf Pack Jerseys
This book is based on his personal experience and reporting. Nike Air Max Mujer Taylor Martinez – Nebraska Cornhuskers Corchado’s writing style is superb–not as overwhelming to me as Bowden’s books were (Murder City), but he uses very strong and clear language, the language of a reporter who not only sees and records, but feels. Nike Air Max 2017 Heren grijs As I read, I felt his confusion, his fear, saw clearly his struggles and the danger he was in, the influence of family and friends in his life, and I was amazed that he held on so long as an uncompromising reporter and came out alive. Women Air Jordan 13 He succinctly delineates the history of the drug cartels, the major players, the efforts and failures of our own government in the struggle to curtail the flow of drugs into America. This book is, as the cover insert says, “the story of one man’s quest to report the truth of his country.”
I think the book is relevant and a good read. Adidas Superstar Dames In some ways, it was also horrifying. EQUIPMENT 10 M
sac a dos fjallraven kanken france en ligne There are some good excerpts here:
You can order the book here:
Corchado, Alfredo. new balance 574 classic italian Midnight in Mexico: A Reporter’s Journey Through A Country’s Descent Into Darkness.
Opening Song of HBO’s True Detectives: Chords and Lyrics
Here are the chords and lyrics for the haunting song, Adrian Gonzalez Jersey Nike Air Max 2016 Norge Nettbutikk
albion silver “Far From Any Road” by the Handsome Family. Air Jordan 14 Nike Air Max 90 Uomo
adidas zx flux femme noir et or prix cheap albion gold Am E7 From the dusty May sun Dm Am Her looming shadow grows Am E7 Dm Am Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote C She twines her spines up slowly G Towards the boiling sun Dm And when I touched her skin F Am My fingers ran with blood In the hushing dusk under a swollen silver moon I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom And strange hands halted me,
Interview with Robert Ables with World Relief Ministries
Robert Ables & his wife, Cathy.
- When was your trip taken? The trip was February 1-8, 2014
- Where was your destination? Nairobi, Kenya. We traveled to Atlanta from Monroe on Delta. Atlanta to Amsterdam on Delta. Then to Nairobi on KLM. Same route on the way back.
- What was the purpose of your trip? We met with an organization named 410 Bridge that drills water wells, upgrades schools and teaches rural communities to be self sustaining. cheap albion gold We wanted to learn from them how to do this and maybe partner with them and some contacts we have in Kenya. albion silver We talked to some Kenyans about Celebrate Recovery also. buy albion gold (You can read about Celebrate Recovery here:)
- How long have you been planning this? How did the idea come up? The plans began last year. cheap albion silver This group brought a children’s choir from Uganda and performed at WFR Church. buy albion silver We began talking and planning then. They told us their philosophy about helping and it was one we were interested in.
- Who went with you? What was his/her duty? Josh Hudnall went with me from West Monroe. We met 4 others from other places. Josh had been to Kenya the year before to introduce Celebrate Recovery because they asked him to do so. buy albion gold He was following up. It is very successful in Kenya.
- How long did you stay? We stayed one week.
- What did you learn about Africa from this trip? They are a humble and beautiful people. They have the same needs and desires as we all do. We were on the Equator but it was cool at night. The elevation was around 5,000 feet. albion gold Saw a lot of wild life that I have never seen before. We were in the area where the movie Out of Africa was filmed.
- Is there a website or PowerPoint about the trip? No website or PowerPoint. Just a few pictures on Facebook.
- Is this your first trip overseas? I have also been to Haiti, Dominican Republic, Ukraine, Nicaragua, Ecuador and Mexico. I leave for Liberia in 3 weeks. Going to Guyana in July.
- Any special observations about your trip? As in most cultures the women do much of the hard things like cooking, fetching water and just living is harsh. One of the American ladies asked our guide, “Andrew, what do the men do”? Joking, he said, “Planning and catching up on breaking news.” I also observed the truth of a quote I heard before: “People don’t care what you know until that know that you care.” Also “ Preach the Gospel always.
