Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
A Cup of Comfort for Military Families
In September 2008 I posted with permission a story written by Julie Whan who is a friend of mine from Erie Pennsylvania. The story she wrote has now been published in a book of short stories called "A Cup of Comfort for Military Families" and is available at Barnes and Noble.
When I went to Barnes and Noble to get my copy of the book and asked the salesman if they had the book he said "yes we do, it is a very popular book".
Below I have re-posted the story in whole as it was posted on my blog in September. If you buy the book and would like to have it autographed like I did Please leave a comment and I will contact Julie to see if she will be having another book signing. Also, when reading the book the title of the story has been changed for the book to "Such Purpose that Drives Them" and the story can be found starting on page 68.
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Friday, September 12, 2008
Introducing Julie Whan to our Blog
For todays post I bring to your attention a good friend of mine from Erie Pennsylvania, Julie Whan. Julie is a very good writer and she has had several of her stories and poems published. Please see the "About The Author" box below to find out more about Julie. This is one of my favorite stories written by Julie and she gave me permission to post it so of course I didn't hesitate. If you like the story please post a response and I will forward them to her.
About the Author
Julie Whan, 41, of Erie, Penn., has had a passion for writing since the third grade. While working full-time as a purchasing manager for Schaal Glass Company in her hometown, she is back in school to earn her B.A. in English. Her husband is a trucker for Great Lakes Window out of Toledo, Ohio, and she enjoys writing inspirational stories that touch the hearts of families. Her son is serving his second tour in the Air Force in the Middle East and will be coming home in February. She wrote “A Letter to the Other ‘Man on the Road’” as a tribute to both her son and husband.
A Letter to the Other ‘Man on the Road’ February 2008
Our son came home yesterday, my dear, and it was a good day. He took the airport floor in 10 strides, eyes forward and that usual wide smile on his face. His arms were bulging from the work he had done, not from hours at an air-conditioned gym. His blonde hair was lighter, and he looked as if he had grown an inch. I watched as he approached you, grabbing your hand for a shake and wrapping his left arm around you. He didn’t have to stand on his toes anymore to look you in the eye, and I saw two bears posturing but with genuine affection for one another.
The intermittent e-mails he sent prior to his arrival had been our only contact with him.
Hey, Mom, I’m all good. Just got back again. I was rolling through ____ when those convoys got hit. I’m OK — I’m back at the base.
I love you.
Peaches (me)
Those often came a day or two after a news article listing anonymous casualties in one short paragraph on page three of the Times. Then the waiting game would start, and we could breathe again when he reached a safe place and was able to let us know he was “all good.”
He spent his entire tour on the road, which was actually a lot of white sand reflecting a blinding sun, making sunglasses a mandatory possession, so I always remembered to pick up a pair and throw it into his care packages along with new T-shirts, beef jerky, candy, music, pictures and lots of Silly String, anything to make him smile as he weaved his way through the “sandbox,” as he called it. The bulk package of gummy bears was almost a joke, he says, because it had to go in one shot or it would have melted. He was glad to share, anyway, because there were plenty of guys who never received any mail.
I didn’t really start crying until this morning when he asked for more eggs. His tan, killer physique and a new smoking habit are the only remaining signs of convoy duty in the hot zones. One full night of food, laughter and friends wanting to try on his helmet and vest, and he finally passed out. I watched him sleeping on the couch with his feet hanging over the edge.
He said very little about his tour — and we cautioned some of his friends not to ask — but you and I were already aware of some of the details. One of his naïve buddies found an orange plastic cap gun in the dining room and popped one off behind him. He just turned around with that boyish grin and asked the guy to put it away. He sat in the center of his friends, and they gave him space, prodding and joking with him as they had done in high school, but I could see they were watching him, just as we all were, all of us eager to subtract anything bad from his experience — if we were able.
After the barrage of visitors, the really good part came. The three of us sat in the kitchen talking. He pulled out his wallet and showed you all of the driving certifications he had gained. He could operate just about anything with wheels, just like you. He took his boots off, and the sight of his feet, hard as cement from the hot ground, sent me running for a bucket of warm water and Epsom salts. You both laughed at me then.
Then he spoke of the road, driving with a 9-millimeter on one leg and an M-16 next to him. It was his job to move people and supplies from one location to another. The destination was a living, breathing thing, changing every moment for safety. The radio gave him every instruction, and his convoy moved with speedy efficiency to get to the next checkpoint. If they were ordered to stop for blessed sleep, they would dig beds in the ground and one guy would stand guard. His helmet was his wash basin, food bowl and friend.
But the real reason I’m writing this letter is to tell you another important thing I noticed yesterday. It struck me as I watched the two of you talking out in the backyard. I had not realized how quiet you had been. Your comments are usually matter of fact, but you tend to let other voices sing first. There had been a lot of singing the day before. Now all of our company had left, and the two of you drifted outside to talk. I saw lots of nodding and an occasional smile, but I could not hear the conversation.
