Pat McGauley

It’s been over a week now and I’ve put some things in perspective. The trial of Derek Chauven has concluded and a ‘guilty of murder’ charge is in the books. Rightfully so. Riots were averted . . . for now.

I’ve imagined that I was a juror in the Chauven case. After the defenses final testimony on Friday’s I was told that closing arguments would be coming on Monday. So Monday would be crunch time for all twelve of us jurors. The judge did not sequester us. Surprisingly, we all were allowed to go home. I couldn’t help but watch the news on WCCO and/or KARE . . . or any local or national network channel. On TV I saw the demonstrators in the streets. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Then I watched crazy Congresswoman Maxine Waters (D-CA) tell the crowd, “If it ain’t murder, we’ll burn this town down . . .” Or something to that effect. I switch channels and see the BLM signs everywhere. Since day one, I’ve realized that the crowd of protesters knows who I am and where I live. More of the same calls for murder on my social media sites. Scary! Add to the matter of justice, the issue of race. One could argue that George Floyd’s race was not a factor . . . but was it? Or, Floyd’s criminal history? It’s complicated.

Now I’m human and I’m smart enough to know there is very good reason for fear. What if one of my fellow jurors won’t find Chauven guilty? It sure won’t be me for two reasons: first I’m convinced that the cop is guilty, and secondly I don’t have the courage.

Then I wonder. Is the intimidation of the protestors and the media a form of ‘mob rule’? There are twelve men and women on the jury. All of whom, like me, know the potential reprisals if Chauven isn’t found guilty on the 2nd and 3rd degree charges which can bring forty years in prison.

Of course, I’m just thinking. But I’ve got a headache.

Today is a Sunday and the 93rd day for my brother John.

About three months ago I got a call from my brother — the third of the four McGauley boys — telling me that his doctor had given him four months to live. He was in the Saint Cloud hospital at the time. Since then we have talked daily. Talked and talked about everything imaginable. Over these months I have come to know my brother in ways that I never imagined. I knew that he lived on the ‘wild side’ of life for many years. By that I mean he was a biker, used and sold drugs, had been busted several times, did time in jail, been married and divorced . . . and been reunited with a son he had never met before. Any one of his many episodes in life would make for an interesting, and sometimes tragic, story. And, as an author, I live for story lines.

What has surprised me the most about John’s life so far, is his love of the Bible. I wouldn’t say that he has become a Biblical scholar by any means, but the ‘Good Book’ has been a significant part of his life for the past twelve years. I might add that his interest has brought me back to reading the Bible as well — Psalms, Hebrews, and Revelations have given us both many important insights to discuss. Mix into the Scriptures our mutual interest in the current affairs of the United States and the world. An interesting topic for us has been ‘How close have we become to the ‘end times’? Bear in mind that the key word in the above sentence is ‘interesting’ — not that they are upon us.

I believe that irony is a writer’s best friend. The irony of our rediscovering of each other is that I was well into a new novel. Some of the events in John’s life were given to my main character, a man named Joseph. Not that my brother and Joseph have lived similar lives, but rather both have been sharing their life with me at the same time. John’s earliest memory from childhood was his mom’s giving him an ice cream cone. He can’t recall how old he was at the time, but my story begins with Joseph’s first memory in life. I borrowed that experience from John. And a few others as well. I’ve always believed that a writer is the thief of any he/she finds in life.

Like all of us, John will die one day sooner than later. This morning he was in strong voice as we talked about the U.S. and China, our penchant for believing what the media says about this topic and everything else, and where we can find the truth. John is more left, and I am more right, which more often than not, adds an ingredient to our conversations. The important thing is that we can discuss our differences. I mean that the truth is always somewhere in-between perspectives.

In these days, weeks, and now months, I have fallen in love with a brother that I knew . . . but didn’t really know. Does that make sense? I’d encourage anybody that reads this post to connect with someone they should be loving but haven’t taken the time to do so. And, I’d recommend reading the Bible.

God bless . . .

I was walking the neighborhood when I encountered an elderly woman whose name I couldn’t remember. She stopped me and asked if I’d written anything new. She’s read all. of my books up to ‘Lester’s Gift’ (2020) — which means all but the last one. Now the last one was published last fall which was deep into Covid season. Because of Covid all the marketing sites were closed, including Craft shows in Hibbing and Virginia that were my best sales opportunities before leaving for Florida in early December. There was no publicity when ‘THE FINAL CHAPTER’ came on the market. No publicity means little or no sales. No book-signings, no public events, nada …nada…nada.

I told the woman about my last book and assured her that I was still writing. Anyhow, I have had all of my titles at the Sunrise Deli and my last three books at Sullivan Supply. Neither site has has many sales, largely because nobody seems to know they are there. Alas, we are still in Covid times. Despite that sad reality, my books are still out there. Perhaps, more importantly, I’ll sign and send out copies of any title if you contact me through this site or my personal email address: shatiferin@aol.com. THE FINAL CHAPTER can be yours for $20.00 which includes sales tax and shipping and handling. I don’t expect to have any public signings for a while so please help me out and visit the two Hibbing sites or order online.

I hate to sell this way but . . . I’m not going to go broke advertising in the local paper or go door to door or cold sell on my cell. Help! I might add that if you’ve enjoyed the Mickey stories, THE FINAL CHAPTER is Mickey’s final appearance. At least for a while. I’m still pounding the keys on a new story yet untitled but very, very, different from what I’ve done in the past. It’s setting remains up here but travels away as well and has an entirely new cast of characters..

