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<entry>
   <title>Book Summary: The E-Myth Revisited</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/book_summary_the_emyth_revisit.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1558</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Ever wonder why most small businesses-- ...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Ever wonder why most small businesses-- no matter how huge  effort they put in their endeavor--still fail?  Micheal  Gerber reveals the answers in this book.  Accordingly, the  future of small businesses revolve in only three  philosophies:  the e-myth (entrepreneurial myth), the  turn-key revolution, and the business development process.

The E-myth

The e-myth, or the entrepreneurial myth, evolved from one  very fatal assumption--  that the success of every  business is simply achieved by summing up the following:  an entrepreneur's desire to own a business plus the certain  amount of capital he puts in plus the knowing the amount of  targeted profit.

Little did the entrepreneurs know that this assumption  spell DISASTER rather than SUCCESS.  Entrepreneurs need to  learn to focus more on the business-the people involved in  it and the phases it normally undergoes.  Knowledge on these  can save small businesses from experiencing entrepreneurial  seizure-a stage wherein an entrepreneur goes through feeling  of exhilaration, exhaustion, and despair.

Small businesses basically consist of three main characters  namely: the technician (the doer and builder), the manager  (the planner), and the entrepreneur (the dreamer, visionary).    Moreover, small businesses have different life phases.   These are: infancy (the technician's phase); adolescence  (getting some help phase); beyond the comfort zone; and,  maturity and the entrepreneurial perspective.

The Turn-key Revolution

As implied by the term itself, Turn-key Revolution speaks of  the distinct transformations on the way businesses are  managed and should be managed. One very prominent example  is the introduction of McDonalds the idea of business format  franchise to the business world.

The business format franchise has set dramatic turn around  on the future of small businesses.  Here, the franchisor  entitles the franchisee to owning rights to his entire  business system. This format is anchored on the belief that  the real product of a business is its sales technique rather  than what it sells.

The Business Development Process

The business development process is the response to the  unending dynamism of the business world.  It equips the  entrepreneur with the necessary tools to preempt the  continuous changes happening around. The process is  comprised of three elemental stages: innovation,  quantification and orchestration.

The business development program requires the following  aspects to be defined:

Your Primary Aim.  The owner's primary aim should center  on what he really wishes, needs and wants for his life.  Defining this will push the owner to pursue his defined  entrepreneurial dreams.

Your Strategic Objectives.  This contains standards that help  the owner achieve his goals for his business.  This should  answer the question:  What purpose will this serve my primary  aim?

Your Organizational Strategy.  Business owners should learn how  to appreciate the value of organizational structures.  Some  points to consider are organizing around personalities,  organizing your company, and position contract.

Your Management Strategy.  As the owner you should recognize  the truth that the successful implementation of a management  strategy is not dependent on the people who could implement it  but on the system instead.

Your People Strategy.  This refers to the approach you take  towards your people and their work. To make people appreciate  the work they do, you should make them understand the idea  behind each of their task assignments.

Your Marketing Strategy.  Here is the stage where all attention  suddenly shifts from owner to the customer. You set aside your  personal goals first and start focusing on the customer's needs.

Your Systems Strategy.  There are three kinds of systems in a  business: the hard systems, the soft systems and the information  systems. The hard systems refer to all those in your business  that are inanimate and has no life. The soft systems refer to  all those that could be living or inanimate. The information  systems are everything else in the business that provides you  with data relating to how the two earlier systems interact.

About The Author

Summary By: Regine P. Azurin <a href="http://www.bizsum.com" target="_new">http://www.bizsum.com</a>

"A Lot Of Great Books....Too Little Time To Read"

Free Book Summaries Of Latest Bestsellers for Busy Executives and Entrepreneurs, <a href="Mailto:freearticle@bizsum.com" target="_new">Mailto:freearticle@bizsum.com</a>

BusinessSummaries is a BusinessSummaries.com service.

(c) Copyright 2001-2002, <a href="http://BusinessSummaries.com" target="_new">BusinessSummaries.com</a> - Wisdom In A Nutshell<a href="mailto:samantha@bizsum.com">samantha@bizsum.com</a>]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>Book Summary:  What Is The Emperor Wearing?</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/book_summary_what_is_the_emper.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1559</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>This article is based on the following b...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[This article is based on the following book:

What Is The Emperor Wearing?
Truth-Telling In Business Relationships
Butterworth-Heinneman
ISBN 0-7506-9872-1
217 pages

This book is inspired by the popular tale &quot;The Emperor's New Clothes&quot;.  It provides stories of ordinary individuals in the workplace who are in the predicament of confronting the unlikely benefits of &quot;deception&quot; and steering away from the risks and dangers of &quot;truth-telling&quot;.