Veterans of the War Between the States Buried in Kemp, Oklahoma Cemetery
Growing up, new balance 993 I spent much of my summers in the Red River Valley of North Texas and South Oklahoma. air max soldes My mother was born in a town called Karma, nike air max pas cher Oklahoma–a town that was washed away by one of those nasty floods the Red River used to baptize Valley residents and rearrange things. New Balance 009 hombre My grandparents lived in Ivanhoe,
Texas (outside of Bonham). New Balance 997.5 mujer I lived in a little town called Kemp Oklahoma for two years. My mother lives there now. Scarpe Hogan Last week I visited the grave of my father in the town cemetery and came upon the graves of these Civil War soldiers. chaussures de foot adidas I decided to post them. basket nike ete If the names mean anything to you, Air Max 90 Dames I wish you’d send me an email with the details of these soldiers or their families.(rickeyp@bayou.com) Title the email Civil War graves so I’ll know it’s not spam.
My Favorite Memorial Day Quotation & Two Flags We should Remember on this Day
“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight; nothing he cares about more than his own personal safety; is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.”–John Stuart Mill In the school and library and festival presentations I do on Texas history, I talk a great deal about war–who fought them, why they were fought, the price of those wars and how those wars shaped our state and nation. In these presentations, I almost always use two flags to illustrate the passion and price of liberty. cheap albion silver Below are two photos from my presentations in the Sam Houston Museum in Huntsville during the Sam Houston Folk Festival. buy albion gold The first is the blue flag of the New Orleans Grays, a uniformed unit enlisted and equipped in October of 1835 in New Orleans. There’s a few good sites you can search for to learn about them. As far as I know, I’m the only Texas storyteller to use this flag in his program. The original was taken by Santa Anna and sent to Mexico after the fall of the Alamo, where it still resides, hidden from all eyes–especially the eyes of Texans, who crave the return of the flag. albion gold The flag was presented to the unit by ladies of Texas once the unit crossed the Texas line. Sadly, almost all of the New Orleans Volunteers perished at the Alamo or Goliad. 
The second flag I like to use is the flag of the Republic of the Rio Grande. As far as I know, I’m the only storyteller in Texas to use this flag. In 1840, the three northern states of Mexico-Coahuila, Tamaulipas, and Nuevo Leon, which at that time included large parts of South Texas–seceded from Mexico to form this republic. cheap albion gold Its capital was Laredo, and there is a museum devoted to the Republic to this day. They resented the tyrannical rule of the Mexican Centralists and wanted a Federalist Government, like the new Texas and like the United states. cheap albion gold Every time I relate the story of this army with its early successes and eventual defeat 10 months later, I realize there are more stories that need to be told and more songs written to honor these brave men that comprised its army–800 Mexican citizens, 140 Anglos, and 80 Native Americans. buy albion gold One of the Anglos who perished was William McGuill, an Irishman who came to Texas with James Powers the Empresario and who fought with Houston at San Jacinto. buy albion silver I also strive to honor the men who led them–Canales, broken and forced into the army he surrounded to as an officer; Antonio Zapata, the cavalry commander, namesake of Zapata County and its county seat, was executed and beheaded; and even men who supported the movement financially and verbally, such as Juan Seguin–these all paid a terrible price. 
These are the flags I remember on Memorial Day. albion silver May the heroes of these wars rest in peace, and may they forever remain in our memory.
A Southern Missive: Special St. Patrick’s Day Issue
Bardofthesouth.com Date: March 2014
St. Patrick’s Day Issue!
A Southern Missive: Containing special news, interviews, reviews, and articles, written by Rickey E. Pittman—award-winning author, storyteller, college writing instructor, folksinger, and songwriter. In this issue are two Irish stories by the Bard of the South.
