At 10:15 am, smoke drifted up from his size 70 boots.

It was last Friday, October 19, 2012, the start of the last weekend of the 2012 Texas State Fair. Just over 60 years ago in the Fall of 1952, the first fairgoer families of that year walked through the entrance to Fair Park, stopped and stared at the Fair’s newest arrival. Together, they held hands and gazed up in wonder, as Big Tex, the world’s tallest talking Texan, greeted them with a loud and friendly “Hoooowwwdeee, Fooollllks!”.

Towering above the crowd last Friday, as he always did, Big Tex, the official mascot of the Texas State Fair, greeted this year’s fairgoer families and their children and was in the middle of his announcements.

Before anyone could do anything, red and yellow flames reached up, traveled quickly to the five-pocket denim jeans, curled around the 23-foot-long belt and caught the red, white and blue Western shirt in a burst of fire, heat and smoke!

Around him in Big Tex Circle, fairgoers pointed and yelled. Teenagers texted for help. Children lowered their eyes and dropped their corny dogs.

It was over in ten minutes.

As the flames engulfed the 52-foot tall frame and 75-gallon cowboy hat, Big Tex kept talking. His long Texas drawl could be heard across the 277-acre Fair Park. He was talking to the end.

Big Tex never recorded his messages. He worked 12 hours a day, alternating between 30 minutes of announcements and 30-minutes breaks. Even on break, he kept waiving and greeting the guests and smiling shyly at the pretty girls.

Last Friday, the big hand finally stopped moving.

Fair workers who had known the rugged good-looking cowboy for years stood silently and cried.

A crane arrived and lowered the charred remains onto a flatbed truck. Workers covered the long frame with a huge piece of canvas. Escorted by Dallas Police officers, the draped figure rolled slowly by. Fairgoers clapped and waved goodbye to their beloved cowboy.

Watching, the Mayor of Dallas, who had rushed to the scene, vowed that Big Tex would return next year.

One of the workers, who knew the cowboy well, as so many did, smiled between the tears and sighed, “It’s a new beginning.” His tone brightening, he added, “Because we’re going to build him back bigger and better than ever.”

It is a new beginning.

We look forward to seeing and hearing you again next year, Big Fella, bigger and better than ever,

Grandpa Jim

In Japanese, “Hiroshima” means “Wide Island” or “Big Island.”

In 1589, the Warlord Mori Terumoto built Hiroshima Castle on a big island in a river delta extending into the Seto Inland Sea. Mori Terumoto was a powerful and respected man controlling 1.2 million koku. A koku is enough rice to feed one person for one year. This means Mr. Terumoto’s land holdings could feed 1.2 million people. That allowed Warlord Terumoto to mobilize 120,000 soldiers. Although Landowner Terumoto was a good manager, he was not as successful as a general. General Terumoto was on the losing side in the Battle of Sekigahara, and in 1619 the castle and the City of Hiroshima that had grown around it passed to the control of another warload.

That is how the City of Hiroshima began, and since its beginnings the city has grown and prospered.

Today, Hiroshima is a large and vibrant metropolis. In the year 2000, the metropolitan area claimed more than 2 million residents. Hiroshima is a busy port shipping out many cars from its biggest industry, Mazda Motor Corporation. The City is also known for its favorite dish called okonomiyaki which is a hot layering (no mixing allowed) of egg, cabbage, bean sprouts, meats and seafoods (the ones you choose), cheese, noodles, another egg and a generous dollop of the local sauce to top it off. Hmmmm, that sounds very scrumptious to me. The local baseball team is the Hiroshima Toyo Carp, and they have been champions of the Central League six times and won the Japanese Series three times. The city has always been a center of education and ideas, and Hiroshima University continues that rich legacy today and into the future.

There have been hard times and there have been sad events, very sad events.

At 8:15 AM on August 6, 1945, an American B-29 bomber dropped the first atomic bomb to be used against a city. The bomb exploded over Hiroshima. Much of the city was destroyed and many died that day. World War II ended about 10 days later.

The official flower of the City of Hiroshima is the oleander. It was the first to bloom after the explosion.

This weekend the story “Hiroshima” will be on the home page. It is the story of a new life that began that fateful day in 1945. The city itself is the story of the new life that continues there today.

