The Ring of Humanity

The end of the year nears, and it is this time in December that we become more susceptible to emotions. We miss the things that we no longer have, the towns, and cities where we grew up, the smell of fresh cut evergreens, our old pets, and of course, our family and friends that are no longer with us. Sometimes the silence as well as certain sounds become more pronounced around Christmas, and for many, we are able to see, and hear things that may slip by any other time of the year. Just a few days ago I was told a story by someone very close to me, and I think it serves as a good example of what the spirit of Christmas can, and should be.
Avoiding eye contact with the Salvation Army bell ringer in front of many stores becomes the big challenge for many of us during this season. It may be because we simply do not have any cash on hand, or maybe we just gave some change to the guy at the store a few blocks away. Feeling guilty, we might even mention that, as we pass in hopes of some sort of absolution from the guy or gal holding the bell.
As she approached the store front, the sound of frozen snow and ice crunched under her feet, as if to remind her, of the time of year, and all the things to come, Christmas, New Years, and the decorations that would have to come down soon, hidden from view once again. The sound of a high pitched bell getting louder as it echoes throughout the entrance to the Fred Meyer store. Expecting to see the bell ringer that had been at that location for a number of years in the past, she noticed that it was someone new. Instinctively she reaches into her bag, and pulls out a few bucks, and has it at the ready along with a non directional smile attached to her face. Placing the folded bills into the little red bucket, she looks up, and into the eyes of the bell ringer, her smile broadens as she turns and heads toward the doors, she stops, and looks back. The woman is compelled to turn around, and approach the bell ringer once again, this time looking closer, studying his eyes, and even more so his face, and the steady smile upon it. Another few bucks dropped into the bucket along with words for his ears, "you have a very kind face," but inside the woman felt much more indeed. It was not just a kind face she had gazed upon, but to her, the face of suffering, peace, warmth, and forgiveness all in one. She turns and continues to the door dealing with the thoughts that were now racing through her mind. The doors close behind her as the bell ringer wearing Carhartt bibbed overhauls, (the clothing of a carpenter,) stepped just far enough into the entrance door area to cause it to open. He took a few steps and as the woman turned around, he said "Thank you," and with the same smile he returned to his spot and continued to ring his bell.
It was not easy to shop as she went over the events that had just played out. Had he thanked her for the money she had placed in the bucket, or perhaps for seeing him for what he was? She thought about the man's face and the layers of feelings that she had seen there. She could see suffering, not just of man, but all creatures. A thin veil separated another layer, a layer of warmth, and peace followed by yet a third of forgiveness, and etched deep inside was a simple message of faith. The woman exited the store and sits in her car, and with the sound of the bell now distant, but its power stronger than ever, she begins to sob.
As we approach this Christmas, and reflect upon the past events of a very hard year, would it be so hard to believe that a message from a higher power may have come dressed as a carpenter while ringing a simple bell?
May the coming year be better for all, Merry Christmas to all living things big and small!

Some Sort of Light

Photo by Randy J. Cole 2007

I have often referred to myself as an atheist, but as I get older I find that idea to be distasteful. The thought of passing on with less then a smile on my face just sounds wrong and if there is nothing to look forward to after death then why would one smile. Even as a child I could not embrace the Christian ideology and I still can’t, but having said that, I can tell you that I detest the big mouth atheist who push their ideals upon us all and attempt to use the constitution too accomplish their goals. Let me point out that there is a movement out there to remove the crosses that adorn the headstones on a majority of the graves at Arlington National Cemetery. No thank you, that is not acceptable. How about this, if you are a true atheist just sit down and shut your mouth and let others believe what they want because it isn’t about you, it is about an individual’s beliefs.
I don’t think I am Agnostic, which sounds like an after effect from a botched surgery on ones digestive tract. A person who is an Agnostic is a person who believes that the existence of God is unknown or unknowable but does not deny the existence of God.
Where does this leave me? I am not sure I fall into any category to be honest. I have seen so many things during my lifetime that makes me believe in a higher power of some kind and at this point I am resigned to not labeling it but rather I will just accept it.
The one thing I am sure of, when I die, I prefer to pass out of the darkness and into some kind of light not the other way around. I salute all of you who have strong beliefs and encourage you to stick with them and know that Randy has your back!.

