Two novels published now

February 8, 2013

I’ve published two complete novels now and am working on a third over at Booksie.com.  Drop by and check them out.  The URL is:

http://www.booksie.com/tom_oldman

The two novels are 1) “Wanderlust”, and 2) “Snowbound”.  The third, “A Cat and Her Ship”, is a departure for me, being more science fiction touched by humor than a romance novel.

T.O.M.

 

It has been a while

September 28, 2012

I know, I know.  I should have kept this blogging thing up.  In my own defense, I’ve been pretty busy over on Booksie.  My URL there is:

http://www.booksie.com/tom_oldman

Come on over and take a look at the two novels I’ve published so far.  Well, one is finished and the other is about halfway.  WHo knows?  Maybe the writing bug will bite you also.

T.O.M.

 

And now the book is published

June 16, 2012

Back again.  I’ve just published Chapter 45 of Wanderlust!  I hope you liked it.  I’m currently working on another short story (that may turn into a novel) with just a little more zip to it.  In spots, I may have to mark it rated M as it concerns two people who end up snowbound in a mountain cabin for two weeks.  Should be a good read.

The URL for Chapter 1 is: http://www.booksie.com/romance/novel/tom_oldman/wanderlust/chapter/1

T.O.M.

I wrote a book!

January 31, 2012

In my copious spare time, I managed to write a little novel. This is my first attempt at writing for public (other than here on WordPress) so I don’t know what the reaction will be.  It is basically a love story that spans almost twenty years.  I drew a bit on my own experiences and embellished them somewhat then added flights of pure fancy.

Anyway, here’s the URL for the first chapter:

http://www.booksie.com/romance/novel/tom_oldman/wanderlust-chapter-1

I intend to add chapters about once a week or so.  Please let me know what you think; good, bad, indifferent, whatever.

T.O.M.

 

Some humerous items

January 4, 2012

A guy is 70 years old and loves to fish. He was sitting in his boat one day when he heard a voice say, ‘Pick me up.’ He looked around and couldn’t see anyone. He thought he was dreaming when he heard the voice say again, ‘Pick me up.’  He looked in the water and there, floating on top, was a frog.

The man said, ‘Are you talking to me?’

The frog said, ‘Yes, I’m talking to you. Pick me up, kiss me and then I’ll turn into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I’ll make sure that all your friends are envious and jealous because I will be your bride!’

The man looked at the frog for a short time, reached over, picked it up carefully, and placed it in his front breast pocket.

Then the frog said, ‘What, are you nuts? Didn’t you hear what I said? I said kiss me and I will be your beautiful bride.’

He opened his pocket, looked at the frog and said, ‘Nah, at my age I’d rather have a talking frog.’

= = =
HOW TO INSTALL A HOME SECURITY SYSTEM

1. Go to a secondhand store and buy a pair of size 14–16  men’s work boots.

2. Place them on your front porch, along with a copy of Guns ‘n’ Ammo Magazine.

3. Put four giant dog dishes next to the boots and magazines.

4. Leave a note on your door that reads:

Bubba:

Bertha, Duke, Slim, and I went for more ammo and beer. Be back in an hour. Don’t mess with the pit bulls. They got the mailman this morning and messed him up bad. I don’t think Killer took part, but it was hard to tell from all the blood. Anyway, I locked all four of ‘em in the house. Better wait outside. Be right back.

“Cooter”

= = =

An Italian MaMa

Mrs. Ravioli comes to visit her son Anthony for dinner. He lives with a female roommate, Maria. During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how pretty Anthony’s roommate is.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than met the eye.

Reading his mom’s thoughts, Anthony volunteered, “I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Maria and I are just roommates.”

About a week later, Maria came to Anthony saying, “Ever since your mother came to dinner, I’ve been unable to find the silver sugar bowl. You don’t suppose she took it, do you?”

“Well, I doubt it, but I’ll email her, just to be sure.”

So he sat down and wrote an email:

Dear MaMa,

I’m not saying that you “did” take the sugar bowl from my house; I’m not saying that you “did not” take it.
But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.

Your Loving Son

Anthony

Several days later, Anthony received a response email from his MaMa which read:

Dear son,

I’m not saying that you “do” sleep with Maria, and I’m not saying that you “do not” sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.