Grandpa Jim

What is story writing — for me?

Story writing is the discovery of a place never been before.

Preparing the house for guests is part of the fun.

The other is their arrival when the story is done.

To be there is to see their faces when we open the door.

Stage 1: Get The Story Out

I’ve learned not to stop. I believe stories already exist in the ether of fiction space. When I glimpse the thread of a story, I grab at it quickly or the line may be lost. I try not to wait. I take some notes right away, even if I have to do it in the dark, pen in hand, on a page I can’t see. At first, I may only see the title, a few lines or the ending paragraph. I write that down. When I return to discover the rest of the story, I start writing, I try to push through (it may be a couple of days), and I try not to back-write too much at this stage. This is the first draft, getting the story out, getting it down on paper, so the outline can be seen.

Stage 2: Get The Words Out

Now, I prune, pummel and polish my first rough draft. I use words to wrap form and color around the ghost-like story shape. I want to capture it, as it seems to want to move away. I believe a story cannot be lost — once I make those first saving notes. After that, I don’t worry about the story (it will exist), but I may lose my way and never return. At the end of this stage, the second draft gives substance and character to the emerging shape and allows my reviewers something to work with, in the next stage.

Stage 3: Put The Mat Out

Third, put out the mat. Let someone see that rough draft, that unfinished work. A story will not be done until it is reviewed and critiqued. At this stage, “copy” and “content” are my by-words. I have two people who work the copy over — the word choices, the grammar, the punctuation, the flow, the understandability. If I hear “I don’t understand this,” I know I’m on the right track. The story is there. I just have to find the right words. Those same two people slam the content. “They didn’t have this then.” “He wouldn’t talk like that.” “If you say that, your reader will know you know nothing about what you’re talking about and will quit reading.” This is called “No Pride of Authorship.” I get over it. It’s not my story. I’m just the writer. It’s not humility, it’s reality. I have to get it right with the world of words, or the world of readers will never get right with the story.

Stage 4: Walk Out And Look In

This stage is for me to walk outside and look back in. I open the door, step outside, turn around and look at the story from a distance. I ask myself, “Will the reader see the story?” If I, now the objective self-critical writer, can’t see the story that I saw, the reader won’t see anything. This is the third-party objectivity that I, as the writer, bring to the story. In the last stage, the reviewers of the story brought their objectivity to the written words. They didn’t find the story, so they cannot critique the integrity of the story. They can only critique the words, the copy and content, as they see them. Only the writer can critique the alignment of the words with the story itself, because only the writer sees the story without the words, as it exists in the realm of untouched fiction. I ask myself, “Will the story rise through the words?” I lose the most sleep over this stage, because the show is on this stage. Does the story shine out and will it pull the reader in?

Stage 5: Invite The Guests In

It’s Christmas in the snow, a bright chilly night. A couple is coming over for dinner. They approach the house, walk up the steps and push the bell. We open the door. Colors, lights, candles, the tree, presents and smiling faces explode out to greet our guests as we reach out and pull them into the house to enjoy the warm company of family and friends. That house and everything and everyone inside are the story. It has taken time and effort to decorate, arrange, place and polish to make sure it is just right. No other story will ever appear like that house does on that night when those guests enter for their first time.

May you have many bright and festive evenings in the company of good friends and good words,

Grandpa Jim

The macrophage Commander sits in his control chair and scans the battle screen. The pathogen TIE fighters are swarming forward. He can’t see the bigger pathogen ships, but he knows they’re coming.

“Mr. Sula, give the order for our macrophage Pac-Man Destroyers to attack.”

“Yes, Captain.” Mr. Sula pushes buttons activating the “All-Attack” command to the fleet.

In the waiting room, the Person is reading an article on his body’s immune system. “Macrophages are specialized white blood cells. They protect your body by fighting foreign invading cells, called pathogens or infectious agents. The macrophages are themselves specialized into control cells and attack cells. The large macrophage attack cells can launch smaller antibody fighters that harass and incapacitate the pathogen invaders.” The person rubs his shoulder. He has a pain there and a headache. He feels hot. Something is going on, which is why he’s at the doctor’s office.