Unfortunately, &quot;truth-telling&quot; is justifiably perceived to be difficult, risky, and unrewarding. More often than not, others will try to invalidate your truth with what they believe is true rather than discover the true nature of the problem.

Take the case of Rita.  She tried to tell the truth to her manager, Kerwin, but he refused to listen.  Her predictions were correct, but it was only after the scandal broke out in the media that Kerwin realized it.   Clearly, Rita's truth was ignored.

Robert, however, was reluctant to accept that his store manager was stealing supplies from his dry cleaning establishment.  Robert lost money in a store that seemed to be doing very good business simply because he'd rather not know what the truth is.

Truth-telling has become more risky and difficult to some of the characters in the book.  Basically, they had hard times telling the truth when:

<ul>

<li>the truth is bad news

<li>the truths collide-that is, when your truth gets fabricated along the way

<li>you'd be happier if you know what the truth is

<li>you're not sure if your truth is really true

<li>your integrity is sacrificed

<li>it makes better sense not to tell the truth

</ul>

The genuine stories of Rita, Robert and the other characters of the book proved the profitable side of truth-telling.  In the long run, it has become obvious that truth-telling is always more beneficial than &quot;deception&quot;.  To practice the skill the following is recommended:

<ul>

<li>Examine Assumptions.  With the fear of jeopardizing her position by confronting the manager, Kathleen decided to carefully examine her opinion that her boss is behaving inappropriately at meetings they attended. Eventually, it dawned on her that her objectives are different from his.

<li>Know Yourself First.  Irwin, a telecommunications executive, was not aware of his alcohol problems.  It took near disaster before he realized this.  Looking back, Irwin identified that incident as a major turning point in his life and career.

<li>Use Your Intuition to Guide You. Elizabeth rarely understood the reason for crying at meetings. When the team examined the situation more carefully, they discovered that Elizabeth's intuition was warning them when something subtle was wrong with some proposed action.

<li>The Truth Will Set You Free, but First It May Make You Mad.  Pete's team confronted him on his ineffective leadership style.  It was difficult to hear the negative feedback, but as he listened and responded, the team members' animosity changed to offers of help and support.

<li>Get the Information You Need Without Being Gullible or Paranoid.

<li>Ask Questions with Grace and Skill.

<li>Tell Your Truth with Compassion for Yourself and Others.  Valerie struggled with herself about how to inform her client that she suspected he was using drugs. As she prepared him for job interviews, she started to think that other interviewers might notice the subtle symptoms and mannerisms she had observed in him. She carefully examined her own internal conversation and her fear of alienating her client. Her commitment to her own integrity helped her find an appropriate way to take the necessary risk while continuing to support her client.

<li>The &quot;What I Feel Like Saying&quot; Process. Staff meetings were becoming a waste of time in Monica's mortgage banking office. Staff members would come late, leave early, and barely pretend to participate. Introducing a simple exercise at the start of each weekly meeting allowed everyone to gradually learn to work together more effectively.

<li>Is Something Sinister Going On?  Everyone at the meeting was frustrated. People were repeating their points several times, but they were not reaching any resolution. A simple matter that should have taken five minutes had been debated for an hour. After a brief recess, Barry raised a new issue that concerned everyone. When the discussion of the new topic was completed, they went back to considering the original issue, and they reached agreement on a solution almost immediately.

<li>Using Agreements to Create Dialogue Instead of Conflict.  It is important for any truth teller to realize that your truth is not THE TRUTH, and neither is anyone else's. Exploring different perspectives on the truth instead of arguing about which is correct can best be accomplished in a safe environment. A variety of organizations use an ever-evolving set of agreements to create and maintain a context in which truth-telling can occur.

</ul>

About The Author

Summary By: Regine P. Azurin, <a href="http://www.bizsum.com" target="_new">http://www.bizsum.com</a>

"A Lot Of Great Books....Too Little Time To Read"

Free Book Summaries Of Latest Bestsellers for Busy Executives and Entrepreneurs, <a href="Mailto:freearticle@bizsum.com" target="_new">Mailto:freearticle@bizsum.com</a>

BusinessSummaries is a <a href="http://BusinessSummaries.com" target="_new">BusinessSummaries.com</a> service.

