Trump’s Niece Spills the Beans SO Well!

I have been intrigued by a new book that was published today. It’s written by Donald Trump’s only niece, Mary Trump. She happens to be a PhD psychologist. There have been several news stories the past few weeks relating tidbits of the secrets she reveals, but tonight I finally got to read the preface she wrote. First, this woman is an AMAZING writer! She tells a fascinating story, and she tells it SO damned well! Second, just from the preface I know this is an important source of information leading to the November elections. (Groan.) I’m tempted to post the link to Amazon, but nah. Y’all can find it at the vendor of your choosing.

A Hamburger for Breakfast: Fishing With My Father (Part 2 of 3)

I thought this would be the conclusion to the story of my very first fishing trip when I was eight years old, but I realize I need to tell more about the following day. If you haven’t seen part 1, it’s HERE.

So, to finish continue my story:

I dropped my dough-ball baited hook into the water as Dad said, with a condescension that still rattles in me to this day, “Son, you can’t catch anything with that!” A couple minutes later my floater didn’t just twitch – it disappeared under the water with a resounding plop! I pulled up hard, and there, risen on the end of my line, was a nine-inch plump black catfish, a real keeper! I’d like to remember that Carmack snickered, or coughed, but I don’t recall. It doesn’t matter. Dad had challenged my choice of meals twice in two hours, and I’d won both rounds. I had a delicious breakfast hamburger in my belly, and a catfish thrashing on my line. And to his credit Dad did not begrudge me either. Ever.

As the day, the sun, notched higher, I began to catch more fish as well. Dad showed me where to drop my line with the best chance of getting a nibble, how to refine that final jerk on the line to set the hook, how to grab the flopping fish easily after I’d gotten them in the boat so their fins would not gouge my palm, how to toss them into the cooler. I sank/soared into the bliss of Fishing. (Yep, capital “F”.) Continue reading


Most of my friends here are, um, mature enough to remember the movie “Network” from 1976. “I’M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!” This sentiment has been percolating, stewing, rising, in many of us the last few weeks. Yes, I’m talking about George Floyd and officer Derek Chauvin, about Michael Brown and officer Darren Wilson… I could spend all night cataloging. But another one happened yesterday at a Wendy’s in Atlanta. Rayshard Brooks and officer Garrett Rolfe, who has been fired. This video by my favorite commentator, Beau of the Fifth Column, sums it up SO well that I feel compelled to share it here. Continue reading

John Prine & COVID-19

I’ve read of the deaths (so far) of several notable people from our current plague, but none have hit me so hard as this one. John Prine has been an anchor for me for so many years, and his death hurts me. There have been dozens of memorial stories about him, but this one hits me deeply enough that I am compelled to share it here. Wash your hands. #StayTheFuckHome. Continue reading

For LifeLessons’ Photo Prompt

So Judy/Remi, over at Lifelessons, asked us to post the most recent photo we’ve snapped. I am embarrassed to report that I have been looking for an excuse to expose my latest self-exposure, so here ’tis. Some of you may know that I go by a few names other than (OKC)ForgottenMan. One of those monikers is Duck/Duckie/Dux. Judy posted a blog a couple days ago titled Duck and Cover. When I saw that title I just KNEW she had come up with an extraordinarily clever name for my new selfie. But, nope. Still, I steal that title for this photo. So, without further ado: Continue reading

A Hamburger for Breakfast: Fishing With My Father (Part 1 of 3)

Welp, Remi/Judy over at LifeLessons just posted about murdering a cricket (Oh, yes, I nudged her! (To blog it, not to the insecticide itself.)), and that stirred my recollections of going fishing with Dad when I was a kid, since we often murdered live crickets for bait. (Update: her post was days weeks ago. I started writing this post that night, but it has taken me this long to finish. I should not try writing a novel. I’m 68. I’d never finish.)

So, on to my story:

Dad and I were apparently very close when I was a baby, based on the photos my mom took. But the disengagement came later, when I was about three, when Mom took control. Control. Continue reading

Jimmy Cliff – Many Rivers to Cross

I was so privileged to see and hear Jimmy Cliff at the New Orleans Jazz Fest in 1980. I lived down there then, and was trying to assimilate. I recall that he did not perform this song in his set, and I was so disappointed. Oh how I wish I’d been at this performance!

Music defines me. Songs like this say more about who I am than I can say about myself.