On the screen, the Pac-Man Destroyers engulf the smaller enemy fighters. With the overpowering fire of their turbo lasers and ion cannons and the aid of their antibody X-wing fighters, the big ships disable the Tie fighters and then use their powerful tractor beams to pull them into the main ship for disassembly and analysis.

“Mr. Chekhov, can I have the analysis of the invaders?” the Commander asks.

“Yes, Captain.” Mr. Chekhov adjusts his ear transmitter. “I have it, Sir. Yes, definitely. Interpretation of the Antigen markings on the exteriors of the vessels is complete. The fingerprint is that of the ‘Pneumonia Bacterium.’ Each of the attackers is marked with the Antigen flag ‘PB.’ That’s the personal identifier, Sir. That’s how we can recognize them.”

Now our Person is sitting on a chair in a small examining room and reading from the article in his lap. “A macrophage will disable a pathogen invader by using its size and strength, with the aid of its antibody fighters. After neutralizing the pathogen, the macrophage pulls the foreign particle through its cell wall and into the cell. There, it will be broken up and the distinctive ‘antigen’ marking on the surface of the invader will be catalogued and transmitted to the other macrophage defenders in the body. This allows the body’s defense systems to distinguish a bad cell from a good cell.”

“Uhura, signal the fleet with the ‘PB’ antigen marker information.”

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura talks into her speech transmitter and then listens for a response. “Sir, a squadron of what appear to be our Pac-Man Destroyers is approaching from downstream in the vascular system. Wait. Yes. Sir, our field commander sees the ‘PB’ through the cloaking. Those are not Pac-Men, they’re Imperial Cruisers. We’re being flanked, Captain.”

“I see them on the control screen. Mr. Chekhov, signal the ‘General Alert’ and activate all reserves. We’ll throw everything we have at these bad guys. Mr. Sula, signal the ‘All Hands.’ We’re going in too. I don’t want to miss this fight, but I sure hope our Person is doing something out there to help. There are too many of those Imperial Cruisers. We are badly outnumbered.”

“So, Doc, what’s wrong?” The Person sits up on the examining table, his legs dangling over the side. The doctor has just finished the examination. “You have a fever, a high fever. You’re body is fighting an infection, and it needs some help.” Behind the doctor, the nurse holds up a needle and pushes a little fluid out the tip. “Not a shot, Doc, I don’t like shots.” “Your body will. I’ll give you the shot now and some more antibiotic pills to take at home. Roll your sleeve up.” The Person shuts his eyes, as the needle stings and the antibiotics rush into his bloodstream and toward the battle. “An antibiotic contains antibodies,” the doctor says. “An antibody is like a little star fighter, like the X-Wing fighter that Luke Skywalker flew in Star Wars. It can’t usually knock out a big infection all by itself, but a whole bunch can turn the tide and help the big macrophages in your body do their work.”

“We’re being pushed back, Captain.” Mr. Sula says, slowly studying his smaller screen. “And, we’ve lost most of our antibody fighters. Our shields our weakening.”

“Captain,” Mr. Chekhov interjects. “Should I order the ‘Retreat?’”

“Not yet.” The Captain is thinking. “Have a little faith in our Person, Gentlemen.”

“Captain, I’m getting something?”

“Yes, Uhura.”

“Sir, it’s unbelievable. Thousands of X-Wing antibody fighters have appeared out of nowhere. The enemy TIE fighters are spiraling out of control. The intruder’s Imperial Cruisers are being pounded. They’re listing and turning.”

“Mr. Sula, give our Pac-Man Destroyers the ‘All Forward’ signal. Let’s go gobble up some Star Destroyers.”

“Captain,” Uhura’s voice is excited. “One X-Wing fighter just took out the enemy command ship with a single photon torpedo.” The bridge explodes with cheers.

“Take us in, Mr. Sula. It’s time to pick up the pieces.” He turns to his side. “Mr. Spock, you’ve been unusually quiet through this all.”

“I never doubted the outcome, Captain. I believe our Person is part Vulcan.”

The Captain smiles at his friend. “Mr. Spock, do you think you could scare up a medal for that young pilot with the good aim?”

“Scare, Captain?”

“Never mind, Spock. It’s old English from early Earth. You know, like being afraid of a good shot in the arm.”

“Captain, why would a shot in the arm be good?”

