It's been a long time since I felt good enough to blog. Allow me to explain.

Saturday (three days ago) was the first time since July 9 of last year that I have been (almost) pain free. I don't have my previous blogs in front of me as I draft this one, and you may not care to read through them, so here's a quick recap of the past ten months of my life. Actually, let’s go all the way back to April of 2023, when...

I bought a new car. My wife and I enjoyed travel, and decided to dedicate our retirement years to soaking up as much of the United States as we could. So, upon her passing, and after sitting out COVID for two years, followed by a year moving at least half of my clutter from one state to another, I decided it was time to make good on our plan. However...

I had a high-mileage vehicle, so I decided it was only fitting that my "new start" should be done in a new vehicle. So, in April of '23, I bought one. And then, a couple months later, I drove it from Nashville, TN all the way to Portland, OR., where...

In addition to spending time with a couple of friends and one of my nephews, I did some touring. Included among the places I toured: a long day’s drive along the west coast; a day at Mt. Hood: a day at Crater Lake: a day at Mt. St. Helens: a day at Mt. Rainier: and a day at Olympic National Park. Everything went smooth as silk...

Until the morning of July 9, the day I toured Mt. Rainier. Early that morning, while preparing to leave the hotel, I felt a subtle — and strange — movement in my left knee. It didn’t hurt, so I didn’t think much about it. However…

From that moment on, every step I took was more painful than the one before. But — by golly — I wasn't going to let that stop me! I had spent a small fortune, and driven over 2,500 miles, to get there. So, on that day I limped several miles at Mt. Hood; a couple days later, I limped several miles at Olympic N.P., and then I endured a long and painful drive back to Nashville, TN, where...

I rested a couple months, spent a painful week walking 5 miles a day at Williamsburg, VA, rested a couple more months, spent two painful days walking in and around the Opryland Hotel, talked my doctor into an X-Ray which resulted in five weeks of rehab that only made me marginally better, visited an orthopedic surgeon who ordered an MRI which resulted in surgery, followed by more rehab which made me better until a setback/reinjury/whatever sent me back to the orthopedic surgeon, who gave me a steroid shot...

AND, YES, MORE REHAB.

Well, I’m still in rehab, but, three day days ago, the inflammation in my knee finally subsided enough, and the pain got low enough, that I can walk again, think again, and...

Yes, feel good enough to blog again.

My apologies for taking so long to make another blog entry. The clock keeps ticking, I keep getting older, and my knee continues to be a pain — literally. It’s better, but not well by a long shot.

I’ve only made a couple of road trips since my epic drive to Washington and Oregon. I waited a couple of months before going to Williamsburg, VA, thinking that would give my knee time to heal. It did not. So, for eight days I hobbled around, walking up to 13,000 steps a day. Slow steps. Painful steps. But I got to see and do most of everything I wanted to see and do.

One day, as I was walking eastward on the main street (Duke of Gloucester), I looked up to see a man hobbling towards me with braces from the knee down on both legs, and walking with a cane like me. He made a comment of how slow we were and, without thinking, my cynical mouth blurted out, “Finally! Somebody I can beat!” He told me he had fallen from a height of 30 feet, had landed on his feet, and, “broke every bone below my knees except for three toes … and broke my back in seven places.” It made me feel sorry for feeling sorry for myself. I told him he was lucky to be alive, let alone walking. He said he’s grateful for every day.

I know you’re getting tired of me saying this, but I haven’t stopped working on my book. It’s getting closer every day!

As I said in my previous blog entry,  I recently went on a significant road trip. A 6,891 mile road trip, to be precise. From my home in Nashville, TN , there were three intermediate stops:  Kansas City, MO ... Cheyenne, WY ... and Twin Falls, ID. The target was Troutdale (near Portland), OR, where I spent several nights.

While in the Portland area, I spent a day each visiting Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens; and spent two days in Portland itself visiting my late wife's cousin (she was the main reason I chose this to be my first significant road trip). She and her son took me to, among other places, Council Crest and Pioneer Courthouse Square -- the former scenic, the latter, well, thanks to recent events in Portland, not so scenic.

