As you may know, we recently had a holiday. No, I’m not talking about today, which is Presidents’ Day, I’m referring to Valentine’s Day.
 
My wife and I attended a Valentine’s Banquet on Saturday. Not particularly surprising, I know, since we’ve been married for almost thirty-two years. What is surprising to me, is that she still claims me and is willing to attend such events — or even be seen in public  together at all. After being together this long, I’ve regrettably given her plenty of reason to not be so eager to do so.
 
So, there we were at the banquet, and of course, there were the typical games based on couple’s knowledge of each other. As usual, this leads to everyone talking about how long they’ve been together, or how well they know each other — or do not know each other, as the case may be. These games are certainly revealing, and quite often good for a few laughs.  
 
But the whole time, I’m thinking that’s not really a good measuring device for love. Not that my wife and I don’t know each other very well, we do. We can predict with nearly 100% accuracy what the other one is thinking and how we’ll respond to questions or situations. Still, that doesn’t really provide any real indication of the level of love.
 
A better way of measuring love is how well do couples put up with each other’s quirks and annoyances, or objectionable behaviors. Obviously, a game designed around such questions wouldn’t be nearly as fun, might cause a little trouble, or in some cases, lead to a breakup. But that illustrates my point. This would be a more accurate measurement of love. Because love isn’t all roses and hearts. Love is something more. Something deeper. Something meaningful. Love is a commitment. A “no matter what” decision.
 
I’m just glad my wife’s commitment means that she’ll still go out in public with me. Because I can easily see how she might be intent on having me committed! ~
 ​
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 

Should I, Or Shouldn’t I?
 
Thought I had escaped the major effects of Old Man Winter this year. I know other places have experienced their share of the “glories” of the season, but where I live, it’s been one of the mildest winters on record. Unseasonably warm and far less snow than normal. It had me re-thinking my hostility toward my least favorite season. Until this past weekend.
 
We got dumped on!
 
It’s particularly hard to deal with a substantial amount of snowfall when the winter is so close to being over and when there’s been no bad weather thus far. On Saturday, I shoveled out the driveway and walks four times. (That’s about five too many by my count!) Every time I’d finish it was time to start again.
 
As I shoveled, I kept thinking how it was getting a little harder to do every year. Either I’m getting older or the snow is getting heavier. Either way, in a few short years, I’ll be unable to keep up. Especially if we have a bad winter instead of the half way mild one we’re currently living through. But I have a plan.
 
No, the plan does not involve moving south. While the warmer weather may be enticing, moving is not really an option — I like living here. It’s home. And I’m not going to let winter weather drive me out of my home. And even if I did, knowing my luck, winter would just tag along. So that’s definitely out. Besides, a move would be very expensive and the plan I have in mind will cost only a fraction of that.
 
Neither does the plan involve hiring someone to do the shoveling for me. I try not to hire anything done because it’s usually not done right and I end up having to fix it. And that’s kind of annoying. Besides, hiring someone would be very expensive, and the plan I have in mind is far cheaper.
 
I suppose one possibility would be just to do nothing and let the snow pile up. But that would lead to a plethora of other issues that I don’t need to deal with. Besides, being trapped at home all winter might not be good for the bank account, and the plan I have in mind is not that hard on the wallet.
 
So, I’ll just stick to my plan. And I thank you for your patience as I rationalized and justified the expense of purchasing a snow blower! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 

I learned something this past week—about sharing. I thought I knew what sharing was all about but apparently I was wrong.
 
My wife and I were sitting on a patio enjoying a bag of Peanut M&M’s—the “sharing size.” As the bag says, we were SHARING them.
 
After a few minutes outside, we went back in, leaving the bag of M&M’s outside. Soon afterwards, I heard a commotion outside; it sounded like it was right outside the door. I couldn’t determine what the noise was but it definitely was loud enough to warrant an investigation. Since we were several stories off the ground, there was no reason for any such noise.
 
Stepping out the door, I saw nothing amiss.  Figuring I was just hearing things, I went back inside. A little later, when we ventured out onto the patio again, I heard my wife say, “Is that my M&M’s?”
 
“Where?”
 
“Down there by the crow.”
 