Now the Captain does laugh with the rest of the crew. “Mr. Spock, you need to talk to our Person. He may be more human than you suspect.”

On the battle screen, the Pac-Man Destroyers are finishing with the enemy fleet.

“Paku-Paku,”

Grandpa Jim

On May 25, 1977, the first Star Wars movie, “A New Hope,” was released. Everyone started talking and everyone started going. We were there in line with the crowd.

That first “Star Wars” was itself a cultural and marketing phenomenon (singular), and it was the start of the phenomena (plural) of star war movies and mania that shook the foundations of our planet. It was a “phenomenon” because it was the first movie and it was called “Star Wars,” the movie. It was the start of the “phenomena” because it was the first of six Star Wars movies to be released in two trilogies — with hopes of another trilogy in the far distant future.

The first 1977 movie was actually #4 in the series. Three years later, #5, “The Empire Strikes Back” (1980) was welcome with worried concern, and three years after that, #6, “Return of the Jedi” (1983), appeared in movie theatres across the world to the loud applause of an army of followers – many of whom were costumed as rebel pilots, storm troopers, musical miscreants and furry teddy bear fighters. We were in the midst of an intergalactic war, and we had the figures and models to prove it. I still do, in the remote storage unit. My children are grown with children of their own, but the figures remain neatly ordered in a black plastic Darth Vader case in a universe that is and always will be their own, just waiting to be called to fight the next menace.

Twenty-two years after the first movie, we saw #1, “The Phantom Menace” (1999), followed three years later by #2, “Attack of the Clones” (2002), concluding with #3 “Revenge of the Sith” (2005). The #3 and final movie in the first trilogy, which is actually #6 and the last made, was released 28 years after #1, which is actually #4, which we finally reached in wide-screen wonder at the end of that long line in 1977. It is all just wonderfully confusing and entertaining, and I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

I have all the movies, I have watched all the shows and I’m ready for the next installments.

The space ships are amazing. I still remember the massive hulk of the Imperial Star Destroyer appearing from the black of space to menace Princess Leia in her tiny Rebel ship. That Imperial cruiser was a battleship, an intruder of gargantuan proportions with a city on its surface and gun emplacements everywhere, armed with turbo lasers, ion cannons and tractor beam projectors, to name just a few. Han Solo wasn’t even fazed. He and Chewbacca just climbed into their swivel gun emplacements and started firing away at the gnat-like TIE fighters, before blasting off into space warp safety, to return and fight again. Luke Skywalker didn’t bat an eye either. He jumped into his X-Wing Fighter with R2-D2 riding shot-gun and took on the biggest space ship ever, the Death Star, a moon-sized monster on steroids that could swallow a planet whole and spit out the pieces. Luke just dived right in, with Obi-Wan and the Force calmly guiding his hand, found the one weakness all bullies have and saved the day for the Alliance and their rag-tag fleet of tattered and happy star ships.

That was a movie. Our heroes got medals, Princess Leia gave them each a “look” and we hadn’t seen enough yet. In some ways, we still haven’t. There is and will always be something very everyday and right at home in those make-believe star ships and their make-believe worlds. The battles and settings were somehow not that far away and reminded us that we are part of something bigger, grander and as exciting as only imaginations can be. We learned our lesson. We have to keep fighting for what’s right and good and not worry about the cash. Han Solo did it and we can too.

May the force be with you,

Grandpa Jim

Reminder to Readers: The force was with Hiroshima. Please read her story. Just click the “Mary and Other Stories” tab and drop down to “Hiroshima.”

On May 22, 1980, the arcade game called “Pac-Man” was first released in Japan. At a trade show prior to its release, marketing executives who saw the game laughed and said, “Who will play a game with a yellow hero shaped like a pizza with one slice missing eating dots in a maze being chased by four cute little colorful ghosts named Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde?” They put their money on a new racing game called “Rally-X.” The racing game crashed, and Pac-Man gobbled up the video arcade market.

Gobble, Gobble — eat, eat — Pak Pak. In Japan, “paku paku” is the onomatopoeic slang phrase for the mouth opening and closing in the simulated act of eating, as if to tell your friend, “I’m hungry, let’s get a pizza.” And, boy (and girl), that little yellow guy was hungry. In fact, the Pac-Man character was not only designed to look like a piece of pizza from which someone has just grabbed a slice, he was designed to resemble the Japanese character for the mouth that was getting ready to chomp that pizza piece. Why mouth and pizza for a gaming hero in what had been a land of race cars, space invaders, asteroids and ping-pong? Why indeed?

