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Horse Sense for you Greenhorns

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 13:28:51 GMT

Well, it has been a few days since I have had a clear enough mind to attempt another tall tale. Although I must point out that the stories I share with you are all 100% true.Our life has been so rich and full of experiences that most people either dream of or consider a nightmare.

Speaking of mares that is the word used in tobaccky chewin' tar spittin' person that usually bathes in the stock watering trough once a month needed or not, is usually scared to death around women, drinks cheep whiskey, and wouldn't know a real good balanced meal if it were set in front of him. But. he is a man that will ride his horse 20 or 30 miles a day and his average day is 16 or more hours. He rides in the rain and snow the wind when it blows and probably has a name for every animal in his care be it horse, cow, sheep, or dog. But his main interaction and best friend is his horse.

I told you that a female horse is a mare a male horse with his testicles intact is called a stud a castrated horse is called a gelding. The majority of riding horses used by cowboys and the educated rider is most likely a gelding as they are a gentler creature mainly because stud horses have only one thing on their mind. When they get around the company of a herd of horses there are only two things on a stud's mind. The first, as you can imagine, is to impregnate all the mares he can find. When he has serviced all the mares in the herd he proceeds to do the second favorite thing he likes to do. I have to interject that a stud horse is most generally a beautiful anima,l they don't walk anywhere, they strut. They usually have a beautiful long mane that looks like the flames of a fire as they run around the pasture with their nostrils continually flaring and snorting, straining to smell as much as he can, clearing his nose with the snort, and flaring his nostrils to draw in the maximum amount of air to sample the scents just in case he might have missed a mare in his eager charge through the herd on his first pass through. This is where he do his second favorite thing, bullying the geldings and I'm sure mocking them for their misfortune of loosing their balls and will never know the pleasures and nobility that the stud was fortunate enough to have some breeder that liked a train that he felt like passing along in his herd..

As you know, I am a horse whisperer and was long before it was fashionable. I had pasture with a small hill that the studs would congregate on, surveying their kingdom. Well, as I said, I speak horse. I was walking through my pasture one day and happened to walk up on the studs hill. There were some old studs and some young studs and I walked around laying a loving hand on each one as I would eavesdrop on their conversations. I was surprised when one of the young studs turned and faced a couple of the older good old boys. I was shocked to hear the young stud show his lack of experience as he said to the two older studs, "Why don't we run down there in the pasture and pleasure one of the mares?" I wasn't surprised when one of the old studs let out a little laugh as the other old stud in all of his wisdom addressed the youngster and quietly said, "I have a better idea. Let's just walk down there, save our energy, and pleasure every damn one of them." He let out a little snort, then he gave me a little nudge and a wink and started at a slow comfortable pace. He was followed by a couple of the youngsters hoping to learn some thing from the old man I figure.

testing testing

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 21:55:00 GMT

This is a test to see if the email subscribers are getting the posts

One Eye for the Wilderness

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 04:05:00 GMT

This story is meant to encompass one story. But it may end up in the embodiment of two.

When we lived in Fort Bridger and I worked for the forest service as a wilderness ranger, I would spend four months from about the 10th of June to around the beginning of October (I think that is about four months). I was blessed with a dream of living in the wilderness for an extended period of time. I did this for a couple of years. To me one of the greatest callings I could imagine was to be a steward of the wild lands, of the forest and all of Gods creatures whose home the forest was.

Now there are many people that are considered stewards of the land. Most people when they think of this, the foremost thought is the farmer. Little thought is ever given to those whose job it is to oversee, protect, and manage this nations forests and the wilderness land that these forests surround. My piece of the mountain was in the High Uinta Mountains in Northeastern Utah with a sliver located in Southwest Wyoming. The Uinta Mountains are very unique in that they are one of only two mountain ranges in the world whose geographical orientation is east to west. The other to hold this unusual distinction is the Himalayas. Both mountain ranges have story and lore of their greater connection to the Almighty. Here in this country we generally reference God, in the Himalayas I would imagine it would be Ala or Buddha, I'm not sure. I do know that when I found myself cradled in the arms of this mountain it was as though God himself was holding me, watching over me, protecting me and guiding me.

During this period of time, the four months each year that is, my wonderful wife was the sole support of my expedition. She would bring me supples, news of the world, affection, and reminding me just how much love there was in this world. I would take some seasoned horses and mules and a couple of youngsters that were still a little green to teach them the ways of the mountain. I would teach them how to survive, how to appreciate, and how to be a good steed.

I had one old man named "Balley" - he was twenty five, twenty six or twenty seven. He himself in many of our conversations expressed that he wasn't exactly sure himself just how old he was. But possessing the vanity of a woman he continually tried to convince me he was twenty five or less. He had the stamina and was oh so smart. We could ride the trails at night, pitch dark, sometimes without even starlight. He would see to it that he and I and any of the other of the group that were with us safely made our destination. He was always the first to greet me whether I had my oat bag with me or not. I always carried a green army bag that held about ten pounds of grain. When you work animals at high altitudes and cover up to twenty five miles each day the grasses and the flowers need to be supplemented with higher protein grain, to maintain their health. I thought that this was possibly Balley's last year that he would be on the mountain, as his age and arthritis was also complicated by some diminishing eye sight was the reason that I took Balley to the mountain that year and chose him as my full time lead mount fully expecting that his years would possibly catch up with him. Like myself I know he would have preferred to depart this earth from the top of the mountain closer to God.

One weekend my wife came to bring me supples and we decided to drive the thirty five miles to civilization where I could spend a night with a fine meal from a restaurant and a much needed long hot shower and to sleep on a real bed. The forest service had build some beautiful accommodations at the trail head in the form of corrals. These were large corrals and were put there for the large compliment of horsemen that enjoyed this part of the mountain. It had an outhouse of the finest concrete construction, and was actually a unisex two holer, supplied with real toilet paper, even though of the cheapest quality and caliber that the governments lowest bidder could acquire. It was so bad that I think whoever made it even sold it to the Chinese.

