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Showing posts from 2014

A Brief Guest Blog

Dad, the guest blog tool works. I will now return to studying, for fear of invoking mother's wrath.  You're Welcome,  Danny

The Tuesday Morning Book Review: The Riviera Contract by Arthur Kerns.

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I have been reading thrillers for years, ever since my mom's friend Betty Gralton gave me an old copy of Alistair Mac Lean's Fear is the Key. In the subsequent 40 years I have read hundreds and hundreds, in every sub-genre from historical to Eco, political to medical, religious to international. In the process, one picks up a few things about the genre: the plots, the settings, the dialogue, and, especially, the main characters. Fleming's Bond and LeCarre's Smiley have been oft referenced--guilty--and so I will leave then out, but the usual MC is often very predictable, a talented (plug-in ex-Navy Seal, NSA agent, Federal Marshal etc.) forced out of service because of a (plug-in alcohol problem, bad relationship, horrific experience) is forced back into service to save the life of his (plug-in red-headed, blonde, brunette) ex-wife, who he (wait for it) still loves. You've read that one too? But it's a formula that works: the previous career gives the MC

A Vermont State of Mind, on the Saturday Evening Blog Post, Edition #15.

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I am going to come right out and say it: Vermont is more a state of mind than a state of the Union. And rather than tell you why I believe this, I am going to show you. My day yesterday: My daughter had been talking about the big cheerleading competition for several weeks, and so--in an effort to get her to stop dropping hints about it--I offered to bring her and her friend up to Vergennes High School to watch her beloved Rutland Raider cheerleaders in the State finals. In turns out that Vergennes is not far from Snake Mountain in Addison, Vermont, a hike I have been wanting to make since we moved to Vermont twenty years ago. Yesterday morning dawned clear and warm, with a steady wind out of the south that tasted like spring. As Abby put on her cheering bow, I slipped into my Gore-Tex snow pants and Polypro skin layers and we got into the car and went to get her friend, who--to Abby's dismay--opted against the bow. It was a beautiful drive to Vergennes with the sun reflecting

Under the Cold January Sun: a short story by Peter Hogenkamp and an original painting by Peter Huntoon, on the Saturday Evening blog Post, Edition #14.

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It was about ten years ago and we were in the middle of arctic front that lasted about eight days. From what I can remember, there were three days when the temperature never got above -10 degrees. Now, you smart people out there will realize this would be a good time to hunker down by the wood stove and settle in to a good book . But I was young (still less than 40) and foolish (those of you who know me well will have no trouble believing that.) And so I snowshoed up the second highest mountain in Vermont that day, Killington Peak, when the temperature at the base was -12 degrees Fahrenheit, and the summit was -20 and whipped by a COLD wind.  In the following years I have thought much about that day, and when the quintessential Vermont artist Peter Huntoon asked me to write a short story for his website, that day under the cold January sun came right to mind. I have always loved paradoxes, and the idea that the sun (which is 27 million degrees F at its core--although only a coo

The January Thaw: The Saturday Evening Blog Post, Edition #13

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It happens to me, too, you know, that temptation--when it's five degrees below zero, cold enough to freeze your nose hairs into needles--to pack up and move to Southern California where the sun shines 330 days a year and the temp never goes below 60. But then it warms up and your nose hairs thaw out and the temptation passes, leaving you slightly embarrassed that you ever considered something so ridiculous. It's one of the many things I like about the January thaw (FYI, it was 55 degrees here yesterday on the 11th of January). The grass appears and reminds you of warmer times--and the mole problem I never addressed last year. The snow on the sidewalk melts and I don't have to feel bad I never shoveled it. And the snow banks clogging the turnaround go away, clearing the way for my boys to play mini-hoop. Rest assured it will snow again, and the air will turn colder, but it doesn't matter. Just the reminder that the seasons change and spring threatens is all I need t