Let’s get back to the girls. Before Pac-Man, the video arcades were filled with male players. Holding his nose in that sea of sweating T-shirts and old sneakers, our thoughtful game designer looked around and said, “We need some young ladies in here . . . and some perfume.” He ran back to the game-design house and grabbed eight other designers. They huddled together with their heads down in a circle talking. “How about a fashion game?” “No.” “How about a love story game?” “No.” I give up, what? What does everyone like to do, boys and girls? “How about an eating game?” “Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes and Yes!!!!!!!!!”

A year later, that gang of designers emerged with the first “Puck Man” cabinet and carried it down in a parade to the nearest Japanese arcade. The guys liked it. Outside in the fresh air, the girls looked through the smudged glass, saw that handsome yellow fella being being chased by those four cute ghosts and said, “That’s so adorable and it looks like fun.” Those girls walked right in, politely moved the boys aside and started playing. In shock, the guys stood with their mouths open looking like Pac-Man in old jeans and sneakers. The girls laughed, pulled them over and they all started taking turns, having fun and thinking it’s about time we all went out for a pizza together.

Yes, that first arcade cabinet was named “Puck Man” (couldn’t quite break away from the crazed pong sports phase), but when the girls started playing and saw the resemblance of that little guy to those startled boys with their mouths hanging open, the designers (who were watching all this with big smiles, including the shared pizza meal afterwards) quickly changed the name to “Pac-Man” (we’re committed to this eating thing now), put 100,000 of those Pac-Man arcade cabinets on a boat to America and opened up a big bank account.

By the end of 1980, Pac-Man has eaten more than $1 billion U.S. dollars in quarters. By the end of 1982, an estimated 7 billion coins had been inserted into Pac-Man machines. By the end of the 20th Century, Pac-Man was the highest grossing and most influential video game of all time. Pac-Man had become the first original gaming mascot with a world-wide following of boys and girls who remember the first time they played the game together and the first time they shared a pizza afterwards.

Civilization had found its way to the video arcade and the world of gaming has been much more attractive ever since.

Today, much has changed. You don’t have to go to a video arcade. You can play Pac-Man pretty much anywhere. One constant has remained. After Pac-Man escapes those friendly ghosts and has gobbled up all those pac-dot, you and your friend will be hungry. It’s time to share a pizza at the local Italian pie shop.

Mangiare bene,

Grandpa Jim

Note to Readers: The new story, “Hiroshima,” is now under the “Mary and Other Stories” tab. Just click, scroll down to “Hiroshima,” click and read.

Three words.

Knowledge, understanding and wisdom.

What do they mean and are they a good idea?

If you are washing clothes, they may be an excellent idea.

The ancient text, entitled “Proverbs,” presents an interesting explication of these three words. The first nine chapters in the modern versions of the book (there were no chapters in the original scrolled text) present a morality play in which a lady in the person of “Wisdom” calls aloud to a “Young Man” to offer guidance and direction to the youth based on knowledge and understanding and leading to wisdom. The remaining chapters present a collection of proverbs and sayings ending with a tribute to the noble wife – perhaps a tactfully placed reminder of who’s really in charge – Mom.

The proverb is an interesting literary form. To me, a “proverb” is a couplet of two verses that compare different things to help you decide which is best, with a prejudice in the wording that let’s you know which way the author thinks you should go.

Let’s try one.

Proverbs 15:22 says “Plans fail for lack of counsel, / but with many advisers they succeed.” Fairly basic advice. To paraphrase, “It’s generally better not to go it alone.” I knew that. Maybe that’s the secret of a proverb. It does tell you what you already knew, but in a fashion that catches your attention and invites renewed thought and reflection. “Do I really know what I already knew?” Who knows?

Let’s try another.

Proverbs 17:22 suggests that, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, / but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Wow, that’s a mouthful in a few words. I knew a positive attitude was important, but I didn’t know it could keep me out of the hospital. I am still trying to figure out why “cheerful heart” was comparatively placed in opposition to a “crushed spirit.” The juxtaposition seems a bit extreme. Just because I don’t smile, my bones are going to try up? Oh, I begin to see. These are deep thoughts. More than meets the eye, so to speak.