(c) Copyright 2001-2002, BusinessSummaries.com - Wisdom In A Nutshell

<a href="mailto:samantha@bizsum.com">samantha@bizsum.com</a>]]>
      
   </content>
</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Selling Goodness-Introduction To The Book</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/selling_goodnessintroduction_t.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1560</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Unfortunately, I have seen too many of e...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Unfortunately, I have seen too many of even the most noble and vitally needed charitable nonprofits fade into obscurity, never having accomplished the laudable goals they set out to achieve. In most cases, the reason for their demise is that they did not promote themselves with vigor and assertiveness. They either failed to learn to use public relations (PR) to their advantage or they did not avail themselves of the services of professionals who could have launched their causes into the limelight and helped them get the momentum, manpower, and funds they needed to stay alive.

These early deaths are disappointing, unsatisfying-and tragic. They could have been prevented if the right steps had been taken. As a public-relations professional, I strongly believe that the world cannot afford to lose the efforts of so many charities and nonprofit organizations which help solve the never-ending problems that plague our fragile planet.

This book is therefore dedicated, with passion, to helping these charities and nonprofits learn to use pubic relations of all kinds to accomplish their important goals. Drawing on my background as the founder of one of Hollywood's most prominent public-relations firms, and having represented hundreds of the entertainment industry's biggest celebrities, I wrote Selling Goodness to show you how to take advantage of professional public-relations techniques on a fledgling charity's often- impoverished budget. The book describes how the media operates, and how you can make it work for your charity or organization.

In the following chapters, you will find advice on such matters as pitching a story, writing a press release, and giving an interview. I guide you through the critical steps of a PR campaign, from initial contacts with the media through follow-up, special events, and dealing with a PR crisis should one happen to you.

Throughout the chapters, you will also find two types of "boxed features." One contains special hints about PR techniques or additional elaboration on a topic. The other presents case his, stories of inspiring PR stories from my personal files. Indeed, one of my joys in writing this book is that I get to recount some of the great stories I've collected over the years of promotional techniques used by many different businesses and nonprofits.

THE MORAL CASE FOR PROMOTION

But Selling Goodness is much more than a practical handbook on skills and procedures. It is also a moral manifesto. If you are a humble do-gooder with qualms about seeking either attention or special promotion, this book presents a powerful case for promoting yourself and your charitable cause. I believe the moral argument is especially compelling now that government is trimming outlays on social services. Nonprofits are being called to fill in the gaps. They will need more resources-and they therefore must do whatever it takes to get them, especially vigorous promotion of their vital cause.

If after reading this book you are able to take your cause more seriously, and promote it with greater vigor and intensity, you will not only be contributing to your individual charity, but to the broader purpose of promoting goodness. It may sound quaint but the truth is that the promotion of your charitable work can assist ill living beings. This is a grand vision, to be sure. But imagine the potential of a planet that is better nourished, both in substance and in spirit. I believe this is our potential.

My plan in this book is direct, and the process doable. It can make you an ally in the grand project of selling goodness, and, through that alliance, a portion of paradise can be regained.

Michael Levine is the founder of the prominent public relations firm Levine   Communications Office, based in Los Angeles. He is the author of Guerrilla PR,   7 Life Lessons from Noah's Ark: How to Survive a Flood in Your Own Life.

GuerrillaPR.net is a resource for people that want to get famous in the media,   without going broke.  <a target="_new" href="http://GuerrillaPR.net">http://GuerrillaPR.net</a>]]>
      
   </content>
</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Workshop-In-A-Book® for Dating Again, A Must-Read EBOOK</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/workshopinabook_for_dating_aga.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1561</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>The Joy Of Dating Again is designed to b...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[The Joy Of Dating Again is designed to be a do-it- yourself workshop. This book features 21 self-empowering keys. Each of the keys is presented as a workshop session. There is an explanation of each key and its relevance to your life. There are also exercises, meditations, affirmations and guided social experiments to reinforce and help you apply each key into action. This book can guide you through the keys for self-empowerment, helping you get the tools to move into a "new life," stretching your old limits and breaking the barriers of what is possible for you. In addition, you will develop the tools to attract a partner that is really suitable for you; the &quot;new you.&quot;

As the author Jeanette Castelli, points out &quot;The main element of learning is taking action in the real world. Every key is presented with several ways of implementing it immediately in your life. I truly believe in doing not just reading to create changes in your life.&quot;

To create the joy of dating again, you need to take action to make it happen. Some of you wish there was some kind of service where you call and they deliver the date of your dreams, with no effort on your part; or maybe, you wish you could fast forward time and already have found that special person, skipping the whole dating process.