Feeling comfortable in leaving Balley in this corral and my other five animals safely longlined in one of the high mountain meadows, my wife and I made the trip to Lyman. We enjoyed a fine restaurant meal, a long hot shower, and all of the comforts of a real bed. The next day after picking up a few supples we headed back to the mountain. Anxious to make sure someone had not stolen my horse overnight. The sight that we beheld when we reached the trailhead and the corrals that were made to keep our horses safe I would much rather that someone would have stolen Balley. Instead we found that one of these alcohol crazed bow hunters that dressed in camouflage clothes from head to toe, wrapped their bows with camouflage tape, painted their Jeep with camouflage colors, and even used foam rubber camouflage covers to keep their beer cold as they rode around on the hood of the Jeep stealthfully hunting their prey, had instead of using their prowess on legitimate quarry had used my horse Balley for target practice. They had shot an arrow into his eye. Not one of these rubber tipped arrows, but a four bladed razor sharp tipped hunting arrow. This ripped my heart out. I not only wept as if I were a child, but I wailed as a parent who had lost one of their children., as I truly had.

I made arrangements to have Balley taken back down to Fort Bridger to our local vet who explained that the damage was far beyond the eye. It involved sinuses and some of his brain, leaving no alternative but to euphonious this noble steed. I penned a letter to the local newspaper hoping that someone had witnessed this cruel and vicious act, in hopes that I could extract the vengeance that was in my heart. No one came forth. I titled my letter to the editor of the newspaper, the same as the title of this blog, "One Eye For the Wilderness". I then had to make some telephone calls to as far away as Casper and Gillette to people with horses of quality, as I needed to replace my lead animal with one with as close to equal qualities as Balley had. This was in 1984, in July, who knows maybe one of you out there now reading this blog has some information about the despicable coward that destroyed such a noble creature.

There is a follow up story that I will write that will tie into this story. When I do write it you will recognize that it is part 2 and involves buying a horse unseen over the telephone, transporting him 500 miles, and a wheelbarrow. And I know I've said it before, but that's another story

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

I took a nap at Dead Mans Pass

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 04:26:00 GMT

Sorry for my absence. And I don't know how long I am back for, but we'll give it a try. Seems like some of you liked some of the stories of things that have happened in my life. As those of you that have been following know, I drove truck for much of my life. I used to drive the Northwest, Salt Lake to Portland, Seattle, Tacoma, two to three times a week. There were lots of other drivers driving for other companies that did the same thing. There was always freight flowing from Denver to the Northwest. We would talk to each other on the CB Radio swapping stories, lies, and fantasies (and the occasional truth). And as you might realize we became familiar with each other, at least over the radio. Some of us knew each other a little better than others.

A lot of us were grain haulers. We would haul 48,000 pounds of USDA #1 grain to Portland or the Port of Tacoma, or Seattle. Some was unloaded at Cargill where it would be turned into flour to make bread. Much of it however was shipped in large bulk carrying seagoing ships and sent to China and other countries around the world. Sometimes the lines of trucks at places like Cargill would be two or three hundred trucks long. They were only equipped to handle less than the amount of truck that were waiting in line. There was one time that we waited in line for six days at Cargill. By the time the six days were over there were better than 3000 trucks waiting to be unloaded. This was due to a slowdown protest by the workers at all the grain shipping concerns to protest the Russian grain deal of 1976. Needless to say this gave us plenty of time to visit and become more familiar with each other face to face.

There were some enterprising truck drivers that would move our trucks forward in line to the grain dump pit which on an average day would dump between 400 and 500 trucks. Who would now dump only 5 or 10 trucks a day. These enterprising drivers would move our trucks up for a small stipend while we went and stayed at motels or for the few of us that ran this route regularly and had a girlfriend that lived in the area where we could stay. Now the last part about the grain slowdown I just threw in because I though you would find it interesting how commerce works.

A lot of us drivers, of course we went by different what we called CB Handles, mine was Tumbleweed. There was One Eyed Jack and many other names you can't even imagine. I had one friend that ran the same route that went by the handle, Utah Sparkie. Half the time we would be going the same direction at the same time and we would stop for fuel and food and coffee and visit. Sometimes we would be talking to each other as long as we could while one would be going one way and one would be going the other way until we were out of radio range. On one particular trip Sparkie and I had been going up and down from Salt Lake to Portland for about five years, talking on the radio, sharing meals, swapping stories and lies was dispatched out of Salt Lake a few hours after me. We both knew each others schedule this trip and figured we would run into Portland together. This gave us both a better chance of getting dispatched from the same place. Whether it was hauling paint or molding and trim or even bombs. So we made a pre arrangement that I would stop at the rest area at Dead Mans Pass. This was a hill that the truckers call "Cabbage". It is the steepest and longest grade hill in the state of Oregon, and has the only two truck runaway ramps in the state. These runaway ramps consist of pits of gravel four or five hundred feet long with around six to ten feet of gravel filling them. The object is if a truck looses its breaks going down this steep hill he could turn off onto the escape ramp, which of course would mean that it would rip every axle, fuel tanks, and anything lower than the frame off of the vehicle. It would however stop the vehicle from going down the hill and possible killing someone. The only trouble with these were should a driver opt to make use of this truck escape ramp, it not only tore off the front axles, it would propel the driver through the front windshield of the truck, proving fatal to the driver.

Cabbage got its name of "Cabbage" because the first drivers killed on this hill were hauling a truckload of cabbage. It was given the actual name of "Dead Mans Pass" by the pioneers, as it was a major part of the Oregon trail. Many a wagon ran away and killed horses, mules, and human occupants. This pass sits just before Pendleton Oregon on Interstate 80. From the top of the pass to the flat highway at Pendleton the total downhill of this 8% grade which by highway standards is STEEP, very STEEP. However, they had built a beautiful rest stop right at the top of Dead Mans Pass. It even had a crossover tunnel so that a semi truck could cross the highway parking on the other side. Either side was capable of parking about 30 to 40 trucks as well as the same number of automobiles.