Let’s get back to that load of wash.

A new washing machine was just delivered to my house. I’ve never seen one before. Play along with me here – let’s see where this goes.

First, I look at the white box and lid and the control panel and I wonder. I open the lid and stick my hand inside. I twirl the spinner. I feel the nice porcelain enameled exterior. Smooth. Clean. If I was an engineer, I might take that washer apart, catalog the parts and put it back together again. Then, I would know all the parts. I would have knowledge of the washing machine and what it is composed of, but I would have no idea what to do next. The facts, all the facts, and nothing but the facts. That’s knowledge.

Second, I notice the book I threw over in the corner. I pick it up and read, “Instruction Manual.” I think to myself, “I don’t usually read these things, I’m a guy, I can figure it out myself.” Then, I look at the white machine I just put back together. Standing there. It’s not doing anything. Can’t hurt. Why not? So, I start reading. “Oh, that’s how it works! I understand now. I put my dirty clothes inside and then I. . . .” The light bulb in my head just turned on. Click. I now have an understanding of the washing machine. I know how to make it work for me. I know how to put the facts to work. That’s understanding.

Third, I gather all my dirty laundry and start loading the first tub. I end with my new white polo shirt. Wait, there’s still room for one more thing. I look at the clothes piled on floor, reach down, pick up my new red socks, throw them into the tub with the detergent and turn on my new washing machine. Wisdom is not putting the red socks with the white shirt. I can have all the knowledge and understanding in the world and still not make the right choices. Wisdom is making the right choices. That’s wisdom.

The book of Proverbs could have been titled, “How To Wash Your Clothes and Look Good When You’re Through.” Solomon was a smart guy. He thought, “That title is too long, I need something more catchy, just one word, that says it all, hm-mm, what should I call this book, got it!” He did and he wrote it. I’m still trying to catch it and I read it. Some guys are just wiser than others. Maybe, I should read it again. Can’t hurt, I say to myself, as I sit down in my newly washed pink shirt and turn to the first page.

“Plans fail for lack of counsel, / but with many advisers they succeed.”

Maybe a few more words from a few good friends would help.

May the wise words of those around you line your path,

Grandpa Jim

Why are dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb so explosive?

Dynamite was invented by the Swedish chemist Alfred Nobel and patented in 1867. He worked with a particularly unstable chemical molecule called nitroglycerine, which just wants to break apart and release the energy that’s holding it together. It doesn’t like to be nitroglycerine and is just looking for a reason to break up, throw a tantrum and be something else. Alfred said to himself, “Okay, you want to change, what if I pack you very carefully in a tight container, give you a big remote smack on your unstable back, what will happen next?” BOOM! Dynamite was born. Mr. Nobel made a fortune, realized blowing up things was not always such a good thing and used his money to establish the Nobel Prizes to fund other more productive pursuits, like peace.

Loud explosions tend to change the direction of people.

Gunpowder has done that for thousands of years. I think the Chinese first invented gunpowder. The official court chemist was in the back room playing with some everyday powders. He said to himself, “What if I mix one part this, with two parts here, throw in some of that over there and then strike two stones together to make a spark?” KA-BANG! Gunpowder was born from the interaction of stable everyday chemicals becoming unstable in close proximity to each other, something sparking a fight and the whole crowd releasing their angry energy on an unsuspecting world.

We’re only a few molecules away from something happening, and it’s not always good.

As a kid, I was a chemist and a young scientist. From my home-built lab in the basement, I would launch little rockets into the ceiling. “Whatever you’re doing down there,” Mom would yell from the kitchen, “Stop it.” We and the other scientists moved across the street. “What was that explosion?” my friend’s Mom yelled from the kitchen, “And why is all that smoke in the garage.” We grabbed our sleds and launched ourselves down the snow-packed street, wondering if maybe we should just keep going.

Most times, loud noise and smoke are not a good idea, not just for kids, sadly.