————————————————————- About the Bard of the South: Rickey E. Pittman Read his complete bio here: ============================================================= The Latest news from http://www.bardofthesouth.com/ ============================================================= The Bard of the South has been booked for the main stage at the 2014 World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Hot Springs, Arkansas, Monday, March 17. Jim Belushi will be the celebrity Grand Marshal for this event. Read more about the event here: You can listen to some of the Bard’s Scottish and Irish music samples here: Other Bookings in March for the Bard of the South: Gardner, Arkansas STEM Magnet School, Hot Springs Friday, March 14, 2014.
Hot Springs Farmer’s Market, Saturday March 15 Our Lady of Fatima Catholic School Tuesday, March 18, Benton Arkansas Cave City, AR Middle School Wednesday March 19 Mount Pleasant Elementary, AR Thursday March 20 McAllen TX ISD March 24-27 Sunrise Rotary, Brownsville TX Friday, March 28. New Original Songs by the Bard of the South “Miss Rio Grande Valley”- So many beauties have come from the Rio Grande Valley. Here’s a song about a man who falls for a beauty queen! (Model for single release cover is Tyler Zimmerman, Miss South Texas) Preview and spend the 99 cents to order the song here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rickeypittmanbardoftheso3 “The 13th Floor” – If you’re superstitious or if you’ve heard about the wild nightlife of Dallas, you are sure to like this song! (Model for single release cover is Amanda Brady) Preview and spend the 99 cents to order the song here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rickeypittmanbardoftheso4 These songs (along with other originals) will be on the Bard’s 4th CD, which should be available by Summer 2014. The CD’s theme is songs of Texas and the Rio Grande Valley. ==================================================== The Bard’s calendar is filling up for the spring! Book the Bard of the South for your own school, library, organization, festival, church, banquet or other event. His positive, energetic presentation of stories and songs are sure to delight and edify those in attendance. His rates are reasonable and he pays his own travel and lodging expenses. Contact information: Rickey Pittman Cell 318-547-2906 Email: rickeyp@bayou.com ————————————————————- ( 5.) This Week’s Article ============================================================= The Story of St. Patrick
On March 17, the world will celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Of course, some of the many celebrations in the nation will begin earlier and maybe some will go later than that date. I often do my Scots-Irish program in schools, especially in March. Of course, even if it’s not the holiday, I tell the story of St. Patrick. Patrick, the son of a devoted Catholic family, is known as the patron saint of Ireland When Patrick was a teenager, Irish raiders took him as a slave, but after 6 years he escaped and made his way back to the British Isles. He became a priest and received a calling from heaven to return to Ireland. Patrick did what the Vikings and Romans could not do—he conquered Ireland! The best account of what he did I found in a great book, How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. If you are interested in Celtic or saint history, you need to read that book! ————————————————————- Like Bard of the South on Facebook! Click here: Rickey E. Pittman ==================================================== A Short Story by Rickey E. Pittman
Green Irish Eyes
“It’s a version of history you won’t find in the books, Neil, ” Seamus said. “The arm of Sinn Fein is long and bloody. Now, Frankie there, he would know. He’s from Belfast. Was a runner for the People’s Army. Hey, Frankie!” Frankie looked up from his mopping. “When you get a minute, come here and meet my friend Neil. A good Irish boy himself, he is.” “Be right with you, Seamus.” Frankie took a drag of the cigarette hanging from his mouth, pulled up the sleeve of his long-sleeve T-shirt above his elbow. A dragon was tattooed on his arm and elbow. As he lifted the cigarette to his mouth, his muscles flexed and the dragon seemed to come to life and roar and the Irish tri-color flag flapped in the dragon’s mouth. I was not surprised Seamus had a worker who had been with the IRA. Seamus’ pub was an Irish