The truth is there are powerful experiences of transformation, joy and self-discovery awaiting you in this adventure of dating again.  A new level of self-esteem, passion for life, love and positive relationships can all be yours. As you learn the keys or reinforce them, you will start transforming your life. That subtle or not so subtle transformation will be reflected in your dating experiences. You can expect more joy in your life and that can only be translated into the joy of dating again. As you empower yourself, your life will change and you will enhance your dating experience. It is all within your reach; it is all in your hands.

You have the chance to use the experience of dating again as fuel for self-discovery and personal growth. Dating again can become a precious experience that will pull you out of your comfort zone into growth and empowerment.

Start right now with a positive attitude and see dating as an adventure, a journey into love, a trip into your heart, a challenge that can help you grow, a fun activity, a process of self-discovery, a project for happiness, a quest for inner harmony, and a great opportunity to enhance the quality of your life.

EBOOK information: &quot;The Joy Of Dating Again&quot; by Jeanette Castelli, M.S. (ISBN: 0974206113) Features 21 self-empowering keys to transform your experience of dating and your life, eliminating the trial and error. Contains exercises, worksheets and social experiments to implement each key. EBook available from <a target="_new" href="http://www.JOY.urbantex.com/">http://www.JOY.urbantex.com/</a>

Jeanette Castelli is an author, speaker and coach. Her education includes an MBA and a Master of Psychology. She is an expert in recovery and healing processes, including divorce, past events and wall street losses. Contact her <a href="mailto:JCastelli@urbantex.com">JCastelli@urbantex.com</a>]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>IZEE Growing Up In A Logging Camp:  Introduction</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/izee_growing_up_in_a_logging_c.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1562</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Introduction Rusty Miles never had a rea...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Introduction

Rusty Miles never had a real identity. I was that &quot;Little Miles&quot; kid, youngest of &quot;The three Rs,&quot; Rita, Robert, and Russell. My parents were somewhat older than those of most of my friend's.

When we moved to Izee, I wondered why Dad wouldn't play baseball, like the other men in the logging camp. While other dads got together at the ball field, drank beer, played, and had lots of fun, my father would go off fishing, by himself.

Oh, I could go along with him, if I wanted too. But, Dad didn't believe in talking much because it &quot;Scares away the trout.&quot; Anyway, it was more exciting to watch the younger men play baseball, after they got off work, and get into fights. Someone would cuss about being called: &quot;Out!&quot; The next thing you know, there would be fists flying everywhere.

Sometimes, their wives would get into it, too. Women are dirty fighters. They scratch, and pull hair. Maybe, even kick you someplace. That's why Mom said we didn't want to go. She went only one time. Just when the fighting and cussing got real good, Mom said: &quot;Rusty, I'm glad your father isn't here to see this. We're going home! These people are just, plain, stupid. They drink up every dime they earn, and they don't even have a pot to piss in!&quot;

My Mom was right. While we Miles had indoor plumbing, most of our neighbors still used outhouses. &quot;We are not going to learn to talk like this, Rusty. These people should wash their mouths out with soap, but they probably don't even have any. If they do, they sure never use it!&quot;

There was never conflict in our house. We had better sense than to fight among ourselves. We were a family. Mom saw to it.

&quot;People in families stick up for one another. They defend each other and do what's right.&quot; As Mother often said, &quot;Anyone, with a lick of good sense, should know that.&quot;

A spectator but once, Mom didn't like me to go to watch the baseball because of all of the fighting. I'd tell her, &quot;It doesn't happen much, anymore. All of my friends get to go!&quot;  Mother would sigh, sit down with Agatha Christi, tell me to &quot;Be back before dark, and you walk home!&quot; I was not to ride in a car with people who had been drinking, even if the driver's own children did. It was a long walk home, from the ball field to the cookhouse, where we lived.

IZEE by Russ Miles © 2004

Russ Miles is the author of the novel, For Sale By Owners:FSBO. Seasoned Real Estate NAR® Broker Disabled by Multiple Sclerosis, FOR SALE BY OWNERS:FSBO ISBN 0-595-28703-4,in trade paperback,is available by phone or Internet:1-800-Authors to order direct!Very HOT?LINK Adobe e-book & hard cover editions also availableFSBO at Amazon.com at Barnes and Noble and other fine booksellers.Comments: <a href="mailto:MilesRuss@Gmail.com">MilesRuss@Gmail.com</a>. Personal referrals to his publisher]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>IZEE Growing Up In A Logging Camp:  Chapter One</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/izee_growing_up_in_a_logging_c_1.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1563</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Chapter One I was ready to start the fou...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Chapter One

I was ready to start the fourth grade, the year we moved to Izee. Prior to that time, the Miles family had lived in Bates, Oregon. Bates was a company owned, sawmill town, too. The biggest difference was that the houses in Bates were painted, on the outside.