As I mentioned, this friend I was waiting for was called, "Utah Sparkie". He and I had, at least for four or five years, had run the road together two or three round trips weekly, Salt Lake to Portland or Seattle. It was common for drivers to pull into the rest area and slump over the steering wheel and take a nap for an hour or two. This would refresh the driver and also put us into our destination at the time we should be arriving. I did my part of pulling into the rest area, parking my truck, grabbing my pillow, and laying it over the steering wheel and started to take a nap. We would always leave our engines running, especially during the cold weather. In the summer they kept our air conditioning going. I found myself in dreamland, having a peaceful nap when I was awakened by the blaring of the horn of another diesel truck. Not just a toot toot, but a frantic long blast as if it were saying, "get out of my way!" Snapping out of my dream I looked up and saw a semi coming straight at me with his horn honking. I thought I had fallen asleep at the wheel and crossed into oncoming traffic as his truck was moving forward toward me. Being still half asleep I wasn't able to judge the speed, only detected that there was motion and the motion was that truck coning straight toward me with his horn blaring. At this time my survival instincts took over and I knew that there was no way to survive this head on accident. Although I did not have on a parachute, I threw open my door and leaped as though diving out of an airplane to try to get as far away from the wreck as possible.

I hit the ground with a sickening thud and felt every inch of my body feeling as if it were crushed. Finding that I was still alive I brought myself to an upright position as best I could with a broken arm to see how bad the wreck really was. To my surprise all I saw was Utah Sparkie running towards me, laughing his head off, to help me up off of the ground. It was only then that I noticed that his semi was parked facing mine with our bumpers nearly touching. He thought it would be funny to come rolling towards me blasting his horn to wake my up, just as a prank. We were still friends. And Sparkie happened to have his brother with him that trip who was generous enough to drive my truck the rest of the way to Portland and drop me and my truck off at the Portland General Hospital where their able staff used their expertise to set and cast my broken arm. And to clean the asphalt, dirt and gravel out of my head, face, hands, and my knees. After that incident I still used that rest area to catch a nap. I just made sure to park my truck so that there was not room for another truck in front of me. And I never asked Sparkie or anyone else to stir me from a nap.

I have other stories of driving the Northwest including losing my breaks on Cabbage Pass and hitting the bottom of the hill at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour according to the highway patrolman who was hiding in the drive-in theater at the bottom of the hill using his radar to catch trucks exceeding the twenty mile per hour truck speed limit on that mountain. But then again, that's another story.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Hook line and sinker

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 05:06:00 GMT

I try to stay away from the negative parts of my illness. I have such a cornucopia of terminal diseases, so I have accepted that I have just one disease. I am dying. That's about as bad a disease as you can get. I have pulmonary emphysema, pulmonary fibrosis, pulmonary hypertension (this is not to be mistaken for regular hypertension which is high blood pressure, but I have that too). It is excessively high blood pressure in the circulatory system of the lungs. You know, all the rivers and tributaries. I also have congestive heart failure. To me this is one of the most enigmatic of all the illnesses. It is from having too much blood, too much liquid in my body. It ends up causing the right side of the heart to grow and expand, and to grow and to expand, until it expands so far that it is so thin a membrane that it bursts. You'd think with all these different diseases I could pick one of them to really worry about.

Just last night when I had to go to the VA hospital to pick up some medication that I realized that the worst disease I have is I am an addict. I am a drug addict. I take a total of nineteen pills a day. Some of these pills are potent pills to combat the pain that everything in my lungs and my heart create. I can't understand how the people that are out there that use these potent drugs for recreation can keep on using them. I myself get no type of buzz or intoxication or hallucination, they just mean that I have to take six more pills every day - four stool softeners, and two laxatives.Without which the medications turn your **** to concrete. When you are lucky enough to have a bowel movement it gives me a pretty good working knowledge of what it would be like to be a turtle giving birth to a hippo. So, I have become addicted to laxatives, which makes me a junkie.

The reason for our impromptu visit to the VA last night was to get a refill of some of my pain medication. After having spent two days in semi-agony, being both cold and hot at the same time. Freezing yet drenched with sweat from head to toe. As well as having every muscle in my body ache and burn and cry out. I cannot for the life of me understand how people can do this to themselves and enjoy it. How they can recreate on something that ends up costing them their savings, their paycheck, their wife's wedding ring, family car, the family home, and eventually the whole family. These are the same drugs that are in most home medicine cabinets. This is where the epidemic of drug addiction is coming from. Our children take one or two of our pills and maybe one or two more a little later. Usually the legitimate prescribe doesn't miss them because they are already addicted themselves and not completely in touch with reality. Some can tell you right down to the dust in the bottom of the bottle how many pills they have. But most are oblivious to everything except trying to find another doctor to get a prescription from. This is called doctor shopping. Pretty soon some people have a half dozen or even a dozen different doctors prescribing them highly potent pain killers or weight loss pills. There is even a group of addicts that are hooked on Ritalin, you know this is the pill that the upper crust feel their children are just not part of the "in" crowd unless they too can complain of their child's ADD. Or the teachers, which is really the worst, suggest that the child has a problem and that ADD medication will put their feet back on the ground and allow them to return to the main stream of students. When in fact the child being hooked on the Ritalin makes them more like sheep and easier for the teachers to manage and ignore their real responsibility of educating them.

It doesn't matter what the center of the addiction is. A junkie is a junkie and I have finally accepted that I am a junkie. If I am not careful these danm pills will be the death of me. I called my doctor yesterday to tell him I was out of pills and he said that was not good. I could die from not taking my pills. I could go into sweats, seizures, and just basically feel very ill. I believe he called it withdrawal. He certainly didn't want me experiencing withdrawal. Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate everything my doctors do for me. I realize them making a junkie out of me was not done so they could get rich. After all it only costs me $8 for a prescription, so I know they aren't doing it for the money. They must be doing it for my well being. I do know that without my medications I would be a lot sicker, and would probably die. So next time you see a junkie have a little pity upon their broken soul. They may not be that way because they wanted to. But to quote the information that comes with each prescription that I get, they probably get the same disclaimer that says, " your doctor has determined that any bad effects associated with this medication appear to be outweighed by the good that they will do." Even though one of the side effects can be death or worse, i.e., dizziness, rash, and possibly constipation. What I would suggest is that you go through your medicine cabinet very carefully and remove any dangerous or potentially harmful drugs that may be in there and relocate them to a new place keeping track of the quantity which will let you know when the quantity starts changing that your junkie found your new hiding place. More children are addicted to prescription medicines than to any of the illicit drugs available on the street. I don't have to worry about my addiction as my doctors assure me I will die long before I really get hooked.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

With my eyes half open

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 03:18:00 GMT

I know I haven't been writing lately. I haven't been feeling well. I guess I have just been feeling sorry for myself. Ah what the hell - we all get feeling badly, especially during winter's cold. It really makes me feel fortunate that I have someone warm to hold. I think of all of those out there who don't have anyone that cares. It's not hard to find some love it's all around us. All we have to do is open our heart, our eyes and our mind. And we can see the beauty that surrounds us.