I looked down to the yard and sure enough, there was a crow, busy poking his beak into our bag of M&M’s! Now I understood what all the racket had been—a crow making off with our half-full bag of candy.
 
Rather than try to get the bag back, I went to the store and bought another. But this time, we guarded them better. Despite what was printed on the bag we just weren’t really into sharing, not with a bird anyway.
 
So, here’s what I learned: apparently crows like M&M’s. A lot. They like them enough to steal them. Just thought I’d share that with you. ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 
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Hijacked! No, not my plane—although, I did recently have a flight. But no worries, we landed safe and sound.
 
The hijacking to which I refer has nothing to do with airplanes. But it’s something perhaps more critical, my computer!
 
It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had the displeasure of a major computer problem —a virus or anything of that nature. But then, last week my good fortune came to an end.
 
It seemed that no matter what I clicked on, whether online or just an icon or file on my computer, a browser opened, taking me to someplace I did not want to go; a site I did not want to visit. It didn’t happen every time but more than enough. Even once is more than enough!
 
I ran a scan with my anti-virus software and found nothing. It said there were no problems and my computer was safe from attack. Right! I ran a few other scans with different software and still, found nothing.
 
The failed scans didn’t mean I was beaten though, it just meant I couldn’t take care of the problem the easy way. One day later—yep, a full day is what I lost—my computer was up and running.
 
I’ll not bore you with a technical description of what it took to get rid of the problem, I’ll just say, I’m still convinced that the anti-virus companies are the ones originating and spreading computer viruses. Then, they offer the antidote—for a “small” fee of course.
 
In any case, I solved the problem; I hijacked the hijackers! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 

Back before my wife and I were married, our dates usually consisted of going out for pizza—and playing the arcade games commonly found in those establishments. She liked Ms. Pac-Man; my game was Galaga. This was in the eighties when such games were popular and new.
 
As teenagers with nothing else to do, we spent a lot of time playing them. And a lot of quarters too! Yeah, I know, kind of a waste of money. But it was an easy way to find entertainment. And as entertainment goes, it wasn’t really all that expensive—especially after a few months, when we got better at the games. Once we’d “mastered” them, we could spend an hour or more on just fifty cents: a quarter for her and a quarter for me. Of course, we did still have to buy a pizza, but thirty years ago, that was only about five bucks.
 
After we got married and life became a little busier, we never really had the time to play that much, other than when we happened to run across a Ms. Pac-Man or Galaga game somewhere. Through the years that happened less frequently as the games of our era were replaced by the “new” and “better” arcade games. As you might imagine we were less than impressed with the new games.
 
When our kids started getting older and things like Nintendo, Game Boy, and Play Station began showing up in our house, we were happy to see our favorite games of yesteryear had been included on many of them. But playing the games on the new consoles was just not the same. The buttons were all wrong, they were missing a joystick, and the set up was completely different from that to which we were accustomed. This all proved too adverse for us. And frustrating too, since our kids could play the games, but we could not—at least not very well.
 
So, for the last several years we haven’t really played much. Sure, there are still a few old style games to be found here and there but most of them are worn out. The joysticks don’t work right, the fire buttons are unreliable, and the screens are so fuzzy a guy can’t see what he’s doing. And yes, I know, new stand-up “Original” arcade style games have been available for a while—at Wal-Mart and other stores—but I wasn’t willing to spend $300, or more, to buy one. So, it looked like our Ms. Pac-Man and Galaga days were over.
 
But then...
 
After years of listening as we lamented the passing of “our” games, a month or so ago, our son showed up with two small packages: one for his Mother and one for me. We opened the packages to find a couple of mini-arcade games—Ms. Pac-Man and Galaga. They look just like the old stand-up games, complete with a joystick and the original buttons, but they’re small enough to carry around from room to room—with one hand. You can set them on a counter or table and pretend it’s the eighties! And although the screens are much smaller, the resolution and dimension ratio are true to the originals. The main difference is they don’t cost a quarter to play! Good thing, ’cause with the price of pizza these days, I can’t afford another fifty cents for games! ~
 
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 
​

This past week, I had the privilege of doing a little work outside—repairing a fence and a few other small jobs. It wasn’t that much work actually, and took only about two and a half hours.
 