Your Loving MaMa

= = =

Research shows that there are 7 kinds of sex.

The 1st kind of sex is called: Smurf Sex. * This kind of sex happens when You first meet someone, and you both have sex until you are blue in the face.

The 2nd kind of sex is called: Kitchen Sex. * This is when you have been With your partner for a short time, and you are so needy you will have sex Anywhere, even in the kitchen.

The 3rd kind of sex is called: Bedroom Sex.  This is when you have been with Your partner for a long time, your sex has gotten routine, and you usually have Sex only in your bedroom.

The 4th kind of sex is called: Hallway Sex * This is when you have been with Your partner for too long. When you pass each other in the hallway you both say ‘Screw you.’

The 5th kind of sex is called: Religious Sex. * This means you get Nun in The morning, Nun in the afternoon, and Nun at night. (Very Popular)

The 6th kind is called Courtroom Sex. * This is when you cannot stand your Wife any more.  She takes you to court and screws you in front of everyone.

And; Last, but not least, The 7th kind of sex is called: Social Security Sex.  You get a little each month, but not enough to enjoy yourself.

Moving from the old year to the New Year

December 31, 2011

I have been neglecting this blog for quite some time now.  It isn’t that I’ve been busy – quite the opposite.  I guess I haven’t been busy enough.  I’ve written several blog entries, but owing to one reason or another just never posted them.  Here is one of them:

When I was lying flat on my back while recovering from a fall a while back, I honed my hearing enough to find out many things about my house that I didn’t know.  For instance, the water softener makes a gurgling sound that normally takes place around three in the morning.  With my odd hours of waking and sleep, I kept hearing it and wondering what it was

Pretty much every night, there appears to be some sort of small animal that roams around our back yard.  As soon as the dog behind us starts to bark, our cat springs into action.  She goes completely bonkers (an animal medical term meaning ‘taken leave of its senses’) and runs around the house with a tail the size of a large zucchini.  Everything (and I mean everything) in that cat’s path gets shredded; including anyone (me) lying on a bed in the living room.  It’s not that she jumps up on me but more that she allows herself to slowly move down the wall as she’s making the rounds of the living room.  Much the same as those old motorcycle daredevils that roared around “The Wall of Death”.  The hearing part of this rambling is her making noises like a chipmunk of steroids.  Sort of an Ekk-Ekk sound, but only when she’s got her nose within two inches of my ear AND I’m asleep

The toilet in the master bathroom needs a new valve seal as it will occasionally run for ten seconds and then shut back down

The clock above the television ticks very loudly when the TV isn’t on

The rest of the sounds in and around the house have been catalogued at least enough to keep me from wondering that they are

= =

All this is leading up to the substance of this post: What were the sounds you liked best about each season when you were in your childhood – say from eight to fourteen.  In my case, that would have been from 1950 to 1956.  I’ll start with summer

Summertime, especially in Washington, D.C., can, to be charitable, be rather hot.  From dawn, or shortly before it, the first things I heard were the chirring of the locusts in the trees surrounding the house.  That noise would continue throughout the day, providing background to everything you did outside.  Next would come the cawing of crows as they soared over those same trees trying to wake their brethren for another day.  Since school was out, kids would begin their shouting and running about.  In the late afternoon, there would be the tinkling of the ice cream truck as it made it’s rounds.  Finally, as it grew dark, more kid sounds as they played their games until the call for a late dinner

Towards fall, other sounds would begin to appear.  In the woods not too far away, chain saws would begin to snort and bellow their way through fallen trees.  The wind, which usually stayed away during the summer, would begin to blow and sigh through treetops and rattle shutters.  Soon, that sound would be augmented by the rustling of leaves as they try to infiltrate the back porch, only to slide down the screening.  The end of summer was always signaled over at my neighbor’s house by the running of a water pump as it drained their pool for yet another year.  A sad sound which usually ran for nearly a complete day because the pump was small and he didn’t want to create a swamp in his back yard.  Once school started, busses would blat and fart around corners to halt and pick up glum-looking kids dressed in sweaters and, later, parkas.