I never felt this way all my life. I saw a lot of the darkness. First growing up poor, then off to war, and come home to become a policeman. Went through two wives, a couple of flings, but nothing until I opened my eyes. The only thing I can think of now that my life gets closer to the end, is my wonderful wife who shares my life and is all that is on my mind. I am still not feeling very well so my entries will probably be sporadic. But I'll come around from the dusty cellar and in my minds eye attic and see if I can find some more stories to tell of having fun and raising hell.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

time to catch up

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 05:06:00 GMT

Hello everyone,

Ken wanted me to write and tell you all not to forget about him. He has had a rather rough week, so he asked me to write and remind you all to go back and read the older blogs that you may have missed.

Things have been good and bad with Ken this last week. He actually got out of the house several times - only one of those times was to the doctor's office. The other times were his choice to try and accomplish some errands and to just get out of the house. As a result he is totally exhausted - he forgot he needed to save enough energy to write to all of you at the end of the day.

Anyhow, he will be back in the saddle soon I am sure. Please write him a message on the blog or the guestbook. I know he loves to hear from each of you.

Love and Blessings,
Sharon the real life wife

Little boys and airplanes

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 03:16:00 GMT

After experiencing in what I consider my childhood years, age 16 through 21, I found that I was being held hostage by the United States Government. Had I known more about the law and the fact that people under 18 could not sign contracts that our US Airforce cohered me into four years of servitude. Not by offering me candy, although that probably would have sweetened the deal, but by offering me training in electronics. A field which captivated my mind when I was a very small child.

To lay a little background, after all what is one of my stories without background? It;s like mashed potato's without butter and gravy. Thought my father was an engineer on the Union Pacific Railroad, he also for many years lived a double lifetime. Not as a spy, like Herb Filbrick in the old TV series "I Led Three Lives", the story about a crypto analyst for the United States Government, and being the good guy that he was his third life came to bear by being a double agent working completely as a good guy for the good guys side and as a bad guy for the dirty rotten scoundrels. Little did the scoundrels know the information which he was feeding them was fabricated by the good guys with just a hint of real information to maintain their interest. So the story went... Each week our pre pubescent hero using stealth, learning and using other devious means of being a spy from both the good guys and the dirty rotten scoundrels. If I remember correctly, periodically part of his assignments and tests from school found their way brilliantly converted to mouthwatering espionage for the bad guys. I don't remember their names in the series, nor his. So we'll just call them the bad guys, Boris and Natasha. And the teenage superspy and girlfriend alias as Rocky and Bullwinkle. Though I am sure this was not what they were called in the series it will make them easier to remember in the story.

Actually my father in his second life was a drummer for the Union Pacific Railroad band. And in the house that he and my mother built themselves out of cement block, it had an attic and a ladder built onto the side of the house that went to the trapdoor that went into the attic. Every day he would make me climb the ladder with him following me and for one half hour every day we would practice playing the drums. He taught me how to play drums, I was five years old at the time. I might point out that after my half hour drum lesson. This was 1950 when TV was the newest thing and my father was taking a correspondence course on repairing TV's and radios. After the drum lesson I spent one half hour, mind you I was still only age five, my father then made me take the correspondence course along with him, thus began my love of electronics.. When I went on to high school I had the privilege of setting up and running the first closed circuit television station in the Weber County School District.

Now this is the point that I have completely forgotten what it is I was writing about and find myself wondering where Moose and Squirrel came into the picture. During the stint of forced servitude with the Airforce, part of my job required the torturous wonder of flying in a lot of very fast airplanes all the time - thus creating a love for flying forever deep within my being. I was a crypto code machine repair officer and when a piece of code machine was broken down I was placed in the backseat or belly of the fastest moving airplane they had available to get me to where the code machines were broken. After all the military works on a lot of secrets, you'd be surprised how many generals and coronals use this highly sophisticated secret code equipment to pass on their wagers and scores and point spreads of their favorite sports games, such as football, baseball or basketball. It really surprised me how that could have been top secret information.

Dreams do come true. If you have the desire, an understanding and supportive wife, and about $3000 plus sufficient time on your hands to learn to fly at a Podunk's airport. My choice was Skypark Airport in Woods Cross, Utah. It was a very small airport designed basically as a secondary airport for flight enthusiasts and flying and skydiving clubs.

Being an older airport it didn't have many amenities to offer. It had what they call T-hangers, which are long buildings separated inside with areas the shape of a T, so the airplane would park inside facing out. The tail end of the plane jutting into the storage space of the adjacent renter. This jigsaw configuration allows them to park more aircraft with its jigsaw shaping. There were also planes, like you see in the movies tied down to the concrete, not protected by hangers. I used to fly in and out of this airport all the time. I was working with a character (several other stories to come later) whose passion, profession, and minor criminal endeavors involved promoting gold mines. Some of which were in the mountains, some on rivers, however most of his mining was done on Main Street.

So you understand a Main Street miner is one who doesn't really have any legitimate revenue generating potential with the exception of some of the brilliantly contrived assays and mining reports. Kind of like the ones you saw in the old "Lone Ranger" and "Sky King" TV series. They would take scrap gold, melt it down and sprinkle it into a pan of water, so as it rapidly cooled it resembled actual gold nuggets, which when loaded into a shotgun shell that had the lead pellets removed and replaced with these newly formed gold nuggets would be haphazardly shot into the walls and floors, the ceilings, and any crevice that to the naive and greedy eye of a total novice with more money than brains to invest. This turned an otherwise empty cave to appear like the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine. Of course future investors and I think at this time I ought to point out just in case you are ever approached with an opportunity like this, bring a geologist or someone with an education higher than nine and have them inspect the property with you.