From Portland, I drove down Highway 101 along the Oregon coast, including a stop and short hike to get a close-up view of Thor's Well. The timing of my arrival, though not intentional, was perfect. It was at (or near) high tide and, with each big wave that rolled in from the Pacific, water and spray rose up and out of the giant sink hole. I stood and watched it until the cold, Pacific wind drove me away. (According to my car, the temperature on the coast was in the mid fifties -- which felt like the forties because of the wind -- and I was dressed for summer, not winter; after driving no more than five minutes ... at most, a mile inland ... the temp was back up in the mid seventies.)

I spent that night in Roseburg, OR, then spent a day driving out to, and visiting, Crater Lake. Wow. Ten times wow. Make that a hundred times. I've looked at photos of that place since I was a kid. In photos -- and I don't care who took the photo or how good it it is -- Crater Lake looks like a pond with a small island in it. Stop what you're doing right now and take a look at one of those photos (easy to find on the Internet). According to what I read, that little island covers a square mile, and the distant shore is 6 miles away. If you get in a boat and ride around the lake, you'll travel 20 miles. If you drive the road that goes around the edge of the lake, you'll cover 22 miles. And, get this: The lake is over 1,900 feet deep!

Another night in Roseburg, then to Pacific, WA, near Seattle and Tacoma. On my way, while passing through Portland, I stopped for a 3-hour meal/visit with a lady I knew when I lived in Alabama -- recently, following her husband's death, she had moved out there to live near her daughter.

From Pacific, WA, I spent a day with my nephew, who lives on Mercer Island, and a day visiting Mt. Rainier, where I blew out a knee. I don't know that Mt. Rainier deservers all the blame -- I may have injured it earlier -- but all the walking I did there made it worse.

From Pacific, I drove up to Port Angeles. The next day, I visited Olympic National Park's Hurricane Ridge (whose lodge had recently burned to the ground), and Sol Duc Hot Springs (where I ate a meal in their restaurant, which sat next to their swimming pool which, no doubt, was filled with the hot spring water). And, of course, I did a lot of walking -- which damaged my knee even more.

End of vacation. All that remained was the long drive home.

With a bum knee.

I dreaded every stop, whether it be for gas, a meal, a rest room, even a hotel -- because it meant I had to walk.

I drove a different route home than I did on my out there so I could spend a day with my son and his family, who live near Chicago. One night each near Spokane, WA ... Billings MT ... Sioux Falls, SD ... and two nights in Carol Stream, IL (right next to Wheaton, where my son lives). I had planned to spend a night in Fargo, ND, but there wasn't a room to be had. Something big, I don't know what, was going on there, so I routed through Sioux Falls, SD instead.

You can tell — by looking at the date of my previous blog entry — I haven't been writing much in my blog lately. To be more correct, I haven't written ANYTHING in my blog lately. That's because I vowed my blog would be about my writing, and nothing but my writing. And, since there hasn't been anything to say about my writing, I haven't said anything.

About anything.

Today, I'll break my silence and say a few things. With (most) every day that passes, I get a little closer to publishing my next book -- which, for the purpose of this blog, I'll refer to as Ashes.

It has taken me a lot longer than I thought it would take to get Ashes ready for publication. Perhaps a little history about my writing will help explain the delay.

I drafted a one-page outline for Ashes at the age of 16, while sitting (and not paying rapt attention) in math class. Fast-forward to age 40, when I decided to become a published author and started taking my writing more seriously.

It should be noted that, in the interim, I drafted several plot ideas; I have written first drafts for many of these and hope to eventually publish some of them.. But we’re not talking about them; we’re talking about Ashes.

As mentioned above, at age 40 I decided to become an author, and chose Ashes to be my first publication. But it was not to be, because I got side-tracked by one of my plot ideas — which grew into a short story — and then, after several rewrites, became a novella — and, eventually, a full-length novel. So, I put Ashes on the shelf and concentrated all my effort on Anchor, to which you will find a link on my Publications page

Which brings us back to Ashes. I justified putting Ashes on the shelf because I thought it was 99% polished and could be rushed to market hot on the heels of Anchor.

Boy! Was I ever wrong!

I quickly discovered Ashes was nowhere near polished. During the years I worked on Anchor, my writing style had matured a bit and, at the risk of bragging, my skill as an author matured, as well. It turned out that Ashes needed lots of work, and becomes more polished every time I reread it. But — it’s not quite there yet.

So, please be patient.