fist in the face of Jackson’s yuppies and bluebloods. On the wall were framed photographs of Michael Collins, Stephen Plunkett, Brendan Behan; there were posters and other ephemera—a tile from the roof of Michael Collin’s house, a Sniper at Work sign taken from a C’maglen street corner, a library marker written in Gaelic. I held out my hand when Frankie came to our table. “Seamus said you were in the IRA. What did you do?” Frankie looked at Seamus a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “They called me a go-to guy. Sent me to make small weapons drops and messages. What’s it to you?” The bluntness of tough Irish boys always catches me by surprise, and I sat there thinking of how to answer. “Don’t get pissy, Frankie. He’s as Irish as we are,” Seamus said. “Neil is a songwriter with a true gift for words.” Frankie nodded. “Well, he and I will have a good talk sometime if he’ll buy the drinks. Have you seen Morgan?” “She’ll be here later tonight.” “When you see her, tell her I’ll be out with Tommy tonight. We’re going to check out a new club in Mound.” “You want me to tell my daughter that her fiancée is going to a strip club?” “Naw. Just tell her I’m going out. We’ll talk later, Neil.” “Do you know my daughter, Morgan, Neil?” I nodded. “She’s a lucky girl to meet a guy like Frankie here. How about you? Do you have a sweetheart?” “There’s a girl . . . let’s just say the first time I saw her she took my breath away.” “Does she feel the same?” Seamus asked. “I don’t know for sure. I’d like to think so.” Frankie said, “I better get back to work, Seamus.” “Aye.” Seamus reached out and squeezed Frankie’s arms. “Would you look at those muscles, Neil. He’s got the arms of an Olympic weightlifter. Best bouncer I ever had.” That’s when I really squirmed.
* * *
As the weather was mild, I left the bar for a table on the covered patio. Morgan strolled into the club about eight. A natural beauty, she carried her slender frame with an air of ease and confidence. Her long red hair was pulled back under a ball cap, and she wore a maroon sweatshirt and jeans. As I hoped, she sat down at my table. “How about a beer, Neil?” she said. “Sure.” I signaled Mary, the waitress, as she bustled by our table. “We’ll each have a pint and a glass.” The Conleys had launched into another song, and the singer’s voice sounded very Irish, though as far as I knew, he had never been to Ireland. He pounded his bodhran with a tempo that matched my heart. Mary returned with our drinks and we lifted our shot glasses. “To Ireland,” I said. “And to a beautiful lady.” “To Ireland, and a handsome man,” she replied. “And to other things.” We drained the shots and we sipped our beers. A little bit of froth from the stout clung to her lips, and she licked it off. Nike air max pas cher It was difficult to not stare and lose myself in those green eyes. “What are you looking at?” she asked. “Your eyes.” I quoted a few lines of a poem by Frances Collins: “So stir the fire and pour the wine, And let those sea-green eyes divine, Pour their love-madness into mine.” “I like that poem. I’ll take your reciting it as a compliment. Eyes are not usually what a guy notices.” “Shakespeare called eyes the windows of the heart, and others have said that beauty enters the soul through the eyes. Okay, sorry. I’m rattling. You’re just so cute you make me stupid.” She laughed. “How do you like my cap?” she asked. “I like it fine.” “What does it say?” “It says, Kiss Me, I’m Irish.” “Oh,” she said. “Okay.” She leaned over and kissed me. One of her girlfriends hooted. Morgan gave her the finger. I heard Seamus call out, “Morgan!” “Be right there,” she said. “Well, I’ve got to help my father tonight. He’s a little short on help. Thanks for the drink. I’ll send Mary out with another Guinness—on me.” When Morgan left, I moved to another table so I could see inside the bar. She had slung a towel on her shoulder and stuck a bottle opener in her back jeans pocket and as the crowd was picking up, she scurried about from table to table, picking up dishes, wiping off tables, and taking orders. I joined the line at the men’s room. As she walked from the bar into the kitchen, she passed me, touched my middle-aged waist with her hand and said, “Wish we could talk more, but it’s really busy. I’ll have to catch you later. How about tomorrow night?” “I’ll be here.” I walked out to the car whispering, “Stupid . .