One of the main reasons I worked with this gentleman, although I did reap some financial benefits on occasion, was that he had an old 1956 Cessna airplane. He was almost blind as a bat, which meant his license I am sure had either been revoked, long expired, or maybe he never had one in the first place. But he had an airplane and I got to fly it a lot.

Now comes the main part of the story, bet you thought we would never get here... Some of the details were necessary to make everything here make sense. I have been told sometimes my blogs are too long. But how believable is a true life story only one or two sentences long?

The other day I had to take the car my mother gave me before she died, bless her heart, to a mechanic to have some work done before I die, saving my wife this problem considering how many other surprises she is bound to run across while sorting through my "hoarders paradise". As I was talking to the mechanic about my mothers car and what needed fixing on it, in passing I mentioned to the young mechanic that I used to have a shop up the road a few blocks where I too worked on classic cars and did a lot of electrical work. He asked me the name of my shop and I told him, "Tinkers Toys". He said, "I know you, I remember you. My father had a shop right next to yours in the large complex you were in". He then went on to give me the disheartening news that his father had just died a couple of years ago of a brain tumor. This brought me great sorrow. While at work his father and I were great friends. There were many times I would help him, as well as times he would help me. A couple of the other mechanics that were in the shop that I took my mothers car were gathered around admiring it. It is a 1984 Lincoln Continental with around only 50,000 miles (very low mileage). that looks as thought it just came off the showroom floor. It has been covered and stored it's entire lifetime.

After explaining what the name of my shop was this young mechanic, with some glee in his voice, and a smile from ear to ear said, "You were a friend of my father's. Sometimes when you needed help he would help you and sometimes when he needed help you would help him. I remember the funnest times. You had an old airplane hanging from the ceiling of your shop" We reminisced about it for a bit. I had disassembled the plane for storage and the wings were off of it, the engine removed and the fabric was off of it. It had all wood wings, chrome molly tubing (very strong and lightweight), covered with thin lightweight strong fabric. I had an overhead hoist on a large I-beam track. It was electric and could go up and down. I had a seat made out of a small padded chair. I had removed the legs and hooked up a cradle out of steel cable and hooked it over the hook of a winch. I could go and sit and think by putting myself in the seat and raise myself up to overlook the shop and think. When my grandchildren or any friends children came over they got to play in the flying chair. The up and down switch could be held in your hand and let yourself up and down, but could also raise a child high enough to crawl over into the airplane. The plane had dual controls with a steering wheel on each side and could carry four passengers. It had a 150 hp Franklin engine, had retractable landing gear (it had a hand crank that took 35 cranks up and 35 cranks down in order to raise or lower the landing gear) and was capable of a top speed of 207 mile per hour. It had a range of 1500 miles. It was an absolutely beautiful airplane. You can google the name "Bellanca model 1413" and see a picture of this aircraft.

Back to the story. I flew in and out of this airport all the time watching this old airplane sit in the field never being flown. I tried for months to find out who the owner was and all I was able to find was that the man that had owned it was drunk when he landed it, landed it too fast, which tore off one flap and blew out one tire. It was then parked and never again had its wings soar the sunlit days. The reason I finally bought the airplane I knew someday I would have grandchildren. I bought the airplane before my son even had a serious relationship knowing full well there would be grandsons sometime. Sure enough two beautiful grandsons, but neither grandson was interested in putting forth the effort and dedication to restoring the beautiful bird to once again be flown from one sunlit cloud to another. The plane still sits sadly in our back yard (in the hoarders paradise) hoping some generous sole will come along with interest enough to buy and restore it.

This was a very wonderful memory and I have to thank the young man for bringing it to my mind. I am sure he had as pleasant of thoughts as I did and couldn't wait to tell his wife about it when he got home that evening.

Awfully strange how small this world really is. I am still having good memories from just the other day

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

A cold by any other name still sucks

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 03:02:00 GMT

First we'll take up Sandra. I never pictured you as one that could instill that type of fright in anyone. I am sure it must have been someone else.

Annette, please have a safe journey.

Now to the rest of you out there. To those who have not caught this cold, for a better word, congratulations! For the other ninety percent that are experiencing whatever, again for a better word, this cold is, my condolences and best wishes. As for me I still have it. It is the cold, for a better word. Which seems to take away ones ability to think and their artistry of writing. It seems to improve their ability to assume the prone position. and sleep quite a lot. The bright part of it all is the lack of appetite caused by "it", we'll call a cold for lack of a better name. Seems to be effecting everything.

So best wishes for a quick recovery for those of you who need it. And good luck that those who haven't caught "it", this cold for a better word, feel blessed. Now I am going to go nurse my wounds, cry in my own soup, and go back to sleep.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Cure in a bottle

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 05:20:00 GMT

I think we all should thank Sandra M for her love and compassion which she practices and doesn't just write about it on our blog. The world needs many more Sandra's. So thank you Sandra for sharing you insight and feelings with us tonight.

It is not just the hunger or the cold or the heat on a hot summers day but the day like today where my heart truly goes out to the less fortunate. It gives me a great feeling of guilt each time I complain about anything, especially illness. My wife and I have both been down with a terrible illness of coughing and congestion, fever, general malice, and just plain old not feeling good.

Each time I complain to anyone about not feeling well I think of those that couldn't afford even a bottle of aspirin. They can't whip out a bottle of Nyquil or Robatussen from the medicine cabinet. That is if they had a medicine cabinet. Tonight is one of those nights that I apologize to those that feel just as bad or even worse than I do today. And actually feel grateful while at the same time guilty for having some of these medicines to help make this illness and its symptoms go away or at least diminish the discomfort that goes along with a cold.

So for now I hope and pray you all feel well. And to those of you who don't I hope you have some snake oil to help ease your suffering. Thanks again -

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

someone's trying somewhere, does anybody care?

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 04:27:00 GMT

After spending over sixty years on this planet and almost 33 years with my wonderful wife we, like everyone else have suffered our ups and downs. Our good times and our bad times. Times when finances were sufficient and times that destitute would better describe. When we first moved back to Salt Lake City neither of us had a job. Many a night was spent trying to find a safe place to park our Chevy van where we could get a restful nights sleep without worrying of falling victim of the various abundance of criminal elements that this fair city had to offer. Or on the other hand being harassed by one of the over-zealous police departments beating on the door in the middle of the night just to let you know that it was time to move on.