And please come back to visit my blog every week or so. I promise I’ll blog more, and I promise I’ll blog about more than my writing. (Hint: I’m about to take a 6,000 mile road trip.)

My, my, my. How time flies! A lot has has happened since my last entry.

I completed my move from Alabama to Tennessee. Well, sort of. I got rid of (literally) tons of clutter, left more clutter (along with several pieces of furniture that would not fit in my Tennessee house) for the house flipper to deal with, and now I've discovered that about half of what I brought up here will end up donated or in the landfill.

The move to my “new” *(58-year-old) home has been an adventure, in more ways than one.

For example: I experienced sub-zero temperatures, in an all-electric house that was not designed for such temperatures, while also experiencing rolling blackouts --the first EVER in TVA's 90 year history. One of my Alabama neighbors asked me in a text how I kept warm. My short answer was: "I didn't."

Haven't made any road trips since my overnighter to Alabama for Thanksgiving. Got a short one coming up this weekend, and a longer one in February (if the weather cooperates), but nothing blog-worthy. Maybe later in the spring. Definitely by early summer.

I bought my present camper in late '17. Only made one real trip in it before my wife's declining health forced me to park it. Then came COVID. Then came my move  to Nashville and dealing with 50 years of clutter. 5 years lost! 5 years to (hopefully) be made up for.

Meanwhile, I'm still working on my manuscript. In recent weeks , with my move behind me, I've accelerated my writing efforts. So, maybe, perhaps, conceivably, if all goes well—and if I stay well...

Time marches on. And I am SO ready to get on with life!

Most of my time is still devoted to getting all my clutter out of the house in ‘Bama, getting my house on the market, spending more time in my house in Tennessee, etc. And, I’m happy to report, I’m almost there.

A tip to those who visit my blog: DO NOT wait 50 years to start digging through your clutter!

What in the name of that-place where-snowballs-don't-stand-a-chance? I can't get on with Life, because Life keeps happening! As mentioned in a previous blog entry, I'm in the process of moving from House A to House B to get closer to one of my sons. Yesterday, I drove to House A to sort through, and pack up, another load from my exquisite collection of 50 years of clutter. And what do I find? Who -- or What -- greeted me at the door? An A/C unit that decided to commit suicide while I was away.

Life marches on like an unstoppable juggernaut. Meanwhile, I crawl forward like a sniveling snail. I'm like one of those clown punching bags. You can knock it down, but it comes right back up for more. Life keeps knocking me down...and I keep getting back up...only to get knocked down again.

To quote -- actually, I don't know who to quote, 'cause I couldn't find a reliable source -- "it's not how many times you get knocked down that count; it's how many times you get back up." (Actually, the only person I found that attributed to was George A. Custer -- and, we all know how that turned out.)

I also found: "It does not natter how many times you get knocked down, but how many times you get up," attributed to Vince Lombardi.

And there were other variations, Including "Remember: Inside every silver lining, there's a dark cloud," by George Carlin. Wait. That was meant for a different blog entry.

Holy Moly! Has it been that long? I’ve been side-tracked these past few months by a thing called Life. Can’t live with it. Can’t live without it.

I promise that I’m still working on my next publication, but my time has been mostly devoted to my move — or, more correctly, my attempt to move — from my house near Birmingham, AL to my house in Nashville, TN. I would have completed the move long ago if it had not been for too much TV and…

Clutter. I’ve got clutter everywhere! 50 years of it! If anyone had told me I would have this much, I would have never believed them.

But I’ve allowed myself to get side-tracked. Please excuse me while I get back to the true purpose of this blog. My writing.

Something has been missing from my blog lately. That would be...

Me.

I assure you that I haven't quit working on my next book--it gets closer to being published every day--but a lot of my time these past few months has been directed toward my upcoming move from Alabama to Tennessee. That would be from Alabama, which has been my home since the day I was conceived, to Tennessee, which is where one of my sons lives.

I could probably write a book about this--a short book, but a book, nonetheless--but a paragraph or two will have to do. Suffice it to say that...

Within days of my wife's passing (which, believe it or not, has been just over two years now), my son started dropping not-so-subtle hints that he wanted me to move closer to him. I steadfastly refused, telling him I intended to remain in my Alabama home until I could no longer climb into my vehicle and travel these United States. (Yeah, like that's been happening.) Anyway, as the weeks and months passed--compounded by a couple of "last-straw" events that happened this past summer--it became more and more obvious to me that I needed to make the move.