The crystal-clear cold of winter was almost a non-sound.  Only when it is a very early morning with no wind can you hear the scurry of snow as it rattles across the surface of older snow which has crusted overnight.  Leaves, those that stubbornly remained on trees, begin falling and rattling dryly against windows.  On weekends, the shouts, taunts, and general noise created by what seems to be hundreds of kids on a nearby sledding hill would invade the white countryside.  An occasional car can be heard passing by, slipping and sliding, on the unplowed tar road in front of the house.  Dusk falls early during this season and, soon after doing so, I could hear the measured crunch of my father’s footsteps as he walked from car to house.

Perhaps my favorite audio time of the year is spring.  This is when the cold, snippy winds of winter give way to an equal, but opposite, wind of promise.  If a person is outside, he will hear the sounds of birds in the trees after their long absence.  First comes the hardy birds, no songbirds, but steady, workaholic birds who are scouting places to raise their families.  As leaves begin to sprout, more colorful birds appear.  These you can hear simply by lying on the ground in your front yard and closing your eyes.  They make small skittering sounds as they hop to and fro, testing each fork on the limb for nest suitability.  Once found, they call to mates “come look, come look – I’ve found the perfect place!”  They say it in chirps and tweedles, but you understand them anyway.  On the last day of school, the expectant chatter of my friends as they jump off the bus for the last time this year makes me take heart that there really is a life after Suitland Elementary School.

Now, as a new year creeps up on me in less than five hours, I wish everyone good tidings in the upcoming year.

T.O.M

Playing catch-up

July 28, 2011

It has been a very long four months since my last post here.  Health conditions, as well as my physical location, pretty much dictated when (and for how long) I could remain on a computer.  For almost a month I was flat on my back after having fallen backwards from a stepladder onto the concrete floor of my garage.  Nothing got completely broken, but I was out of it for a while.  For the most part, I was unable to sit up.  This makes working a keyboard – even a laptop – very difficult.  I did a lot of reading during that time.

As they say on airplanes, I “can now move about the cabin”.  I walk with a definite bias to port (that’s right for non-nautical types) but I can walk now, which is a good thing.  For quite some while, any rear view you had of me appeared to be a large map of Africa with the entire continent colored purple; shading to deep red and orange as you near the Sahara.  There is also a sharp, red spike running north from the coast of Libya, across the Mediterranean and touching Greece.

But enough about that.  My mental powers were working hard while I was laid up and I’ve jotted down quite a few new idea for posts.  You’re going to have to bear with me, however, before I can sit down longer than 30-seconds without my back hurting.  I have a wireless keyboard, which is great, but it doesn’t help much when the monitor is sitting almost ten feet away from my easy chair.  I haven’t a chance of reading it from that distance.

At any rate, I do promise to get back into the swing of things and begin posting again.

T.O.M.

Still here

March 9, 2011

I’m still here.  The last couple of months haven’t been kind to me – or mine.  Both my wife and I came down with bronchitis. We were puzzled as to why, then found out that the vent in our bathroom had been blocked for years and not functioning properly.  This meant we had a build-up of mold; which is a prime cause of respiratory ailments.  The mold wasn’t visible though.  It had attached itself to the drywall (well, dampwall now) on the inside of the wall.  Plus, when the guy we bought the house from twenty years ago put in new windows they didn’t add a vapor barrier around the hole.  Another reason for mold.

It was so bad that we had to move out for four days while they tested for air quality.  Yep, we were tainted big time.  So now we are living in the basement while three rooms are being torn down to the studding and rebuilt with all new drywall and stuff.  With all this going on, I just didn’t feel like blogging – or anything else for that matter.

We are just about ready to move back upstairs so I may get back to more entries here.  If anyone reads this that’s been following my blog, go ahead and suggest a subject or two from past blogs.  I’d love to expand on any of them.  I realize there is no humor in this entry, but that’s the tag I use a lot.  Sorry about that.

T.O.M.

 

An update

December 18, 2010

Since my last post in November a lot has happened.  I was in the hospital for a bit while the health guessers probed the reasons behind my extended stomach cramps.  Exercising due care, and fee splitting, they managed to parlay a simple intestinal blockage into a major production that stopped just short of opening me up and letting all the little sprockets, wheels, and springs out.  I’m okay now, but the did manage to create an incision of considerable size in my wallet.  Before it’s lifeblood was stemmed, all the green was gone.  It will probably have a scar for the rest of it’s life.

