14 otra

As a child I stood closely enough to feel the prop blast and smell the firey exhaust of the retired WWII Fighters as they taxied down the runway next to my home in the California desert.  Today, saftey restrictions prohibit that kind of proximity, but, that is the nature of the changes that have formed me.  Somewhere along the way our prospectives change and History becomes something we realize we are actually living rather than a class that forces us to memorize dates.  Although I have entertained myself with childhood outings to scrape barnicles off horseshoe crabs in the Tampa Bay and by ice skating to school in Ohio, the call of the desert managed to lure me back. Coyboys and Indians really do exist and there is something reminiscent of romance still to be found in the howl of a coyote and the tales of the folks that say "remember when...".  A lot of my stories are inspired by the enticement of their stories and the foolish need to follow wherever daily life in the desert would lead me. It's hard to say how long it takes for individual opinion to merge with consensus to evolve into history. Although, in many cases, that is often what happens.  So, go ahead, watch out for scorpions, and pull your rock a little closer to the fire and let me tell you about the time...