I won't go into detail about those "last straw" events except to say they made me realize I am truly alone now, far away from family.

More on this and other stories later.

I see a light!

Whether or not that light is at the proverbial end of the tunnel remains to be seen. I’m hoping it is, and, until proven otherwise, will treat it as such

It’s been two weeks since I received my second dose of Moderna vaccine For the past twelve months I’ve been living — if you can call it living — in “hide under the rock” mode. But, in recent weeks, I’ve been thinking more and more about getting out from under that rock and getting on with life. I’m no longer merely thinking about the things I want to do; I’m actually putting them on my calendar. Things that include: visit my family; go to church; eat inside restaurants instead of parking lots; pull my little-used camper out of mothballs and wear the thing slap out.

One of my biggest dreams is to fulfill the wish my wife and I shared of seeing the entirety of the lower 48. That’s not to say I wouldn’t mind visiting Hawaii and Alaska again — been there, done that — but I want to get up close and personal with my own back yard, so to speak. It’s a big country. I’ve seen a lot of it, but there is so much more I want to see.

And let’s not forget my writing. There are so many stories inside of me — and so little time to type them up, put some flesh on their bones, and share them with others.

“Writing,” to steal a quote from Thomas Edison, “is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” That’s definitely true of the book I’m currently preparing for publication. I started work on this book, I’m ashamed to say, thirty-one years ago. (I drafted the outline for it — which would be the one-percent inspiration part — when I was only sixteen years old.) So, by either account, this project — when it was originally conceived, or when I actually began working on the manuscript — was my first-ever writing endeavor. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve “read” it (i.e. edited it) from cover to cover. You would think it would be polished by now. And I DID think I had it polished. Or close to it, anyway..

However, I felt so strongly about another project that I had begun — Anchor, links to which can be found on the Publications page of this website — that I decided to shelve this nearly-perfected project until I got the other one published.

So, in August of this year, I started a “read” of this, my first and nearly-perfected project, figuring one or two quick read-throughs and it would be ready to publish. As stated, I began in August of last year…and didn’t finish that read until tonight. If anyone had told me I would make multiple changes in almost every paragraph, I would have told them they were crazy — because it was as near perfect as it possibly could be. BWAA-HA-HA!!!

Christmas of 2020 was SO different from any I have ever had. Only a brief, masked, and socially-distant visit from one of my sons and his family, no visits from or to my other son and his family (too geographically distant), and no visits from or to my sister and her family (again, too geographically distant). No cozy, sit-down meals with family or friends...no tree...and, obviously, no presents under the tree. A few presents were exchanged, however (thanks to UPS, FedEx, and USPS). And several texts, emails, FaceTimes, Google Duos, and phone calls kept us linked together.

2020 was made to feel even more strange by the absence of my wife of 46 years. Neither of us were rabidly-social persons, but to go from a life filled with family and friends to one that would make any but the most recluse of recluses proud, has been really strange. Despite all of this, I think -- and hope -- I have maintained my sanity. Partly by my own efforts, but largely because of my next-door neighbors, who from time to time checked in with me to make sure I was okay and had everything I needed...my sons, who almost daily kept in touch with me via phone calls, texts, FaceTime, and Google Duo...members of my church who have kept in touch...and other friends and relatives who have contacted me from time to time. I want to thank you all, and I apologize that I have not reached out to you as much as I could and should have.

2020 is (almost) behind us. Thank Goodness! What a year it has been. Or hasn’t been. Depends on how you look at it. In many ways, it has been “the year that was.” In many other ways, it has been “the year that wasn’t.”

The bulk of my 2020 — as will be the start of my 2021 — was spent in quarantine. I coulda and shoulda spent — but did not spend — a lot of time on my writing efforts. Instead, I spent WAY too much time on TV and news, trying to determine how much of it was information and how much of it was disinformation, and lots of time on cooking and eating. I spent way too little time on decluttering, exercising, and writing. Actually, editing would be a more apt term for my current writing projects. Other than my journal, and the jotting down of a couple of plot ideas …

Well, I’m rambling, which is something I could do from now until … well … forever. So, I’ll just shut up and try to make myself productive. Check back often. I promise I won’t stay away as long as I did this time. I also promise I’ll have a new book out very soon.

Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Saturday. Saturday? No, wait. It's Thursday.  No, that's not right, either. It's Wednesday.

I'm sorry. I forgot what day it is. Which has been a major problem lately. Yeah, five months of "batten down the hatches" will do that to you.

"Well, Bob" I said to myself. "Might as well get used to it. You've got at least five more months of the same."

Covid-wise, nothing has changed since Day One. Not for the better, anyway. It's still out there. News reports say Covid has become easier to transmit, and just as, if not even more deadly than it used to be.

But today, thank goodness,  I read an encouraging piece of news: the vast majority of deaths occur in those 50 years old and older. Now, if I'm 70, what does that portend for me?

Hint: I looked in the mirror and saw a big bullseye on my back.

Yep. I'm staying right here, hiding underneath my rock, where I've been since March. Give me a call when a safe and effective vaccine becomes available. Until then, my 70-year-old butt is lying low.

COVID19. If anyone had told me I'd be opening my front door a tiny little bit, just to see if anyone was in sight, and then, after making sure I would be unseen, sneaking out to the mailbox, removing its contents, sneaking back into the house, placing the mail in a designated "dirty zone," opening the mail, placing the envelopes in a recycle bin, the bills and whatnot in a place where it will be quarantined a couple of days before I actually process it, and then thoroughly washing my hands with soap and water, hosing down the "dirty zone" with Lysol...

On a more cheerful note, this time about my writing…which is the purpose of this blog. Despite everything that’s been going on in my life these past few months, I have been squeezing in a little work on my next publication. And I promise it will be available soon. It was my first serious attempt at writing novels, with 3 decades of on again-off again work, so it’s fully developed, and 99.9% polished. Another read, 2 at the most, a little formatting, and it will be available on Amazon.

It’s been three months…three LONG months…since my last entry. I started off 2020 with great intentions. I was gonna start traveling again, pour myself into writing and publishing, get my finances and taxes straightened out, get my house in order…the list goes on and on. But, like so many of the plans of mice and men…

Actually, on January 10, only 2 weeks after Linda’s passing, I drove to Nashville, TN to visit my son, a distance of just over 200 miles…the first time I had traveled more than 25 miles from home in over 2 years. And on January 29, I drove to Tazewell, TN to visit my sister, crossed over to Nashville to visit my son again, and back home…a total distance of roughly 750 miles. And THEN, on February 27, I drove to visit my son in Wheaton, IL, a round trip of almost 1,500 miles. I was primed and ready to start traveling in earnest!

And then came COVID-19. From this morning’s journal entry:

COVID-19 has become...as it has been from the start...highly politicized. Some believe we're over-reacting to it; after all, the annual death toll from seasonal flu is staggering, and we've never shut down the economy for it. However, I can't remember a single time that seasonal flu...or any other disease...swamped our hospitals as COVID-19 has done, and continues to do...despite our extreme social distancing efforts. The flu...WITHOUT social distancing...has never done that. Not in my lifetime. Downplay it, overplay it, or whatever you want to do, COVID-19 is more contagious...and more deadly...than anything I've seen in my 70 years. That's not political. It's not opinion. It's fact. (And imagine how bad this would have been if we had NOT practiced social distancing.)

On Saturday of last week I buried my wife of 46 years and 8 months. I could write a few words, I could write a book, but all the words in the world would not do justice to Linda, her career as an educator and administrator, the love she had for her students, the love we had for each other, the love she had for her children and grandchildren, etc. She will be missed.

Which brings me to today, the first Monday, the first day of the first week of the rest of my life. A MAJOR chapter has been finished, the page has been turned, and blank pages lie before me. Join me, ride along with me and my indelible memories of Linda as I attempt to fill those pages with a combination of actual events and products of my wild imagination.

Today I added a page with links to Anchor, both paperback and Kindle versions, on Amazon.com.

Today is a Red-Letter Day for me. Anchor, my first novel to be published, is now available on Amazon.com.

You can find it by entering my name, Robert Aston Jones, in the Amazon search bar.

Of Note: In my last blog entry I said I was “done,” that there would be no more re-reads of my manuscript. Once again, I lied. I re-read it at least half a dozen times; perhaps the extra effort I put into it will provide you with an extra measure of pleasure when you read it.