An atomic bomb starts with atoms not molecules. That’s the difference between an atomic bomb and gunpowder or dynamite. The beginnings of all these explosive incendiaries are the bonds of energy that are inside a molecule or atom, holding them together. A molecule is two or more atoms bonded together. For example, water is the H2O molecule, two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom; the 2H and 1O atoms are held together by bonds that require energy; break the bonds and you release the energy. That’s how gunpowder and nitroglycerine work. An atomic bomb looks to the bonds of energy inside an atom, holding it together. For example, that H or hydrogen atom is composed of one electron revolving around a proton – think of the moon revolving around the earth. However, this is in the very small internal area of an atom. In there, with that one little proton and one little electron, it takes a great amount of energy to keep their world spinning. Knock that electron and proton apart, and you release a whole bunch of energy. That’s how an atomic bomb starts.

Little does not always mean less, especially when we are talking about the pent-up energy of molecular and atomic bonds.

The word “bomb” could derive from the word “bond,” or more likely from the word “boom.” A bomb is a boom of broken bonds.

Bombs are devices that release the energy in molecular and atomic bonds in a setting that accelerates and magnifies the force of the reaction for the purpose of hurting others and their belongings.

The release of energy can and should be a good thing. Burning a log on a fire is the release of the molecular energy in the wood. A controlled fire in the heater, stove or fireplace is a very good thing. It warms us in cool weather, heats our food and comforts us with its bright flames. Uncontrolled, a fire is a very bad thing. A forest fire can destroy homes, crops and people. A bomb is an uncontrolled forest fire. And, the sad thing about a bomb is that the fire was started intentionally to cause damage.

Over two thousand atomic bombs have been detonated for testing. Only two atomic bombs have ever been used against people. Near the end of World War II, the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed by atomic bombs. The blast that devastated Hiroshima is calculated to have been equivalent to 60 million sticks of dynamite.

We know why dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb are explosive. We also know how to control the release of molecular and atomic energy to build a better life for all on our planet. Dynamite, gunpowder and the atomic bomb can destroy that life. My hope is that we can control how we release the energy in molecular and atomic bonds by making the right choices for the future of our world.

May wisdom guide our steps,

Grandpa Jim

When was the first pickup truck?

The pickup truck is part of the American way of life. In Texas, if you live in the country and don’t drive a pickup truck, a kindly cowboy with well-worn boots is likely to smile, lift his battered and stained hat, wipe his forehead with a red bandanna and explain in a slow and kindly drawl, “Well, sir and ma’am, that just ain’t done out here.” And, it ain’t.

The truck doesn’t have to be new. It’s going to be covered with gravel dust from the back roads and mud from the fields anyaways. And, it can be a bit worn itself, with some chips in the paint and the bumper not quite straight, but it should be a pickup truck. That’s just the way things work best out there in the country. No offense, sir and ma’am, they just do.

The work horse of the frontier, farm and ranch is the pickup truck. For some things, it’s still the horse, but that horse sure does appreciate the help from Mr. Ford and his friends. The pickup truck can be a Ford, Chevrolet or any another brand. Texans are wide open to new ideas and looks. Depends on what you and you’re kin are partial to. Can even be a Toyota.

Now, that’s a story, a bit of Texas apocrypha that might just be true. Years ago, Toyota only had a small pickup car, not even a real truck. The story goes that some Texans wondered about this and invited some of those Toyota executives to a Texas football game. At half time, the hosts said, “Let’s take a walk in the parking lot.” They did and as they were walking along, one Texan said to his guest, “What do you see?” Now, this was a car executive and he noticed cars, but there weren’t many cars out there in that big old lot. A puzzled look crossed the executive’s face, he thought and then he smiled, nodded and said, “I see trucks, many trucks, many big trucks.” The Texan smiled a big smile right back. Those two went back to the second half of that game and designed a nice big truck for Texas, so it’d fit right into that parking lot with the rest of those fine vehicles. Now, that’s a sight would warm the heart of any Texan, and many a Japanese too. I betcha.

But, back to the original question. When was that first pickup truck?

The first official, rolling off the assembly line, not built in the back shed, honest to goodness and you can buy it downtown at the dealership, that first pickup truck was the . . .