The temperature was barely above freezing and although I really despise the cold weather, it didn’t seem that bad outside. In fact, I even took my coat off about a half an hour into the job because I was getting a little warm. Maybe because I was working!
 
On my way home, I drove past some construction workers. They were all standing around, hands in their pockets, hooded sweatshirts on, and shivering—like it was cold or something.
 
A minute or two later, I passed some city workers. Same story. Standing there doing nothing, all bundled up and shivering.
 
Me, I still hadn’t put my coat back on and was driving with my window down.
 
I considered stopping to let them know that if they actually did some work they might not be so cold. But I figured they didn’t really care what I had to say. So, I kept driving.
 
But when I stopped at the gas station and the guy pumping gas asked how I could be running around with no coat and a short-sleeved shirt, I couldn’t resist.
 
“Been working,” I told him.
 
“Me too,” he said.
 
Well not hard enough or you wouldn’t be cold! I thought it but didn’t say it. No, not because I’m thoughtful really. I normally say whatever comes to mind. But the reason I didn’t say it is because usually I’m the guy shivering in the cold. So, I know how it feels.
 
At least that’s part of the reason.
 
The rest of the story, as Paul Harvey used to say, is because of my wife. Not that she’s a cold-blooded killer. Or cold-hearted. She just likes the temperature cold. Really cold. She’s been known to run the air conditioner in our house in December. And January. And this happens frequently! Rarely, is the temperature in my house at a livable level and I wear a coat inside nearly all winter. (In fact, I’m wearing my coat as I type this). Because apparently, my wife thinks the house should be kept suitable for a polar bear habitat.
 
So, I know from experience that once a guy gets cold, it’s hard to warm up. Especially if you have a wife like mine. And now that I’ve finished with this post, I’m going to go turn up the heat. ’Cause I’m cold! ~
 
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything about my school days. You’d think that I would have exhausted all my stories about school by now, but no. What I have done is exhausted the supply of stories that I’m willing to divulge. But I figured if I thought hard enough, I could dredge up one that wasn’t too damaging.
 
And I did. Maybe.
 
I was in the fourth grade. My teacher, an elderly lady who should have retired long before I was in her class didn’t seem to like me much. I’m not sure why but it didn’t really matter because I didn’t like her much either. But then, none of her students did.
 
Which is why when I came across a copy of an upcoming test, lying there on her desk for all the world to see, I devised a little scheme. No, I didn’t take the test, didn’t even touch it. So, technically, I wasn’t guilty of any wrongdoing. At least in my mind. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t use what I’d found.
 
Let me explain. See, I’ve always had a pretty good memory. I could memorize things with very little effort—and in very little time. So, I took the liberty of memorizing the test, all of it, while the teacher was busy correcting my work that I’d turned in for that day.
 
Back at my desk, I carefully wrote down each of the questions. Then, flipping through the textbook, I found the answers and filled them in. My original thought was to make copies and hand them out to my classmates. But I knew that would cost money; besides, I also knew that someone, wasn’t sure who, but someone, would rat me out. So instead, I conveniently left the test inside another kid’s desk when no one was looking.
 
As I’d hoped, the next day, this other student shared his new treasure with a friend. And then another friend. Soon, it seemed the whole class had a copy of that test. Except me. It appeared I was the only honest one.
 
Yeah, my teacher didn’t buy that either.
 
As I had figured, someone did tell her what was going on. She went around the room, from desk to desk, collecting all the papers that had been circulated. But of course, when she got to me, I didn’t have one.
 
She didn’t say a whole lot but I could tell that she knew. And obviously, though I didn’t think of it at the time, it was all in my handwriting, which I’m sure she could easily recognize.
 
As a result of all this, the test was changed. Somewhat anyway. A lot of the same material was on the alternate test the teacher handed out a couple of days later—just switched around a little. But also as a result of all this, I had no problem completing the test; I’d searched out the answers already, and then written them down. The material still was in my head so the answers came pretty easily.
 
Eventually, a few weeks later, I think, the teacher did ask me if I had taken the test. I said no, but then told her what I’d done. She wasn’t impressed. In fact, she didn’t believe me. She said there was no way I could memorize an entire test in just a few minutes.
 