Darkness 11-29-2009

On this day 2009: Sgt. Mark Renninger, Officer Ronald Owens, Officer Tina Griswold, and Officer Greg Richards, of the Lakewood police department, in Washington state were ambushed in a Forza Coffee Shop as they prepared for their shift. All four died at the scene and throughout the nation's law enforcement family, past, present and future, an incredible darkness overshadowed the light for many days. Today our thoughts go out to the families of the fallen officers who will struggle with the darkness for a very long time. If you are a practitioner of prayer, helping these families would be a good reason to interrupt Gods busy day!
By: Randy J Cole..

Growing Up in a Small Towns

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I copied this from an e-mail that my sister sent me. Most of it fits the small town,(Libby Montana) I grew up in.



Those who grew up in small towns will laugh
when they read this.

Those who didn't, will be in disbelief and
won't understand how true it is.

1) You can name everyone you graduated with.

2) You know what 4-H means.

3) You went to parties at a pasture, barn,
gravel pit, or in the middle of a dirt road. On Monday, you could always
tell who was at the party because of the scratches on their legs from
running through the woods when the party was busted. (See #6.)

4) You used to 'drag' Main.

5) You whispered the 'F' word and your
parents knew within the hour.

6) You scheduled parties around the
schedules of different police officers, because you knew which ones would
bust you and which ones wouldn't.

7) You could never buy cigarettes because
all the store clerks knew how old you were (and if you were old enough,
they'd tell your parents anyhow.) Besides, where would you get the money?

8) When you did find somebody old enough and
brave enough to buy cigarettes, you still had to go out into the country and
drive on back roads to smoke them.

9) You knew which section of the ditch you
would find the beer your buyer dropped off.


10) It was cool to date somebody from the
neighboring town.

11) The whole school went to the same party
after graduation.

12) You didn't give directions by street
names, but rather by references. Turn by Nelson's house, go 2 blocks to
Anderson's, and it's four houses left of the track field.

13) The golf course had only 9 holes.

14) You couldn't help but date a friend's
ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.

15) Your car stayed filthy because of the
dirt roads, and you will never own a dark vehicle for this reason.

16) The town next to you was considered
'trashy' or 'snooty,' but was actually just like your town.

17) You referred to anyone with a house
newer then 1955 as the 'rich' people.

18) The people in the 'big city' dressed
funny, and then you picked up the trend 2 years later.

19) Anyone you wanted could be found at the
local gas station or the only restaurant.

20) You saw at least one friend a week
driving a tractor through town or one of your friends driving a grain truck
to school occasionally. Now days it's a four wheeler!

21) The gym teacher suggested you haul hay
for the summer to get stronger.

22) Directions were given using THE stop
light as a reference.

23) When you decided to walk somewhere for
exercise, 5 people would pull over and ask if you wanted a ride.

24) Your teachers called you by your older
siblings' names.

25) Your teachers remembered when they
taught your parents.

26) You could charge at any local store or
write cheques without any ID.

27) There was no McDonalds

28) The closest mall was over an hour away.
(What was a mall)?

29) It was normal to see an old man riding
through town on a riding lawn mower.

30) You've pee'd in a hay field.

31) Most people went by a nickname.

32) You laughed your butt off reading this
because you know it is true, and you forward it to everyone who may have
lived in a small town.

I would not have wanted to have been raised
any other way!!!




Tough times don't last....