Couple that ordeal with a hefty snowstorm or two which forced me out into it clad in my Elk hunting suit to battle the elements.  Of course, it does help when you are armed with a 2.5HP self-powered snow blower.  It was exhausting.  For almost an hour I had to hold down those levers to keep the scooper reel and the wheels turning.  Why can’t snow blowers come with one of those little ride-behind platforms that a person can stand on?  Or, better yet, why not have a little slot on the side that spits out file-dollar bills so you can pay someone else to do it?

At the moment, it is 13 degrees out.  That temperature pushes down the needle in my ‘reallycold-o-meter’ to ‘stay at home, fool’!  There is no wind today.  If I stick my nose outside to the front porch I can hear the birds bitching as they fight over the ice-encrusted seeds in my feeder.  The squirrels, being a far smarter animal, are just hopping from limb to limb (of the tree, that is) and harassing the birds.  I threw some pieces of bread out on the snow of the front lawn but they haven’t discovered them yet.  They will begin to fight soon.  Can you call it a turf war if there isn’t any turf visible?

There is a village across the state from me where a famous manufacturer creates those wonderful pies you find everywhere.  They recently had a fire and, in the midst of the conflagration, there was an explosion.  The blast was heard 3.1415 miles away.

Happy Holidays!

T.O.M.

Fort Possum, Part 2

November 4, 2010

We met again the next afternoon.  Fired up once more with the spirit of adventure we rushed around like demented squirrels gathering up bits of board, pipe, nails, string, cardboard, and other items to make our fort a home.  My brother’s wagon was piled high with goodies so we had to be doubly careful not to dump the stuff on the ground.  Oops, too late.

Once again we piled items on my brother’s wagon and set forth – again – into the woods.  We would do the picking up thing several more times on the way there.  Each time we pondered the necessity of this or that item.  We were leaving a trail of discarded things a blind person could follow into our secret location.

Finally, we arrived and unloaded.  Well, actually, it was unloaded for us because when we stopped the wagon lost a wheel and the whole load dumped yet again.  “Just leave that crap on the ground.  We’ll get it if we need it.”  Sage advice from an anonymous voice in the group.

We spent the next few hours hammering, sawing, grumbling, and making an occasional profane shout when a finger get between the hammer and the nail.  The whole fort was taking shape now and really looking good.  We had three side up as tall as the tallest one of us and as soon as we finished the roof poles we’d begin putting pieces of plywood and thick cardboard on top.  We had some of the younger guys out in the surrounding woods gathering pine boughs to help hide the fort from casual view.

It was inevitable that we were finally finished.  In our view it was a finely crafted, very good looking fort.  In reality, it was probably very leaky, and a Big Bad Wolf could huff and/or puff it right down.  But what the heck, we were proud of it.  This time, before we left, we all gathered inside and took our solemn oath never to divulge the location of this secret place.  Never mind that probably every kid in the neighborhood knew where it was.

Wearily, we trudged back to my place, tools only in the little red wagon this time.  We had exhausted all the building supplies we brought.  Also included were numerous pine branches which would no doubt turn brown and un-hide our fort.  I had to admit, as I looked back from down the trail a ways, it did seem to blend right into the side of the cliff.

All week long we took about an hour each afternoon after school and drug items of comfort down to the fort.  An old camp chair appeared.  A very threadbare (and stinky, from Tad’s dog) rug was tried, convicted and sentenced to stand guard ten feet away from the front door.  A small two-shelf bookcase was assembled into which we put all our rations, comic books, tin cans with assorted goodies in them, and other things that interested pre-teen boys.  Nobody claimed to know where the smutty magazine came from, but we all agreed that it was probably okay to keep it around for a while.  At least until we needed glasses.