You knew our son had met the devil on the road, just as you had done several times during your driving career. Each of you had seen things that were not necessarily conversation material, and I think you were exchanging some of those things just then. Bad things can take on different forms, and yours was often the view of a really bad wreck, or a white-knuckle drive in a whiteout. His may have been the guy he saw on the roadside selling strands of some kind of meat and holding an AK-47. I know I will never hear much of what was exchanged, but I’m really glad he was talking to you.
As I walked outside to bring you some drinks, I noticed this single remarkable thing: our son was wearing your plaid flannel jacket, and it hung on his strong shoulders just as it did on yours. Each of you had a short haircut, only yours was that great silver color you love to be teased about; otherwise, I was seeing double. That one inch I thought he had gained was only a new correctness of posture. Our boy had become a man, and he had come home tired, hungry and full of new memories, just like you.
I am proud of the two of you, and I can’t write enough stories or fry enough eggs to show you that, but from watching you, I clearly understand one thing now: Everyone just wants to do his job and come home. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?
The intermittent e-mails he sent prior to his arrival had been our only contact with him.
Hey, Mom, I’m all good. Just got back again. I was rolling through ____ when those convoys got hit. I’m OK — I’m back at the base.
I love you.
Peaches (me)
Those often came a day or two after a news article listing anonymous casualties in one short paragraph on page three of the Times. Then the waiting game would start, and we could breathe again when he reached a safe place and was able to let us know he was “all good.”
He spent his entire tour on the road, which was actually a lot of white sand reflecting a blinding sun, making sunglasses a mandatory possession, so I always remembered to pick up a pair and throw it into his care packages along with new T-shirts, beef jerky, candy, music, pictures and lots of Silly String, anything to make him smile as he weaved his way through the “sandbox,” as he called it. The bulk package of gummy bears was almost a joke, he says, because it had to go in one shot or it would have melted. He was glad to share, anyway, because there were plenty of guys who never received any mail.
I didn’t really start crying until this morning when he asked for more eggs. His tan, killer physique and a new smoking habit are the only remaining signs of convoy duty in the hot zones. One full night of food, laughter and friends wanting to try on his helmet and vest, and he finally passed out. I watched him sleeping on the couch with his feet hanging over the edge.
He said very little about his tour — and we cautioned some of his friends not to ask — but you and I were already aware of some of the details. One of his naïve buddies found an orange plastic cap gun in the dining room and popped one off behind him. He just turned around with that boyish grin and asked the guy to put it away. He sat in the center of his friends, and they gave him space, prodding and joking with him as they had done in high school, but I could see they were watching him, just as we all were, all of us eager to subtract anything bad from his experience — if we were able.
After the barrage of visitors, the really good part came. The three of us sat in the kitchen talking. He pulled out his wallet and showed you all of the driving certifications he had gained. He could operate just about anything with wheels, just like you. He took his boots off, and the sight of his feet, hard as cement from the hot ground, sent me running for a bucket of warm water and Epsom salts. You both laughed at me then.
Then he spoke of the road, driving with a 9-millimeter on one leg and an M-16 next to him. It was his job to move people and supplies from one location to another. The destination was a living, breathing thing, changing every moment for safety. The radio gave him every instruction, and his convoy moved with speedy efficiency to get to the next checkpoint. If they were ordered to stop for blessed sleep, they would dig beds in the ground and one guy would stand guard. His helmet was his wash basin, food bowl and friend.
But the real reason I’m writing this letter is to tell you another important thing I noticed yesterday. It struck me as I watched the two of you talking out in the backyard. I had not realized how quiet you had been. Your comments are usually matter of fact, but you tend to let other voices sing first. There had been a lot of singing the day before. Now all of our company had left, and the two of you drifted outside to talk. I saw lots of nodding and an occasional smile, but I could not hear the conversation.
You knew our son had met the devil on the road, just as you had done several times during your driving career. Each of you had seen things that were not necessarily conversation material, and I think you were exchanging some of those things just then. Bad things can take on different forms, and yours was often the view of a really bad wreck, or a white-knuckle drive in a whiteout. His may have been the guy he saw on the roadside selling strands of some kind of meat and holding an AK-47. I know I will never hear much of what was exchanged, but I’m really glad he was talking to you.
As I walked outside to bring you some drinks, I noticed this single remarkable thing: our son was wearing your plaid flannel jacket, and it hung on his strong shoulders just as it did on yours. Each of you had a short haircut, only yours was that great silver color you love to be teased about; otherwise, I was seeing double. That one inch I thought he had gained was only a new correctness of posture. Our boy had become a man, and he had come home tired, hungry and full of new memories, just like you.
I am proud of the two of you, and I can’t write enough stories or fry enough eggs to show you that, but from watching you, I clearly understand one thing now: Everyone just wants to do his job and come home. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Future of The Automobile
I recieved this article in an email and wanted to share it. I am really interested in the future of energy and how we will move around in the future. I one of my previous stories I mentioned the Chevrolet Volt. I think this range extending electric car sounds like it will be the next step at least in the interim period. I can't wait to try one. If anybody has any other ideas out there please leave a comment and let us know about it.
When the automobile was new in 1900, there was no clear consensus which technology would triumph. Would it be gasoline, steam or electricity? The smart money was on electricity, which shows that the smart money can be wrong.