. moron . . . what are you doing?” The next night, I was back at my table. Seamus nodded when he saw me, but didn’t stop to bullshit like he usually did. I thought he was just busy till I saw him sitting at the bar gabbing with a few of the customers at the bar. When I saw Morgan, I forgot about Seamus, about Frankie, about anything but her. She stopped at the edge of the patio entrance and smiled when she saw me. She was a striking tableau in her high heels, black pants, and a black tank-type shirt and jacket. Silver earrings dangled from her ears and her hair was folded and clamped. I waved, like a completely smitten and undone simpleton, and when she made it to my table, I stood and pulled back a chair so she could sit. We drank more than we should have. She reached for my hand and squeezed it. I melted, and she knew it. “Let’s go for a drive,” she said. She stood and led me by the hand outside. We took my car and drove to the post office where she mailed some letters. At least one was addressed to someone in Maze Prison in Northern Ireland. From there we went to the Wildlife Refuge and looked at the moon and shooting stars. I followed the trail of one heavenly monster as it sliced through the blackness and found myself looking into her eyes. “We really shouldn’t do this,” she said. “I know, but I don’t think I can stop myself.” “I know.” We kissed, and then I said, “You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to take you to Ireland someday. I want to be away from Jackson, in a world all our own. I want to kiss you whenever I want, to walk down the street holding your hand. I want to belong to you and I want you to belong to me. She sighed. “I’d like that too.” “I found a writer, a Madame Delphine Gay de Girardin, who said, ‘A woman whom we truly love is a religion.’ I think she was right. And I think you’re my religion.” “Enough daydreaming and pretty words, English professor. We know what we’re here for.” The next day, Morgan called me. “We’ve got to talk, Neil.” “Okay, I—” “No, listen. Nike Cortez Dames I’m not up to you breaking my heart. I like you—a lot—but I’m not going to see you anymore if it’s not going to go anywhere.” “I don’t know about you, Morgan, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m sure I’m in love with you.” “You say that now, but you really don’t know. Let’s give each other a week’s space. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll know for sure. It will hurt me, and you might hurt some too, but if we handle it now, it’ll be manageable. We would have real problems anyway.” “You mean with Frankie?” “Yes, and with my father too. He wouldn’t handle it well. You’d be losing a friend.” “You’d be worth any price.” “We’ll see. Goodbye, Neil. One week.” I avoided Seamus and the pub all the next week. Sat around the house and drank mostly. The week finally passed, but when the deadline to call her came, I sat and looked at the phone, unplugged it, and went to bed. The next night I drank half a fifth of Bushmill’s while I looked at the phone, passed out, and barely made it to the university in time to teach my 8:00 class. I felt as paralyzed as a Prufrock. The next night, I drank the other half of the Bushmills. In spite of my self-medication, I didn’t sleep well that night, and in a hypnagogic state I realized that I couldn’t let her go. The devil take Frankie and Seamus. Marcus Mariota Titans Jerseys If Seamus were a true friend, I figured he’d get over it and he’d help Frankie get over it too. Frankie had more important things to do than to fool with me anyway—like going to strip clubs and killing British soldiers and such. I called Morgan every hour the next day, but there was no answer. I called the bar and asked Mary if she had seen Morgan. “No,” she said. “She and Frankie left for New Orleans. I think they’re going to catch a plane to Ireland.” I opened another bottle of Bushmills, filled a glass, and sat down to think. Only two days late. I flipped through the cable stations looking for a movie to take my mind off of Morgan. It must have been Irish Day or something. The Devil’s Own, In the Name of the Father, Patriot Games, The Crying Game—none of them suited my mood at the time. I heard my back door open. Maybe it was the whiskey, but I said it anyway. Canotte Los Angeles Clippers “Morgan?” “No, I’m not Morgan, lad,” a male voice said. The accent was thick with Irish. I started to get up from my chair, but a vice-like hand pushed me down. “Just sit right there, lad.” I looked at him. He was middle-aged, wore a stocking cap, a thick gray sweater covered by an old British field jacket, and camouflage pants. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” “My name is Lorcan, a friend of the family you might say.” “You mean Seamus?” “I do. Hell, you’re brighter than they said you were. Well, Neil, you’ve created quite a problem, and I’ve been sent to fix that.” “Are you with the Ira?” “That I am. Of course, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.” “I don’t care who you are. Get your ass out.” I rose from my chair but his fist hammered my nose and knocked me back down. “Now, don’t irritate me. Look at you, a bloody mess you are.” He tossed me a handkerchief. “Wipe your nose, and take yourself another drink of that good Irish whiskey.” While I chugged down the whiskey, I watched him open his jacket’s side pocket and fish out a roll of duct tape, a pistol, and a Black and Decker drill. When I set down the bottle he tightly bound my feet and arms with the tape. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “You can’t go around breaking a young Irish girl’s heart now, can you, laddie. And you insulted your friend Seamus by sneaking around with her like you did. Did you think that Seamus wouldn’t notice you were seeing his daughter? And Frankie, he’s not one to piss off either.” “Well, tell Seamus I’m sorry. Just have Frankie come over and kick my ass. I’ll make it up to him.” “Sorry, laddie. My orders were clear—kneecap you, both legs, then one bullet to the head.” He taped my mouth shut, held up the drill, and spun the bit. “Now, what is it the doctor says? This is going to sting a little bit.” Actually, it hurt a great deal, but the pain in my heart screamed almost as loud as I did when the drill bit into my knee. I didn’t even think about how bad the pain was. I had always thought my last thoughts would be significant, peaceful—that they would be emotionally charged, summing up my life, finally fitting together all the jagged pieces of the puzzle—that I would find clarity and meaning in the tragedies, the losses, the failures—even failures like this one. New Balance Baratas But my thoughts weren’t about those things at all. All I could think about was Morgan—and I relieved the dreams I had experienced since the first time I had seen her. Adidas buty dziecięce I imagined her kiss, the softness of her hands, of walking with her in Ireland. My last conscious thought was how lost I was in those green eyes. And my conscience whispered some lines from a Longfellow poem: A pretty girl, and in her tender eyes Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see In evening skies. A Short Story by Rickey E. Pittman: “A Gift From Erin”
A GIFT FROM ERIN
WHEN THE TRAIN FROM NEW HAVEN STOPPED AT GREENWICH, FIONA SPOTTED A MAILBOX ON THE TRAIN PLATFORM. She told the conductor she’d be right back and exited the train, briefcase and coffee in hand. She dropped a letter addressed to her sister, Martina, now in Maghaberry Prison in Northern Ireland, and then walked back to the train. After returning to her seat, she laid her briefcase in her lap, and drained the Starbucks café au lait. She searched the blank eyes of the travelers waiting on the train platform. All seemed distant, as if they sought to look through her, beyond her. None appeared to be policemen. She felt suspicious about one man, but when his eyes met hers, he indifferently raised his newspaper. “Wall Street bastard,” she whispered. “Just like the Fleet Street English.” She remembered the suited British detective who had arrested her sister last year in New York’s Grand Central Station, then taken her in handcuffs on the next flight to Belfast. At her trial, Martina was given a life sentence for her supposed role in a bombing. When Fionna heard of her sister’s extradition, she promptly joined the IRA and was given the task of raising money in America for guns and assistance to IRA children whose parents were being brutalized in British jails. At Yale, she had mounted an effective letter writing campaign to encourage the many IRA POW’s, and this past summer had gone to Cuba for special training. The result of that training now lay in her lap—a briefcase full of gelignite, a present for a visiting British diplomat—a gift from Erin. The Englishman was scheduled to deliver a speech outside Grand Central Station at two o’clock. Fionna had been directed to get as close as she could, and at 1:55 p.m., set the briefcase down and walk away. A pre-set digital timer would ensure the death of another enemy of Ireland. She lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. It was only noon. She should reach Manhattan ahead of schedule. Across the isle sat an old man with a long, white beard. Next to him sat a young girl. The little one held an hourglass, holding it up and giggling as she watched the sand