Sleeping in public areas whether in a vehicle, a tent, a sleeping bag, or crouched somewhere wrapped in a mangy old blanket was something that the communities did not want. Under the old Nimby social beliefs. In other words "not in my backyard". Yes we at times found ourselves homeless. Once you find yourself in this position extricating yourself from the mire poses many problems. The good people of the community are the first to say that these homeless people just need to find a job, but that they don't want to. Which is probably farther from the truth than one can imagine. Finding a job is paramount to becoming self sufficient. However, there are many boundaries - actually to call them boundaries is wrong - they are truly obstacles. As the basic requirements for finding the basic requirement of a job require a permanent address, a telephone, and references. As if the first two were not hard enough, the telephone and the address, you were expected to survive physically once you are fortunate enough to obtain some sort of employment. It is extremely hard to work when you are starving to death. Having no money for food let alone funds to wash clothes or find some place to wash your own body.

With all of the experiences my wife and I have had positive and negative we found that there are not enough positive programs or amenities available to help those who for one reason or another are experiencing a true hardship in their life. I have no answers by myself the answers fall in group efforts. Next time your social group meets whether it be religious or the art and wine appreciation tour or the neighborhood cleanup campaign take part of your time and devote it to thoughts and actions that can help some of the mired of problems that those less fortunate than the rich experience each day. Instead of talking, suggesting, and planning why not apply the novel thought of actually doing something. Whatever you do does not have to be large. The smallest genuine effort can make a large, honest difference.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Real quick blog

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 05:30:00 GMT

Thank you for your words today.
I will remember you when I bow my head to pray.
I'll thank the Lord for each one of you.
My typist's tired so for tonight this will do.

God Bless you all,
Ken the afterlife messenger

From the bottom of my heart I wish everyone Happy Valentines Day and hope you have someone to share it with!

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 05:08:00 GMT

My title says just how I feel today. But I don't need any special day or a square upon the calendar, the hype on the television, in the newspaper ads, and drug store windows to remind me just how fortunate that I am to have known true lasting unconditional love. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have never had this feeling to make my life complete.

I have to thank so many people a lot of whom as recently as yesterday were strangers to me. People that I had never met and know nothing beyond what they have generously shared with me and all of you who visit my website.

When I first started this website I had no idea how it would work. I certainly had no idea about writing. Having no experience beyond greeting cards and resume. And the dreaded incident reports that accompanied each call when I served as a police officer.

I guess what I pictured was success in the one portion of my website that does not seem to have shown the slightest success. I had high hopes and sugar plum dreams of helping people quit smoking. And generating enough money from the membership fee to allow me to add to the donations of charitable organizations like the American Lung Association, the Heart Association, and other associated associations. And perhaps generating a little bit of cash to put in my own pocket to help pay for the expenses associated with the website. I used the replacement technique to quit smoking, so I was hoping to use the leftover cash for my Jim Beam, and cases of Coors Light and the occasional lap dance. Which proved successful in giving up smoking. The fact that no one out there evidently wanted to quit smoking by joining the Dying Smokers Club, the expected revenue to this day remains $0. With me as the only charter member. Even though I quit years earlier. Which I had to do cold turkey because my ideal replacement method of smoking sestation lacked financial support.

I have so many people to thank for their thoughts, their prayers, their actions, and their love. Again, most of whom were as strange to me as I was to them.

I had a bitter sweet revelation today. I sleep sixteen, eighteen, twenty hours a day, not because I want to but because it happens without my knowledge. I fall asleep in the middle of telephone conversations and when you are on your cell phone it can really make your minutes add up. I fall asleep in the middle of conversations face to face with people including my wife. I even fall asleep while engaged in hot debate with myself no matter which side is winning. It's lucky that I am a skitzoid and I have several different people locked up within my head. Usually by the time one has forgiven me for feeling that my conversation with them was so boring that I would just fall asleep by the time I get around to visiting and conversing with that particular personality I will have insulted another of my personalities by nodding off on them. I have one follower that uses Intentional Resting which I appreciate them doing this for me and I was glad to know that what was happening with me was not an affliction but a holistic science that I had already learned somewhere. I am still grateful for all they have done and do for me now.

I started to tell you about a revelation that I had today. It has given me a great insight though not to the same degree as to how Rip Van Winkle felt. I learned today that I was almost 65 years old. Two years older than I thought I was. I am still finding it hard to accept the shock and the bittersweet part is that I am actually only 64 but in a couple of months well, six anyway, I will be eligible for Medicare. Which really does me no good, as the VA is not allowed to accept money from Medicare towards co payment or other VA charges. So I wonder why I paid for Medicare all my life. Now my wife informs me that I took my social security at 62 because all indications including my doctors giving me six months to live indicated that I might not even make it to 62... so I had better take it now because it appeared there would be no way in hell I would be around to collect that extra few dollars by waiting until I was 65. What I find is a terrible thing is my wife doesn't get my social security when I die. She makes or will make more with her own social security therefore making her ineligible to collect the mere pittance I get now. Would you believe I have to pay income tax on 3/4 of the amount I receive from social security? They wonder why old people die, it's because they can't afford to live.

By the way our computer problem is 2/3 functional. Strange how dependent and necessary something that only entered the mainstream of life with the first personal computers made available in 1981. What's next?

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Hi ho Sylvia! Rest away!

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 05:42:00 GMT

I have a confession to all of you who read my blogs. My stories are all inspired by drugs. Thirteen different kinds, a total of twenty two pills a day to be exact. some of them are extremely potent. and I understand demand what some would consider a lot of money on the black market. I originally said the open market, which it might as well be. We've become a country of a pill for this and a pill for that and two pills for something else. We have a pill for when we eat something that tastes so very good. We have a pill for when we drink too much. We have a pill from listening to our mother-in-law too long. We even have a pill that requires that you seek emergency council with your doctor if it works too good and lasts over four hours, We want immediate gratification from everything and we have the mindset that if one is good two is better, I found this to be true especially when it comes to cookies.