1925 Ford Model T Runabout with a cargo bed in the rear!

It was a beauty. The 1925 Ford pickup came standard with a front mat to rest your boots on, a jack, tire pump and a tool kit. Can you imagine? It had its own tool kit, with a screwdriver, monkey wrench, spark plug wrench, end wrench and hub cap wrench. Back in those days, you performed a lot of your own maintenance. Talk about speed. That truck had an L-head, 4 cylinder engine that exploded with 20 horsepower. A motoring monster, it sat on an extended 100-inch base, count ’em, 100 inches from front to back. A marvel, simply a marvel, and it was yours for only 281 dollars U.S. Oh, I failed to mention, it also had an adjustable tailgate, four stake pockets and heavy-duty rear springs. Did the wonders ever cease? In the eyes of the motor driven public, apparently not. 34,000 were sold that first year, and they’re still a sought after collector’s item this year.

Get ready, world, the pickup truck was on the road and drving your way. The versatile vehicle still is. It may not be the prettiest or the cleanest or the most elegant or the most outfitted, but it’s a part of the family and that’s just the way it is. You betcha.

Jump in and hold on for the bumps. We got some work to do and this old truck’s the one can do it.

Grandpa Jim

What is a “blog?”

Hopefully, it is not a “blob.” When analyzing a problem and defining a word, it can help to determine what a thing is not. So, let’s start with blob and see if we can get to blog.

In 1958, the musical group “The Five Blobs” released their hit to a scared, cowering, can’t-wait and screaming country. “Beware of the Blob” was a musical phenomenon in only 5 lines: “Beware of the Blob! /It creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the floor/Right through the door and all around the wall, /A splotch, a blotch, /Be careful of the Blob!” Burt Bacharach co-wrote the piece, so it had good genes.

The song was the theme song for the movie “The Blob” which featured a giant jelly-like gob of bubble gum that just kept growing and growing and growing devouring all and everything in its path. Steve McQueen made his debut in the film as the fast-thinking teenager who said, “Fly the thing to the frozen Arctic, it’s afraid of the cold.” It worked, Steve went on to be a star and The Blob is still up there somewhere under the snow, waiting.

The Blob was released as a double feature with “I Married a Monster from Outer Space.” They don’t make movies like that anymore. Actually, I kinda miss ‘em.

Now, we have blogs. Whooo, Whooo. Whooo. I know, it sounds scary, but they really aren’t — most of the time. You’re reading one. Sorry, no catchy song here about growing globs of gum oozing from your laptop or smart phone. Just a blog.

The word “blog” is a combination of the two words, “web” and “log.” Take the “b” from web and add it to the “log” from log and you have a “blog.”

Why did they do that?

Because a blog is a WEB site that allows the site owner to LOG into the web each day (really as often as the owner likes) where that person in charge can post a piece of brand new writing for others to read and those others can post their own responsive comments (if the site allows comments to be posted – this site doesn’t to ensure all materials are suitable for young readers). Each blog post is dated and timed on a searchable LOG, which is another reason for the “log” in blog. It’s all very ordered and bloggy

A traditional web site is static in its content and does not normally change daily. You go there to read about things, but what you are reading may only change when, for example, the product or pricing changes.

It may take a lot of work to change the content on a traditional web site. Not so with a blog. A blog is changing all the time as new material is logged into the web through the blog portal. So, an active blog is constantly growing. It is devouring new facts and ideas and expanding with the thoughts, stories and word wanderings of its host. In theory, an over-active blog could take over the Internet and become “The Blob of the World-Wide Web.” Don’t worry. Most bloggers don’t write that much, but in potentiality, a blog could become the blob.

Today, most new web sites have a blog page where new material can be posted daily and a part of the site where the material does not change. This site is like that. You have a “Blog Posts” tab where daily during the week I place new material for you to read, and you have tabs for “Uncle Joe Stories” and “Mary & Other Stories” where the content only changes when a new story is added.

So, on this web site, you have both a fun Blog with constantly changing blog posts and a fixed Web Site with stories that stay the same. There is no blob here, nothing to stick to your shoe and eat the family car. And, I will say today what has never been said before for Uncle Joe Stories — here you can have “All the fun of a Blog without the Blob.”

Enjoy the blog, but watch your step, just to be on the safe-side – they say it’s getting warmer up there in the Arctic (whooo, whooo), just kidding, no blob here, I hope,

Grandpa Jim