Tough people do





















































----- End forwarded message -----




----- End forwarded message -----

It's Not the TSA, it's Your Fellow Passengers

All the hoopla over the TSA and their tactics is getting just a bit ridiculous. Do you really think these folks really want to touch your junk as many have put it? I for one have no problem with the procedures faced at the airports and I do make a lot of trips back and forth from Alaska to Portland. I realize that there are a number of people that do have a problem with it, including some of my friends and too them I offer a little bit of sympathy. My frustration derives from my fellow passengers and I would like to share a good example with you from my recent flight from or non flight as it turned out from Anchorage, AK to Prudhoe Bay, AK. As a North Slope worker I have to commute from Anchorage to Prudhoe Bay on a bi-weekly basis. The normal procedure on the current contract I work, is to board an Alaskan Airlines jet at the Ted Stevens Airport on a Monday morning at about 5:40, and shortly after 6:00 am we are usually in the air making a stop in Fairbanks, AK before flying on to Prudhoe. The aircraft is normally a (COMBI) which is a 737 with the front portion dedicated to freight and room for I suppose about 80 or so passengers to the rear of the plane. On Monday, the 22nd, at about 5:00 am I had found a seat near my gate and sized up some of the other folks in the boarding area. Who doesn’t people watch while waiting for a flight? Out of the corner of my left eye, I noticed a very large lady meaning tall and large in build as well. She emphasized her stature by choosing winter clothing that from a distance that made "yeti," come to mind. We're talking the tall fur hat that would make the royal guards in London jealous. The lady was pulling an airport cart with a number of items stacked haphazardly and yes the thought of homeless street yeti did pop into my head. I also believed that she must be traveling with someone because no one could possibly think they would be allowed to haul that much stuff onto an aircraft. I sat waiting for Mr. Yeti to show up anticipating what he might be wearing. The weather outside sucked, freezing rain had plagued much of the state but it looked as though it would not delay our departure. I somehow lost track and interest in the yeti and focused on the weather. The boarding process started and I was on my way to the tarmac. The thing about a COMBI aircraft is that you cannot board it using the normal covered means. You have to walk down a few flights of stairs and across the tarmac and board the aircraft just like they did in the 50's and 60's, by a portable stairway. This is where the flight turned on me. I made my way to the stairway and half way up the line came to a standstill. It wouldn't have been half bad had it not been for the freezing rain finding its way down the back of my neck. We all stood patiently on the ice covered stairway waiting for signs of life. After five minutes the line started to move and I approached my seat, 26D my usual isle seat on this flight. I stood in the isle looking for a spot in the overhead for my single carry on but there was no room. That conclusion came at the same time the once frozen rain, dripped of my head and off the end of my nose. It was now clear why most of us stood outside in the elements like milk cows heading to the milk barn. Seated in 26E, the middle seat next to me was none other than "the yeti lady" who had taken every available space in the overhead for her crap including her award winning hat, which actually took at least 1/4 of the space all by itself. Now understand that I am a large guy so I feel that I can say these kinds of things about others without feeling too guilty. Now seated in the window seat was another person that made Yeti and I look like a petite window models, so yeti lady was already crowed 1/4 of the way onto the area reserved for my butt. She looked up at me with those sorrowful yeti eyes and said, "Sorry the flight is full, I already asked." My comment back didn't seem to help matters at all. "Well maybe I can just sit on your lap" I said, while placing my bag into