So, I recited the test for her, word for word—along with the answers. It worked, she was convinced; I hadn’t “taken” the test. For a moment, I remember thinking I was off the hook. Then she opened her desk, took out my test from that day, and marked a big red “F” on it. Now, some would say I deserved that but I’m still convinced that she just didn’t like me. Still not sure why either! ~
 
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 

Well, here we are on the last day of 2018. The end of another year. As usual, it has flown by. In less than twenty-four hours, it will be 2019.
 
I’ve listened to the usual year-end examination of events—the year in retrospect, listened to the routine New Year’s predictions; the fears and concerns of what a new year will bring. Everything from politics to entertainment to security and health, even our culture will be impacted they say.
 
I find that for the most part, New Year’s predictions are, well, predictable. There are always those who think the world will end and there are those who say the world will be much better. Most people tend to fall somewhere in the middle, in that, they believe things will improve on some levels and on other levels things will worsen.
 
I can’t really predict the future but I don’t think all that much will change. Not drastically anyway, or all at once. The world is constantly changing and nothing stays the same but that change is gradual. The change takes time. I’m not sure that simply the advent of a new year really has much bearing on it. Except for one thing.
 
There is one thing that will immediately and noticeably change. One big change. And it will affect everyone. So, what is the one change?
 
The answer is a simple matter of addition; the eight in our year will become a nine. 2018 will be 2019—a difference of... one. That’s the one change I predict. ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. 

The time I’ve waited for has arrived! And no, I’m not talking about Christmas. And not the New Year either. What I’m referring to is that the days are getting longer! Not really noticeable yet, I admit, but still longer. Being that I’m a nocturnal creature and wake up when darkness falls you’d think I’d be happy with longer nights. But there’s something deeply depressing about it getting dark at 4:30 in the afternoon.
 
Back when I worked a normal job, with normal hours, I rarely saw my house in the daylight during the winter months—until the weekend. I’d leave in the dark and get home in the dark. Ugh! These days, I do get to see my house during the day but that doesn’t seem to take away the gloomy feeling early darkness brings. I always get the feeling that I’ve been short-changed; that I’ve been cheated out of a full day. And of course, it also affects how much I can get done outside, which leads to frustration.
 
And that’s why I look forward to the days getting longer. Don’t worry, I still stay up half of the night—or more, ’cause there’s plenty of things to do inside as well, and there’s that nocturnal part of me to consider—but I don’t have the sense that I’m being ripped off and robbed of my daylight hours. And though the time gained is negligible at this point, at least things are moving in the right direction and that always puts me in a better mood.
 
But six months from now, even though summer (my favorite time of the year) will by then be in full swing, I’ll start feeling a little bummed—because the days will be getting shorter. And again, I’ll be wishing away my life, looking forward to December 21st! ~
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. ​

The Christmas shopping is all done. And with more than a week to spare! All the presents for the kids, the grandkids, and everybody else have been wrapped; we’re just waiting on Christmas. I think this is the earliest we’ve ever gotten it all done. And it’s actually kind of a good feeling. No braving the crowded stores for that last minute gift, or gifts, as is usually the case; we’re all set!
 
Or, so I thought. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t purchased anything for my wife. Not to worry though, it shouldn’t be too hard to remedy. Several years ago, we decided that instead of spending a lot of money on each other, we’d focus on the kids—and now it’s the grandkids. But that being said, we still do get a small gift for each other; a token gift. Something that says “We don’t need to go broke to tell each other Merry Christmas!”
 
So, apparently, I’ll be heading back to the store tomorrow. I can’t wait much longer or I’ll be wading through the masses just to find a candy bar or something. Okay, I might actually get something more than a candy bar, I suppose. Although... I’m sure my wife would appreciate the chocolate! And truth be told, it wouldn’t be the first time I gift-wrapped a chocolate bar for her. But that was long ago—when we got more than just a token gift.
 
Now for the ironic part: When I confessed to my wife that I hadn’t remembered to get her a gift, she said that she hadn’t gotten me one either. So while the purpose of our token gift is symbolic and meant to say “I’m thinking of you,” I guess we really weren’t. Hmm, we may need to purchase bigger gifts this year! So much for the Christmas shopping being done! ~
 
 
Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. ​