I don't understand what it is these young people achieve or experience from using these pills or medicines, when they have no actual physical need for them. I have yet to feel "high" from any of the medicines that I presently take. Some of which are most sought after by foolish junkies. It seems as though one pill leads to another. If I take a pain pill I then have to take three additional pills, a stool softener and a laxative. Up until the time I became ill I don't think I ever needed a laxative in my life. All I had to do was eat Mexican food., Believe me it was more than sufficient, But it is no longer sufficient. And when I do eat Mexican food I have to take two pills for my heartburn. Thank God for Zantac and Maalox. All I can say is that getting old sucks. And Thank God I can swallow a pill and don't have to take my medications suppository form.

I would like to welcome someone who is a new name and a new face as far as commenter's on my blog., This would be Sylvia. I know that just from her name she is well connected in her life. She has a definite beginning and an end that makes full circle after traveling the gentle loop of her life. Is peaceful, comfortable, and surrounded by wonderful people. Perhaps you would like to know how I come to these conclusions. They come from my childhood. Oh I forgot to mention there is only one like her. The number 22 holds great significance for her. You see I've known the peace, the love and all the rest of the attributes that Sylvia has to offer. Throughout my childhood and until the passing of my mother, I was raised at number 22 Sylvia Drive in Ogden. A wonderful almost complete circled road. This small portion that was not Sylvia Drive was connected together by a beautiful little piece of road called Chimes View Drive. I don't know why.. There were no bells. And the most prominent feature that could be seen both from our big bay window, which faced to the west and Chimes View Drive was the grain mills in Ogden. The large silos. In the younger part of my growing up we were surrounded by orchards. So thank you Sylvia for writing me and for resting for me and for opening the floodgate and allowing a deluge of memory fill my heart and soul today. Thank you for these memories.

As far as the resting goes, I have the resting part down quite pat. I am on fifteen liters of oxygen and I sleep anywhere from eighteen to twenty hours a day. Only now instead of just sleeping because my damaged lungs and heart demand it I will be looking at the world a whole new way and rest with purpose rather than just sleep out of necessity. I think that it is a beautiful idea. And I will be glad to tell people about Dan's website. www.IntentionalResting.com - I will furthermore offer to make a link on my website. I would hope that Dan could do the same for me. After all we are both trying to get our message and enlighten as many souls as we possibly can. Until then the little notebook seems to have saved us for another night. I certainly hope so.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Three strikes and you're out!

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 03:01:00 GMT

Salutations, Greetings, aloha,

It seems like in this world, everything is meant to work out. I believe that writing the blogs and responding to your comments and reading the comments you all send to me has greatly extended my life. It has given me something to look forward to and has definitely helped avoid depression. There are those of you that comment to me almost daily. I cannot thank you all enough for this wellspring of encouragement , sensitivity, and the honor that I feel for all of the caring and genuine love that you give a stranger. And no one is strangest that I.

I have had requests from some of you to pass feelings and messages of caring to both living and departed members of your families of both blood and those of chosen family members (friends). Let me assure you that I will do all I can to pass your feelings on to the proper recipients.

Now to get back to matters of convenience of things happening when they are suppose to I must point out that we have three computers. My wife's computer has every bell and whistle that you can imagine, my computer which has half as many bells and half as many whistles and works half as well, then my wifes notebook which is not much larger than a paperback book. Even with her dainty hands, the keys are almost impossible to do more than hunt and peck. We have my computer now set up in our bedroom, along with a 42 inch flat screen television. And wifi keyboard and mouse. Inconveniently some of the bells and whistles on my wife's computer broke. We then found some of the bells and whistles that we put on my computer so I could write from my bed did not work as planed. The wifi system does not seem to be able to talk across the room, let alone the two rooms it is suppose to be able to do. Not knowing that my computer was not ongoing to be able to fill the function the computer repairman took my wife's computer to fix the problems it had. After generously putting system 7 on both of our computers and removing the XP operating system which seemed to work just fine on everything we have assuring us how much better Windows 7 would be - my opinion is, it sucks! I was much happier with XP because it worked. So now we find ourselves with one operable computer which happens to be the paperback book that I described earlier. The only thing that it seems to do just happened in the middle of writing all of this it manages to erase everything and replace it with a window that asks, "do you want to take advantage of the automatic updates and restart your computer?" I must say this feature of System 7 just tickled the shit right out of me. As I was trying to say, this small computer is the only one we have that will properly connect to the wifi that the XP System had no problem with for a couple of years.

Now comes the convenience of it all. Three computers, my health being to the point that I don't really feel like writing a blog each day and to use the word write would be a bald faced lie. Because all I do is dictate. And my wife and her infinite patience and occasional interjection causing me to lose my whole train of thought. All of this will be on a very limited basis for at least a week. And knowing our computer repairman who seems to dwell in a parallel universe, will one day in our universe excuse me one day in his universe seems to equate from anywhere near ten days to three weeks. I am not sure but I think his universe uses a variable time rate, something similar to the variable rate interest on our credit cards. One day, a day means a day - at least he tells us that. Usually one week equaling two weeks we find more dependable. So until such time that we have at least one of our real computers back from this repairman. Sharon's crackerjack prize will be used in a minimum capacity. Of course you know I am speaking of computer number three, You know the one with no bells, no whistles, and you have to set it to choke and pull three times on the starter cord to get it up and running. I don't know how long this blog is, things have to be rated by battery longevity. And we are on our forth battery now! We will try to write as much as possible.

Corky my love, Thank you very much for the sprig of what you asked the species of. It is a piece of the most populous tree in the Rocky Mountains and that is the lodgepole pine. I enjoyed its aroma today. thank you.

God Bless you all, I hope there is enough battery power left to run the spell checker,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Just one of those down days

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 04:30:00 GMT

I wish to thank you all for helping my days be worth living. There are some days that I really get down and in some ways hope this is the day the doctors said would come. I call these my POOR ME DAYS. I do my best to keep these days to a minimum and under control. But I do have to pick myself up by my bootstraps and go on. I don't know where that saying came from, but I can picture a person picking themselves up by their bootstraps and falling on their face. It is the little things like that which help me slip out of it. They make me wonder whoever came up with that saying, and did they realize how stupid it really was. It would have made more sense to say, "I'll get someone to pick me up by my bootstraps", because I can see where that would actually be possible.