the next available overhead bin. Taking my seat, attempting to balance myself on my left cheek and looking like the logo from a Leaning Tree greeting card, I managed to get my seatbelt fastened and said, "Well this isn't too bad!" Yeti gave a half assed smile and said, "Would you mind, I forgot to turn off my phone, it's in one of my bags," pointing to the overhead. What came out of my mouth was nowhere near what I was thinking, which was, "While I'm up would you like me to find your yeti kibble as well?" I of course didn't say that but it crossed my mind. After digging through her stuff I found the little purse that contained her phone and handed it to her, then spent the next three minutes trying to put everything back. Taking my seat I once again do my balancing act and buckle up. From the back we probably looked like those Russian nesting dolls, you know, the hollow rounded dolls that fit one inside the other. The captain explains that due to the freezing rain, the aircraft had to be de-iced twice prior to take off and we slowly started to back into place for our hosing so to speak. We sit quietly waiting for the equipment to arrive to de-ice the plane. Yeti has her phone out and starts to look at weather and says, "Huh, I am surprised we are even going to Fairbanks, the weather there is really bad!" Shortly after she uttered those words she began to struggle a bit for air. The flight attendant just happened to be walking by and noticed. Yeti managed to hiss that she was having an asthma attack and couldn't breathe but assured us she would be OK if she could just get her battery powered nebulizer from the above storage. At the same time she turned on her light and for the first time I noticed that her black sweater was covered with animal hair. Hhmmmm, and on cue, I hear the sound of a distressed cat which I had not noticed before, peering at me from a small carrying case located at her owners feet. The flight attendant spends a good five minutes moving stuff around and manages to find a little inhaler as opposed to the nebulizer all the while I am thinking, "Are you kidding me, you have asthma and you have to take your cat with you on a trip?" Yeti decides that the little inhaler will offer up enough relief for the short flight to Fairbanks. I was so relieved, I was wondering how it would all play out when the order came to turn off all electrical devices. She took a couple of deep draws off the inhaler and mentioned to the flight attendant that the weather was turning bad in Fairbanks. Now I know why a yeti has never been captured before, they have smart phone technology that keeps them informed! "This is the captain, we will be returning to the gate due to worsening ice conditions in Fairbanks!" I wonder how long we will sit on the plane because to be honest, I am allergic to cats and I to start to feel discomfort in my chest as well as a little itchy thing going on which may have been psychosomatic but the urge to scream was not! Thoughts raced as I contemplated wrestling the inhaler from Yeti's large hands. Fifteen minutes after arriving back at the gate the announcement was made that they had cancelled the Fairbanks portion of the flight and they asked all Fairbanks passengers to disembark the aircraft. I jumped out of my seat and ran to the front portion of the passenger area to allow the two ladies in my row to make a clean exit. I didn't want to be anywhere near the lady as she blocked the isle getting her stuff out of her private overhead storage with disregard to the other passengers. At least this time they would be stuck behind her in a nice warm cabin as opposed to freezing rain. I stretched out in comfort in a row all to myself as I waited for the flight onto Prudhoe Bay direct, with no stop in Fairbanks or cats to get in the way. Life was good again right up to the point when the captain announced that the conditions at Prudhoe Bay had fallen below the minimum acceptable and we would be returning to the gate until further notice. Several hours later I did make it to Prudhoe in time to get one hour of work in at least. Like I said, the TSA is a piece of cake compared to some of your fellow passengers. Happy travel and have a great Thanksgiving!