We're in a similar period now, trying to find what comes after the straightforward, gas-burning internal-combustion engine. There's still a lot of fog, and it's unlikely to clear soon. But from where I sit today, here are eight leading technologies, listed in priority order from most-likely to could-be-a-contender:
1. Plug-In Hybrids. There's no question that plug-in hybrids, with 40-mile all-electric range and the ability to recharge from standard house current, will be on the market in the next two or three years. The leading (and only) mainstream players are General Motors (which plans on introducing a Saturn Vue plug-in hybrid) and Toyota (with an adapted Prius). Ambitious startups (Fisker, BYD) are also planning to field plug-in hybrids. The big challenge for all of them is developing a lithium-ion battery pack that can stand up to repeated discharge and recharge cycles and still demonstrate the longevity that today's nickel-metal-hydride hybrid battery packs have had. GM and Toyota talk about 2010 introductions, but battery development headaches could delay that.
2. Battery Electrics. Again, it's all about the batteries. Lithium-ion is the current leader, but is it ready to carry four passengers in a fully featured, crashworthy sedan more than 200 miles? It's time to be cautiously optimistic. Nissan has plans to bring an electric car to the U.S. by 2010. Chrysler, which has been lagging in green technology, surprised the world by suddenly announcing a concept car known as the Dodge EV, a sports car with a lithium-ion battery pack. It claimed 150-mile range and blistering acceleration of zero to 60 in less than five seconds. Some Chrysler electric is to be on the market by 2010. The sports car was clearly aimed at the Tesla Roadster, a California-built $100,000 exotic which (like the Chrysler) sports a Lotus-designed body.
3. Range Extenders. General Motors is making a big, bold step forward by building the Chevrolet Volt, with production slated for the end of 2010 (as a 2011 model). The Volt is something new: an electric car with a gas motor whose only function (it's not connected to the wheels) is to keep the electric motor spinning after the batteries are depleted. GM had this field (also known as "series hybrids") to itself, but Chrysler has jumped into the fray with range-extender versions of the Town and Country minivan and Jeep Wrangler. As with plug-in hybrids, 40 miles can be enjoyed in battery-only mode, but the gas engine extends that to 400 miles or more.
4. Very Small Cars. It doesn't have to be a hybrid; in fact, some of our current hybrids, based on SUVs, are actually gas guzzlers. High fuel prices have created a strong American market for very small cars, and carmakers such as Ford have been emboldened to start selling in the U.S. tiny, fuel- and space-efficient cars once relegated only to Europe or Asia. Consider the Toyota iQ. The minuscule car is just 118 inches long, but can carry three adults (plus a child)! It reportedly achieves 60/51 mpg fuel economy. The Toyota of 10 years ago would never have contemplated selling iQs in the U.S., but now it is definitely being considered.
5. Fuel Cells. The joke is that the hydrogen revolution is always at least 10 years away. And, well, it's still at least that far in the future. But the possibilities are endless, since hydrogen is the most abundant element in the universe. Big drawbacks now are the cost of the fuel and, of course, the cars themselves. Hand assembled by Ph.Ds, fuel-cell cars are way too expensive to be ready for showrooms before 2020. The leading players are General Motors (which has the cutting-edge Sequel and a fleet of Equinox SUVs under test) and Honda (the ready-for-the-road FCX Clarity).
6. Salad Oil. Americans love the idea of running their cars on used fryer drippings. And the technology totally works. Companies such as Massachusetts-based Greasecar have found a niche converting diesels to run on 100 percent biofuel. The problem is standardizing and ramping up the technology so we could seriously make a dent in gasoline power. We simply don't have enough available farmland to run our transportation fleet on soybean-derived oil, and there aren't enough fryers to greatly expand what is now a small cottage industry.
7. Liquid Hydrogen. BMW's Hydrogen 7 is a very impressive car, quiet and powerful. Its 12-cylinder engine will burn gasoline all day, but push a button and it switches without a hitch to a tankful of energy-dense liquid hydrogen. You can drive it anywhere. But things get complicated after that. Hydrogen is expensive to begin with, and it liquefies at -423 degrees Fahrenheit, meaning a super-cooled cryogenic tank is obligatory. Leave the car alone for too long (parked for a week at an airport, say) and much of the hydrogen will return to a gaseous state and vent out. The big challenges: affordable hydrogen production and liquification; easy refueling; and answering safety questions.
8. Ethanol. GM and Ford are world leaders in producing "flex-fuel" vehicles that can run on ethanol or gasoline. Millions have been produced, but most run on gasoline most of the time because of a still-embryonic ethanol station network. Cornell professor David Pimentel claims that ethanol has a net negative energy balance, which the industry heatedly denies. And there's the ramp-up question, too. According to Pimentel, if we converted 100 percent of the U.S. corn crop to ethanol, it would only replace six percent of current fossil fuel use. Because corn is in high demand, prices for it are escalating, creating a "food vs. fuel" controversy. Cellulosic ethanol, produced from plant fiber, has a much higher energy potential, but research is still embryonic.
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