I want to thank all of you that have been with me for around 200 of my stories and ravings. And for over 300 responses that give me a good feeling that there are that many people that give a damn about what I say. When I am not feeling well you end up with short blogs that either ramble or are retrospective like this. So as you all have probably guessed by now I really don't feel well. And I am going to thank you all again for your comments. And knowing how good they make me feel I am going to beg for a whole bunch of them from all of you. Because I really need to feel a lot better than I am right now. Thank you again.

All my best wishes and love to all of you and the world because I have to realize that each time I write to you could very possibly be my very last. And this makes me very sad. So before I depress you or me any more I will say good night,.

God bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

There is no such thing as the truth

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 04:24:00 GMT

These things I know to be true.

1. The tree branch Corky sent to me is from a Lodgepole Pine. (thank you Corky)

2. If Sandra thinks I would get rid of my typist she is crazy

3. It only snows once in Wyoming each year and just blows around for the rest of the winter.

4. 80% of the people that live in Utah and surrounding states wear "funny underwear". Of the other 20%, 10% split between Fruit of the Loom and Haynes, 5% wear none, and 5% wear someone else's.

5. People that are happily married both suffer from amnesia. Except the ones that are happily married.

6. The most fun two people can have in a VW is actually making it to their destination.

7. So far my doctor's prognosis has been wrong (I'm still here, aren't I?)

8. When it comes to women "Candy's dandy, liquor's quicker and a BMW's a sure thing"

9. Bill Clinton did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Monica Lewinsky. he did however have sex with a whole bunch of them that you don't know about.

10. Number 9 is a bald faced lie. He rode that gal like 50 miles of bad road. And there ain't nobody can convince me different.

There - somebody had to say it. We've all been faking it. Of course then again what the hell does my opinion matter?

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger and that's the truth

Now that's a lighthearted blog - is this the kind you want to hear?

Our baby computer grew up

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 02:05:00 GMT

Welcome to my new technology. It's actually not that new. It's a computer we've had for many years, but we had a fellow do everything you can do. It's got the dual core processor and 500megs of memory. It's got that new Windows 7 but most important is it is sitting on the shelf right next to my 42 inch television hooked up to the hdmi and gives me wireless connection to our other computer and the printer. I have a wireless mouse and a wireless keyboard, and this time a wireless brain. Absolutely amazing where technology has gone. When I started in computers it was back in the 1950's.

The first real computers I worked on were top secret part of the Minute Man Guidance System. That's what the air force first trained me to do was to repair minute man missile guidance systems. When they realized the mistake they had made that they were going to phase out the silos, and the minute man missile had no place in Viet Nam. Since I had a top secret clearance with crypto and Q access (about as high as you could get) they decided not to waste the cost of all those background checks and psychological evaluations they put me thorough to see if I was a threat to our country. They decided to train me in repairing tele-type and cryptographic equipment. We even fixed the neatest little do-dad called the teleautograph. It was a pad that used a stylus like a pen and whatever you wrote on the pad would appear in the command centers or wherever they had it going to. That way they could instant message in authenticated handwriting.

The main reason I ended up in Viet Nam was because they decided to phase out the Minute Man Missie and they didn't have any missile silos in Viet Nam anyway. Ergo no holes in the ground filled with rockets, no technicians to fix said rockets. But they did need people to fix super secret code machines. Super mechanic to the rescue! If you have read some of my previous blogs you'll know what a wonderful position this was. I lived in officers quarters, ate in the officers mess, drank in the officers club, flew in the F4 Phantom jets, or flew in the bellies of the fastest jet that was going in the direction that had a broken code machine. I was one of the happiest guys in the world every time something broke down. That meant I got to put on a flight suit and nine times out of ten climb into the back seat of an F4 Phantom they call a jet. I called it a "rocket". That was the funest thing I have ever ridden in. And I have ridden in them a couple hundred times.

Well, not to bore you. Oh yeah, the great thing about this new computer is when I am not feeling well I can still write to you because it has a wireless keyboard and mouse and this great big tv screen. It talks to our wireless hub router and I could write on this computer with my head on my pillow. Talk about the epitome of laziness. Of course I have a feeling that even though my wife has her own computer in the office here in the house she is going to be enjoying the advantages of snuggling to my sleeping body and doing a lot of her computer work from a more comfortable position. Snuggled up to that wonderful me. Pretty neat huh?

Thank you all - God Bless - tell your friends to tell their friends to visit. We get new folks every day. To me it takes a brave soul to carry on a conversation and actually put it on paper for others to see. After all I am sure if they got their chance the shrinks would have a hey day with me. My only excuse is life should be fun. And happy. And fair. And shared with someone who shares their love with you.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

sumpin new

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 20:35:00 GMT

I would like to welcome Corky to our growing group of frequent commenters. Not being the gentleman that i am i will not divulge her age that is sumpin that this Cajun can let the world know if she wants but you know since its coming from a woman there may and probably will be some discrepancy. .

sumpthing i need to remind those of you out there is that any comments or emails or guest book comments are published UNLESS YOU REQUEST THAT SPECIFIC COMMENT NOT BE SHARED WITH THE THE REST OF THE WORLD AND THEY WILL REMAIN IN MY PERSONAL FILE AND NO ONE ELSE EXCEPT MY WIFE SHARON WHO USUALLY TYPES AND HANDLES THE KEYBOARD PORTION OF OUR WEB SITE. AND WE WANT TO REMIND YOU ALL THAT THIS IS EVERYONES WEBSITE/BLOG AND IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SHARE WITH EVERY ONE IT IS OK.

If you don't want your comments published please type "NOT FOR PUBLICATION" at the top of your comment.

Note: Ken started to write this earlier today, but wasn't able to finish it himself. He asked me to send it out tonight with his love to everyone.

God Bless you all,
Ken, the afterlife messenger

Another one of those puka days

Ken - The Afterlife Messenger — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 05:04:00 GMT

Ken says hello to everyone. He has not been out of bed at all today and wanted everyone to know he hopes to write tomorrow. He is just tired, tired, tired and can't stay awake. So send a prayer or two his way and comment on the older blogs so he will have something to read when he gets up.

Thank you all for being a friend to my sweet husband.
I love you all for your dedication to keeping the dialogs going.

Love and Blessings,
Sharon (the real life wife)