Hereafter Movie Review

My wife and I went and watched the Clint Eastwood directed movie, “Hereafter,” starring Matt Damon. One piece of advise, “BRING A BOOK!!” Never thought I would say that about a movie that Eastwood or Damon were attached too but after the first 20 min. which contain some pretty good special affects, (tsunami) its done! Every scene which followed seemed like a synopsis of a story line. If you must see it, then do, or just wait for it to hit the $5.00 bin at Walmart!
See More

Just One of Those Things

The day was clear and beautiful. Visibility was endless with the hum of the Cessna's engine making my eyelids heavy. I don't know who the pilot was or what we were even looking for. Off to my left I spot a slight glimmer from the ground about a mile from our location. I point it out to the faceless pilot and we bank and descend slowly circling a small aircraft which laid upon the flat brown prairie at the edge of a small ravine. It resembled a child's toy that had been stepped on by a carless passerby. Next to the aircraft, stood two people, waiving to us. I don't know who the woman was but the tall man in the gold sport coat was without a doubt, Mr. Robert Fields. I smiled when I recognized him, the pilot of my aircraft tipped the wings back and forth, then without ceremony, I woke from the dream. How odd this was to dream of a person from such a long time ago. Mr. Fields was a prominent teacher in the Libby school system but one that I actually never had as a teacher. My memories of Mr. Fields were limited to one single morning during what was called Mini Week, while I was in High School in 1970. Mini week consisted of activities other than the boring school routine and in my case, I had signed up for my first ride in an airplane. The pilot was Mr. Fields, the same man who 30 plus years later, I would dream of as being one of two survivors of an apparent plane crash. The dream struck me funny but it did not warrant deep pondering until I went online the next day and brought up my hometown newspaper, The Western News. This is something I still do to check the status of my little hometown. I think we all have a tendency to check the obituaries to make sure we are not in them. As I began to look through the short list of the deceased, a chill ran down my spine and I will admit my eyes began to tear up a bit. Staring at me from the screen was an oversize photo of the man that had given me my first plane ride and who the night before had sent me a message. According to the obituary, he had died from the effects of Alzheimer's while in a nursing home. It would be interesting to get other peoples perspective of the circumstances surrounding this dream and the obituary entry the next day. It is difficult for me to write this off as "Just One of Those Things." For whatever the reason he decided to send me a message after his passing, I was thankful then and I am thankful now. On a side note, I hope he wasn't giving me a heads up on how my life might end. I do a lot of flying, but I suppose that if I were seated in an aircraft that was headed toward its demise, I would be perhaps a bit more relaxed because of the vision of Mr. Fields wave signaling that everything is ok. Thank you Mr. Fields, until we cross paths again.

“Close Call on the Cold Floor”

Spring is always a pleasant time of the year, not necessarily my favorite,
but close. Sundays, however, were one of my favorite days to be on patrol in Colville and maybe the other cities I would later work for as well. People seem to get along better on Sundays. Usually it required no more than driving around and waving at the taxpayers as you cruised through the city streets. However, there was one Sunday where my life could have come to an abrupt end. During my nineteen years as a cop, this was the closest I came to being on the receiving end of the medical examiner’s gloved hand.
It started out pretty normal for a Sunday morning. I stopped at a restaurant to have coffee and while I sat sipping away and enjoying the sun through the window, I was interrupted by the dispatcher. I was advised that the custodian at the Stevens County Courthouse, which was an old, large two-story brick building located in the middle of Colville, had seen and heard someone inside as she unlocked and opened the door. On a Sunday? Of course my thoughts turned to the possibility that what she had seen was a ghost which would be pretty cool and wouldn’t require any paperwork. It was wishful thinking as I left my seat at the restaurant and drove to the courthouse.
The custodian met me outside one of the doors and appeared to be shaken up. A Stevens County deputy was just leaving his house and advised me that he would be there shortly to assist in doing a building check. As I asked questions of the young lady, I saw movement at the end of a hallway. Okay, so it wasn’t a ghost. I advised the deputy that I was going to have to enter the building without him and did so with my .45 Colt Commander in hand. Moving quickly down the long corridor, it became apparent just how noisy my feet were on the cold, hard floor. No matter how hard I tried to soften my steps, there was a loud echo throughout the building. It worked both ways, as I also heard the steps of the person who was trying to avoid
me, while the sound of both of our footsteps bounced around the hollow hallways.
I repeatedly went up the stairs and back down on the other side of the building for what seemed like an eternity. I decided to see what would happen if I doubled back and waited on the second floor at the top of the stairs. I took a low position and sure enough, the idiot taking two stairs at a time bounded near the top just as I brought my 45 around the corner and into his face. He dropped to his knees and I saw for a terrifying moment that he also was armed with Colt .45 automatic that was within inches of my nose. I would have been well within my rights to pull the trigger, but I didn’t and to this day I don’t know why I didn’t. If it happened right now, I would send that massive hollow point round into that young man without hesitation. He could have done the same thing, but for some reason he lowered his weapon and his head onto the cold floor.
That was without a doubt the closest I came to getting myself killed while on duty. The young man was taken into custody without further incident. As it turned out, he was trying to find the records office so he
could destroy his criminal file. The deputy arrived just in time to help me get the cuffs on the bonehead.
I spent the next few hours completing my report and then returned to the sunlight in the window of the restaurant, enjoyed another cup of coffee and the rest of my Sunday shift.