Due to the inconsistencies of parents, only five of us guys got to sleep out in the fort the first weekend it was ready.  My brother and I were two of them.  A nice fellow named Bert, a rather mouthy kid named Benny, and a very quiet kid named Xavier made up the fearless five who would initiate the fort.  We packed up for the trip (all 1 mile of it) like we were attempting to scale Everest.  My mother spotted my brother and I sneaking all sorts of stuff out of the house.  She reclaimed three packages of hot dogs, one of the tins of cocoa, a huge bag of marshmallows, and a box of firecrackers that had somehow gotten mixed in with them.  “Gosh, mom, I haven’t a clue where those came from.  No, I won’t set the woods on fire.  Well, okay, I’ll put them aside.”  Poop!  Nothing is more exciting than blowing up hot dogs and marshmallows with ladyfingers.

We arrived, arranged our sleeping gear on the ground and built a very small fire on the ground in the middle of the fort.  Upon reflection, after the place filled with smoke almost immediately, we decided that we should probably have put in a stove pipe.  Motion carried.  We hacked a hole in one wall and another in the opposite wall.  After twenty minutes or so we could go back in.  The smell of smoke permeated everything.  We didn’t notice it much.  The size of the fire was carefully regulated after that.  Put a stovepipe on the list.

I had brought a tiny little solid pellet fueled stove with me and a metal canteen cup so I decided to make cocoa.  Now, the cocoa that my mom confiscated was the one that had the sugar in it so when I slurped down a huge mouthful of the awful brew I barely made it to the door blowing it out with compressed air.  “Wahg!  Ick!  Where’s the sugar,” I asked; rhetorically, it seemed.  Nobody had brought any.  Add sugar to the list.

Candles were lit when it got so dark we couldn’t discern the colors of Superman’s cape.  Errant puffs of wind through our supposedly tight walls kept putting them out, or making the flame burn off-center enough to have a half-candle standing tall with the other half melted down to the base.  Matches were dwindling pretty fast.  Add them to the list.

By nightfall proper, we had exhausted all our jokes and were down the bodily noises in the dark.  Benny entertained us with an amazingly loud medley of burps and belches.  This act was followed by Xavier who managed to bring tears to our eyes – with his exhaust fumes.  “Sorry, guys.  Hot dogs just make me fart.”  Take hot dogs off the list.

Somewhere around midnight, I guess, Bert got up and wandered around outside stubbing his toes at least six times trying to find a place to pee.  He didn’t want to turn on his flashlight because then we ‘could see him pee’ and that just wasn’t acceptable.  He had taken a candle, but it blew out and he hadn’t taken any matches with him.  He finally found a spot.  The sound of falling water affected the rest of us predictably so we all files out and created a small tsunami which flooded out at least one anthill.

Back inside, after whispering ghost stories to each other for a while we began to drop off one by one.  I think that Benny was still talking when I drifted off to sleep.

I came awake suddenly for some reason.  I couldn’t put a motivation to it, but my eyes just popped open.  I lay silent, breathing very slowly listening for whatever it was that woke me.  Bert, who was lying next to me, started pushing against my leg with his leg.  I pushed back, but he kept bumping and pushing at me.  With no warning, he began rolling over onto my stomach.  “Hey!  Dammit Bert.  Move back over, whydontcha?”  I said, and pushed back again.

“It’s not me, Tom.  I’m over here.”  His voice answered from across the fort.  “Benny!  Get your hairy arm off my face!”

“Whatd’ya mean me?  I’m still in my sack.  Kick Xavier instead.”

“It’s not me guys.”  Said Xavier.  “So who the hell is it?”

The only flashlight in the place flicked on and highlighted a huge apparition of an animal as it stood on it’s hind legs, transfixed and still, in the middle of five guys who were in the process of levitating.   “AHHHHGH!  What the fuckzat?”  Screamed someone – who sounded remarkably like me.

All six of us tried to get out the door at the same time, which solved the problem of enough ventilation since the entire wall fell with a crash.  The poor Opossum that had started all this carefully looked at us, snorted, and ambled down the path.  We gathered all our bedding, which had been sucked out the door in the vacuum behind us as we left, and peeked into the fort to see if any more  possums were forthcoming.  None were found, but the hole we had noticed before and plugged with a rock was now rock-less.  We figured he had to have come out of that hole and found we’d built a fort over him.

We decided that henceforth the fort would be known as Fort Possum.

T.O.M.


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