Ahhh, ’tis so good to be home again. Perhaps this time, after twelve winters in Southwest Florida . . . perhaps this time for good. I’ve put my house up for sale, sold my beater car, and boxed all of my personal effects and shipped them home. Parting is bitter-sweet nonetheless. I have had some wonderful friends in Naples Land and Yacht Harbor these past six years and parting is such ‘sweet sorrow’. Along with friends, I have family in Naples that I’ll miss even more. Erin and Grace and Jack, who is going to be a senior at Babson College in Wellesly, Mass, and Erin’s boyfriend, Josh.

Being back in Minnesota, however, is much closer to my brother John who is coping with a terminal cancer. And friends who are sick with one ailment or another are only minutes away so I can easily visit. And, to be candid, it’s been a financial quagmire running two residences — so economics plays a major part in my decision to face the northern winters again. If my property sells I can buy a used pickup and pay off my Florida loan. Plus, Gail and I can do more roadtrips and eat out more often and (once Covid is put in the past) enjoy life as it has always been in the past.

On Sunday I made a list of ”must do’ matters for this, my first week back. Car insurance, medical checkup (and MAYBE a covid vaccination), changing my TV service so I can watch the Twins games this season, and unpacking several boxes of all my accumulated junk. I’ve also got the beginnings of a new story to work on. Well, Sunday added one thing I hadn’t expected — about six inches of snow. And as Minnesota often works, Monday soared into the high 50’s only to be followed by a brutally cold and windy Tuesday.

On my first appraisal of the old town, very little has changed over the past few months — in sharp contrast to what is going on down in Naples. But that’s been true after every winter in the sun. Like me and my generation, a city shows its age and the incumbent decline. On the uptick, the HHS boys basketball team had won a trip to the state tournament — congratulations players and coaches — and the PeeWee hockey boys just won the state tournament — more congrats and high hopes for the future of HHS hockey. As is obvious, I’m a sports junkie. And a news junkie as well. I’ll talk sports till the sun goes down but politics and my views on current events have to be kept under my hat. That may change in the near future, but everything changes.

I’ll have more on the Twins before Thursday’s opener, and more on my new story one of these days soon. Let me know if you’ve read this blog as any comment is fuel for the next message.

Over the year I’ve enjoyed many song writers and musicians and those who sing the lyrics. For years I enjoyed the soulful lyrics of Kris Kristofferson more than any artist. When sings one of his own songs . . . nobody sings better. Not Willy, nor Johnny Cash, or Whalen, Kris’s best friends on the ‘old’ country scene.

There is a relative newcomer whose spiritual songs I’ve come to greatly enjoy. He is Alan Jackson. Recently I found a title I hadn’t heard before, and I want to share the lyrics as the song truly touched my soul. The title is: “The Older I Get’ . . .

The older I get, the truer it is . . . it’s the people you love,

not the money and stuff that makes you rich

The older I get, the longer I pray . . . I don’t know just why,

I guess it’s that I, just got more to say . . .

And the older I get the more thankful I feel, For the life that I’ve. had

and that I’m living still . . .

And, if they found the fountain of youth, I wouldn’t take a sip . . .

that’s the truth . . .

I could get emotionally wrapped up in lyrics to share with whomever is reading this blog, but I won’t . . . except for Vince Gill singing, ‘Go Rest High on That Mountain’. Just one line: “Go rest high on that mountain, Son . . your work on earth is done, Go to heaven a-shoutin’ before the Father and the Son.” Enough for this afternoon, February 25th. More to come.

UNBLOCKING

In my last post I alluded to that dreaded ‘writer’s block’ without admitted it as such. Despite having strong feelings about my characters, I wasn’t happy with the how the story was unfolding. It seemed to me that it was more like a report than it was a living entity. It was easy for me to avoid working on it, to find other things to do in the mornings — when I’ve enjoyed several hours of writing daily — and simply quit on what I’d started. There was a time just a week or so ago when I called up my novella and added an insightful character to interpret my protagonists account of his life. I began to like the story . . . but my energy level fizzled and I let it go once more.

This morning I forced myself to go back to page one and begin polishing the narrative. I haven’t had to do that before but it seemed to work. In places I had to rewrite large tracts, in others just simple modifications sufficed. Whatever, I was back . . . three hours raced by. (That’s about my max even in good-writing times) and I resolved to pick up where I left off tomorrow.

I think there is another explanation for my loss of interest, energy, or discipling . . . I’ll call it ‘homesickness’ — a malady that I go through every winter in Florida. As nice as I have it down here, it is a disconnect with the life I’ve enjoyed back home. I left dear friends behind when I flew down here back in December. Friends who were seriously ill with cancer or with suffering a serious stroke. Then my brother, John, informed me that he was a ‘short-timer’ as his cancer had spread from the prostate to the bones of his spine and ribs and was going rapidly through his body. A painful way to go. It wasn’t just John, but last week I learned that my friend Al DeLaPointe had died. Al and I and our families go back to my first years in Hibbing. And then there is Ed Beckers who has been suffering with dementia for several months. Ed was my ‘best friend’ for most of my adult life and I don’t think he has much time left either. I could name others as well.

It’s hard for me to be down here when so much of what’s really important in my life is up there. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my significant other. I think my nightly conversations with Gail are the only connection that I have . . . but, it’s a good connection. This week we’ve shared the extremes of weather conditions, folks in Hibbing and on the Range have been plunged in the -40’s and worse with winds, while I complain about the heat (80’s) and humidity.

Anyhow, I’m resolved to write as much as I can for the next three weeks and enjoy having Gail down here for ten days. I’ll come back home with a new story and spend some time pushing sales of ‘THE FINAL CHAPTER’ which most people don’t seem to know about. This blog won’t change that as so few actually check my site. Surprise me with a comment if you’ve read this bog. See you soon . . .

https://patmcgauley.com/1/1466-2/