Ripples

The death of a friend can take one by surprise and after our initial emotions are done flowing, most of us reflect on our own lives and contemplate our own end as if we are constructing the basis of a novel that few will read. We are all but a drop of rain in a big pond, but for some, the ripples that will emanate from that drop as it strikes the surface can go on for a long time. In some cases they will reverberate from shore to shore many times having an untold affect on the stillness of the body of water which it strikes. I suppose this is my metaphor, describing how we all have an effect on those around us.
Bruce Robertson, left Sitka, AK on a hunting trip on August 25th and just before he left he posted the following on his Facebook page:

Today is the day! heading out to the woods to chase deer. If you don't hear from me, it's only because a bear got to me. Will post photos later. Have a good day
everyone! Mom, I love you!

Those last four words are so powerful and so important. I got into the habit a few years ago of saying I love you to my kids and sisters whenever we finish talking either in person or on the phone. My first born is still uncomfortable with that because I am sure that when he was a little kid I didn't say it much and for that I am sorry son. I have an idea that a number of people that were close enough to Bruce to feel the ripples of his life will say "I love you," more often. Consider it a beautiful reminder and a gift from Bruce, I know that his mother does.
Bruce failed to return from his hunting trip. On August 30th, he was discovered at the base of a ravine by friends and search and rescue personnel. The announcement was made on his Facebook page by Gary White in a heartfelt way. Gary pointed out that Bruce was doing what he loved to do; he was hunting in some of the most beautiful country in the world. Bruce was truly a real Alaskan outdoorsman and what better way for him to depart this life and send out that last ripple. As fitting as it was Bruce, that ripple kept a number of people under water for a bit too long, mainly because it came too soon my friend, it just came too soon.
Since Bruce's last ripple spread throughout the pond, some of his very close friends and relatives struggle to reach the surface, and I worry about them. The message from Bruce is that you must take advantage of his strength and remember how tall he stands. Stand on his shoulders until you reach the surface and breathe, you will be okay.
Something strange about writing this story, one of the few people I would normally be sending this to for an opinion was Bruce. We exchanged a number of writing projects looking for approval of our written thoughts, and ideas, pardon me as I prepare for another one of Bruce's ripples.
Bruce did not choose the time of his passing but if he had, it would have been at the end of an August month while he was hunting in the mountains that surround Sitka Alaska. In a number of ways that is a comforting thought. For me, a nice fall day would be preferable. I love the color and smell of fall just like Bruce loved the smells and challenges of a good hunt in his beloved Alaska Mountains and one more thing, thanks Bruce for choosing our pond, love you buddy!

Bruce Robertson 1969-2010

Alaska Photos by Dan Rutan

All photos posted with Dan Rutan's permission


Small brown bear print




Snow Owl




Chopper view of big mama and cubs




Dan told me the story on this one. The photo was taken over his shoulder as he attempted to exit the area. Unfortunately another brown bear was at the other end of the walkway and Dan had to crawl over the rail. The bear passed with-in inches of him. This photo was taken on the Russian River.




Large carabou heard




Big ass Skeeters!



The Crossing, Caribou in action!



Nice Red



Deadhorse Airport, Alaska
The place where a sloper usually starts his or her tour or ends it.