flow down. The image brought her grandfather to mind. Fionna had gone to Ireland to visit him one summer at his small farm outside Baliná. One day she helped him in his garden. As he hoed, she followed, scattering seed along the shallow furrow. When they finished planting, her grandfather scooped up a handful of the sandy soil and let it run through his hand. “I am glad you came to see me. I wish Martina could have come.” “She’s busy, Da.” “Yes, I’m sure the Irish Republican Army keeps her very busy. But those she has chosen to work with will bring her and our family nothing but grief. Life is too short to give yourself to a cause one cannot win.” Shaking her head to clear away the daydream, she whispered, “We will win this struggle, grandfather, we ourselves.” At Portchester, a young man boarded and sat next to her. “Hello,” he said. An Irish accent. Christ, she thought, these Irish buggers are everywhere. After she opened a copy of An Phoblacht/Republican News, he said, “An Irish girl, are you?” “Yes.” “Name’s Seamus,” he said. “And you?” “Fionna.” “I come from Ulster. Where is your family?” “Baliná.” He glanced at the newspaper. “Are you with the IRA?” “What’s it to you?” “I don’t care much for them. They knee-capped my brother with a Black and Decker drill when he wouldn’t join.” “I am sorry for your brother, but war always has casualties. Every soldier knows that. Besides, if you want to compare bad treatment, I could tell you of how the British broke my sister’s jaw when they arrested her.” “Sinn Fein is not an army. They’re a bunch of thugs.” “Why don’t you fuck off if you don’t like my politics. Anyone truly Irish is committed to uniting all of Ireland. Only then will Ireland have peace.” “You’re living in a dream-world. The Irish, even Irish-Americans, won’t support the IRA anymore. You try to look like noble freedom fighters, but running drugs and guns and killing innocent people with sniping and bombs make you look like terrorists. Anyway, let’s change the subject. I don’t like arguing with a pretty girl. Where are you going?” She looked out the window. The train still had not pulled out of Portchester. “To Grand Central Station. I’m going to leave a gift with someone. And you?” “I’m going to hear the SallyMacs. They’re an Irish band from Memphis playing at some reception for an English big-wig.” “He’s a British diplomat.” Glancing at her wristwatch, Fionna saw the time had not changed since Greenwich. “Damn it,” she said. Slipping the watch off her arm, she shook it, then banged it against the window. The second hand still would not move. “My watch has stopped. I’ve got a deadline, and I don’t want to be late. What time do you have?” “I forgot my watch this morning, Colleen. Sorry.” “Don’t call me a Colleen. My name’s Fionna.” She leaned toward the old man across from them. “Sir, do you know what time it is?” He shook his head. “But it’s always later than we think.” “Shit,” she said as she slumped back into her seat. “Crazy old man.” Finally the train began moving, and after what seemed an eternity, pulled into Grand Central Station. Seamus left his seat before the train stopped and stood at the door, talking to the conductor. They both turned and looked at Fionna, and Seamus smiled and shouted, “Erin go bragh!” As soon as Fionna stepped out of the train, a Transit Officer stepped in front of her. “Miss, please come with me,” he said. “What’s the problem?” “I’m sure there’s nothing to it, but a passenger complained that you attempted to sell him drugs. We are obligated to check these things out, so please follow me.” He led her to a small room and pointed to a chair. “Have a seat. A female officer will join us in a few minutes.” After several minutes, Fionna said, “Look, I resent this harassment, and I have no intention of being strip-searched. You Americans better wake up and see the rights you’re losing.” “I’m sorry, Miss. Things here have changed greatly since 9-11.” “There’s an appointment I’ve got to keep, and you’re going to cause me to be late. You better have a hell of a good lawyer.” She cursed herself for not bringing her pistol with its silencer. “What time do you have?” “It’s 1:59. What time is your appointment?” Fionna glanced at her briefcase and laughed. “Two o’clock.” “What’s so funny?” the officer asked. “You’ve had anti-terrorist training?” “Yes.” She handed him the briefcase. “So you know what gelignite is. I intended to present this to a British diplomat. It’s a gift from Erin and the Irish Republican Army.” “Shit!” he said. Fionna glanced at her watch. The second hand was now moving. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Feel free to forward this Ezine to your friends.