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511th Airborne Infantry Regiment
Here’s an old photo of my dad in his graduating Airborne class. It was made in 1950 at Camp Campbell, KY. I am trying to find someone who might have a better copy, as mine is damaged. Please let me know if you have a relative who was in the class.
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On Choosing A Cool Last Name
One of the things that my future wife told me when we were engaged was that she wanted her married name to be Swan (actually, лебедь) and that she’d dreamed about it since she was a little girl. At least the cards were stacked in my favor. “Well,” I said. “Then let me tell you a little story about how I almost didn’t get this cool last name.” The surname swan isn’t all that rare and comes in several flavors. One “n” or two. We are of the two “n” variety. You see, my last name was pure happenstance. Or the fulfillment of a little girl’s dreams. My father was…
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Pennsylvania Or Bust
Why local place names can be deceiving Dad and I were driving home on the (local only) interstate. Just before we exited, we saw two people walking on the side of the road. It was freezing at the time, which was unusual for for South Alabama. Secondly, the Interstate ended at that exit. It would take another thirteen years to complete the Interstate through the Mobile River Delta onto Montgomery and beyond. A large green sign at the previous exit stated: “For Local Traffic Only.” In other words, it was a dead-end road. Dad pulled his blue and white 1971 Chevrolet Silverado Pick-Up over, put his half-full cup of coffee…
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Was The Groundhog Paid Off?
It’s been thirteen days since the little guy in Pennsylvania “allegedly” didn’t see his shadow, thus promising an early spring to a waiting public. I have concerns. And I don’t mean to be harsh. After all, this cuddly little critter has been called upon for years to announce either the arrival of an early spring or continued misery for at least six weeks. It is the latter that I now wish to discuss. It’s cold today here in central Arkansas. In the northern part of the Natural State, it’s snowing. Snowing! This should not be happening. The little guy promised an early spring by not seeing his shadow. It ain’t…
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Happy Paternal Unit Day, Papa
Pennsylvania Or Bust
The Race to a Better Matchstick
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The Face
As I move my head backjust a few inchesTowards the open doorI see her face againBefore I continueDown the hallwayInto the awaiting day.And for an instantOne magnificent instantThere is pure joyDancing in her eyesPirouetting along the curvaturesof her tender smileThat powers the morningDrive and strips away the mundaneWork and ordinary tasksSo that when the evening sun returnsPainting the horizonWith hints of lavenderAnd laughterThe closed door opensAnd I find myself againin the overwhelming presenceOf the face of love
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New Roads Home
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The War That Followed
A Short Story A firm Spring breeze swept deceptively across Camp Shelby’s old Vietnam War-era barracks. Within minutes, skies darkened, and a calm quiet blanketed the entire post. Most of the local inhabitants of the Gulf Coast knew the drill. Listen for emergency sirens, stand on the front porch staring at dark clouds in the distance, continue to gaze at the horizon as if you’re welcoming an unlikable distant cousin, and finally go back inside to watch TV like you were doing five minutes earlier. There was usually no point in seeking shelter because, often, no better shelter was available in these rural enclaves of South Mississippi. The weather prognosticators…
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New Roads Home
I like taking new routes home especially roads I’ve never taken before on clear nights Tonight the sky looks like Crystals Diamonds Sparkling beyond the trees And I’m driving home From Kentucky and a sign says, “Golden Bayou” Who are they kidding? it’s just a creepy swamp And I’ve never felt an affinity for creepy swamps at night. But, tonight I’m going home a different way It’s late and I’m tired My eyes refuse to stay open So, I’m listening to every song on my iPhone’s playlist Every single one! Who does that? Large amounts of caffeine, Taylor Smith, and Three Dog Night Or is it Swift? I’m too tired…
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The Face
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52 Week Short Story Challenge
You may have noticed that I have published several short stories. A few months ago, I enrolled in Dean Wesley Smith‘s short story challenge to write one short story per week. At the end of one year, I’ll have 52. I am hoping to do more than that, but 52 is a good goal. I plan to publish some novels after I learn to write a decent short story. Please click, read, and leave a comment. Thanks – Paul
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The Race to a Better Matchstick
A long time ago, I went to Russia. I met, fell in love with, and married my translator. Not long after we got married my Russian bride and I were at home just getting to know each other. For some reason, she really wanted to know the location of military outposts nearby. Crazy, right? One day, she was trying to light a candle with a little book of American-made matches, which she didn’t know how to operate. Really. To be fair, she had never seen a book of paper matches in her life. She grew up in Northern Russia and they just didn’t have paper matches, only superior wood matchsticks.…
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Visa Application
For a long time after the American Embassy in Moscow denied her request for a visa, I thought about getting my fiancé (somehow) to Mexico and then crossing the southern border into Texas — um, legally — illegally — I didn’t care. Only because I didn’t know. Really! Then we could get married and everything would be perfect. I don’t know how I would have gotten her to Mexico. I don’t think I gave it a lot of thought. I had fallen in love with my translator and had asked her to marry me that same year at a place that was close to my heart, a place where I had lived when I was four…