One of the great things about working on the North Slope in Alaska is the people you work around. I am posting a few photos from one of the guys that works for our project, "Point Thomson." The location is remote and requires a great deal of support from helicopters as well as ocean going vessels. The guy who took these photos is Dan Rutan, retired Air Force rescue chopper crew chief. He served two tours in Afghanistan and is now living a true Alaskan life. I usually do not use any one else's photos but my own but I do not get out enough anymore to get these kind of shots. Enjoy them.

Oh Nancy

While searching for new music to put on my blog, I was fortunate enough to type in Nancy Sinatra. I am so glad that I did. I picked up a few classics but also found her web site. What an interesting human being she is and I had no idea how much time and effort she has put in for all of these years supporting our military including her involvment with the "Rolling Thunder" ride to DC. I encourage you to go to her site and take a look. This lady is amazing! I have provided a link in my link section.

One Call

Back in January of 1997, I was a police officer with the City of Bothell WA. I remember hearing the news that the first black man from WWII was going to receive the Medal of Honor for his bravery. Actually seven were to receive the medal but because of the delay, only one was still living. His name is Vernon Baker. I told one of my fellow workers, at the department, Mike Stone, that I was overwhelmed with the courage this man had been recognized for. My then wife Julie and I were raising my grandson at the time, who is part Black and part Chippewa, which made these events seem very personnel. Vernon lived in a small town in Idaho. I remember saying to my work mate, Mike, "I bet that his phone number is still listed," and I was right. I received his number from information and promptly called Mr. Vernon Baker's residence. His wife, Heidy answered the phone. I explained to her who I was and that I wanted to say thank you and congratulations to her husband. Mr. Baker came to the phone and I was able to spend a good 10 minutes talking to this remarkable hero. I asked him if I was ever in the area where he lived if he would mind if I called him again and met with him so my grandson could shake his hand. He readily agreed however I admit I dropped the ball and never made the trip. I have some serious regrets about that. At any rate I feel good that I had a chance to talk to Mr. Baker on the phone. It will truly be one call I will keep close to my patriotic heart.

Update: Vernon Baker passed away on July 13th, 2010

The Sad Little Duck

“The Sad Little Duck”

The attractive little fellow pictured is a King Eider duck. One of the 258 species of birds that spend the summer in the Arctic, giving birth to new generations. The unfortunate truth this year is the birds returned to their birth place a little too early. The North Slope is still covered in ice and snow and is very slow to turn into the normal spring the birds are accustomed to. This photo was taken yesterday and most likely he has already fallen victim to the hunger pains of the Raven or perhaps a red, or arctic fox. Mother Nature can be cruel and in the arctic it is demonstrated on a regular basis.

You have got to see this blog

A friend of mine on the slope has pointed me in the direction of a blog titled, “HAITI IS SUCH A STRONG WORD." It is written by a young lady who goes by the name Barbie Boots. She is a P.A. here on the slope but uses her medical skills where they are needed. She has put together an amazing blog that documents her experiences in Haiti as she dealt with the injured, suffering and the dead. Amazing stories from an amazing person.

Just Trying to Help III Mens Underoos

Just Trying to Help II

3 OZ.

Words and Image by Randy J Cole

3oz. refers to the wieght of a law enforcement officer's badge. This a memorial to officers who have lost thier lives in the line duty.
Officer Mike Stone of the Bothell Police Department Washington State took the time to pose for my memorial project.

A New Direction

http://www.speakingofstrange.com/


On January the 23rd I will be making my second appearance on the radio program, "Speaking of Strange," with Josh P. Warren which is broadcast out of Asheville North Carolina on WWNC-570 AM. The show will feature my appearance live at
9 p.m. eastern time NY. I will recount a few of my dreams that have been premonitions of things to come one of which may have save my life. I have provided a link to the program so you can tune in on your computer with live stream. I am going to be moving into the realm of the unknown with a new blog dealing with matters such as Synchronicity, dreams, stories from other police officers who have also experienced the paranormal while on patrol.