My sister, Rita, had married her high school sweetheart, in June, and had moved to Eugene, Oregon. We would not be able to see her more than a couple of time a year ? as it was ninety miles to the paved highway, and then over two hundred miles from there. My brother, Robert, would begin his high school in a few weeks. Robert would have to be boarded in Canyon City or John Day, Oregon. The Izee school had only first thru eight grades available in its two rooms.

Mom had assured Dad and me, &quot;Robert will be just fine. He will only be fifty-eight miles away. He can come home on the weekends and for spring vacation. We know how important it is to get a good education.&quot;

Mother had never attended high school, herself. Born Mildred Heck, with eight siblings, she was working in a Baker City laundry by the time that she was twelve years old. As the dominant parent, Mother never expected too much of my father. Her kids were her life and she could handle everything.

Mom had never known her father, a Nez Perse Indian, who, like her mother's other three husbands, had died young in Baker City, Oregon. All that she had known about her father was that he was a Catholic. She had made his religion her own. Her mother was a Nazarene. Back then, some people called them 'Holly Rollers' and Mom wanted no part of embarrassment.

Being poor, born nearly deaf, offered enough ridicule for any smart child, as my Mother had been. When she had gone to grade school, she sat in the back of her class, ashamed, in her hand-me-down clothes. When called upon by a teacher, she usually answered, &quot;I don't know,&quot; rather than admit that she couldn't hear the question. She had educated herself by reading books and was anything but stupid. She wanted babies. She would handle everything herself. Her own Mother had, she expected to, and she did.

&quot;Oh Buddy, Rusty, look! There's the school? It says IZEE School Dist. # 31, over the door. The town must be right around the corner?&quot; Mom was excited.

I looked. It wasn't as big as my old school, in Bates.  There were just two swings and two teeter-totters. Two school rooms, and two outhouses. We waited, expectantly, for the Izee town to appear. It didn't.

&quot;Well, it has to be just up ahead? Here comes another lumber truck toward us, Bud? For heaven sakes, move over a little bit?&quot;

&quot;That's sure a fine looking load of lumber, Mildred. They say they've got enough trees to run for the next twenty years. They're running three crews of fallers, now. That's a lot of hungry lumberjacks to feed!&quot;

&quot;We'll do just fine, Bud. Now, you relax. We'll meet the superintendent and he'll offer us the job. I'll be right here with you. We'll be fine.&quot;

&quot;You just remember, Mildred, they found the last cook hanging by a noose above his cook-stove. They said his food was bad," Dad declared. " He made good men eat beans, everyday,&quot; My father continued, with genuine sympathy advocating for the collinearly abused laborers.

&quot;Bud, you know, very well, that the poor man and his wife were having problems. They said that he committed suicide!&quot;

&quot;Well,  he wouldn't be the first cook that they've strung up in a logging camp!"

"Bud Miles, you stop thinking about such things" Mom demanded.

"Well, he won't be the last one either, Mildred," Dad persisted... before changing the subject. "Rusty, are you watching for this town, Son? Keep an eye open for a big buck! I saw some fresh tracks in the dust where he crossed the road, back there. It looks like a black bear, or something, has rubbed himself against that tree!&quot;

I looked. There was some dark chocolate hair glistening on the broken branch of a green juniper. I could see some of the bark was missing from the tree trunk too. No one could spot game sign like my Dad.

I wanted to be the first to see the Izee. I was real thirsty. The dust stirred up by that last lumber truck was, still, hanging thick in our 1952 ford. I rolled the passenger window down to try to get some fresh air. Mom handed me another piece of Juicy Fruit gum.

&quot;Throw the other one out, Rusty. This will make our mouth's taste better. We'll be there any minute and I'll get you a cold glass of water, first thing.&quot;

It seemed like we would never reach Izee. The ruts and bumps of the dirt road tossed our car and we helpless victims in every direction. Around each corner, lay dustier road and another corner that we couldn't see beyond. The schoolhouse turned out to be twelve miles from the town. Dad was getting anxious.

&quot;What time are we supposed to meet with this man, Mildred?&quot;

&quot;His name is Mr. Ellingson, Bud. He is expecting us at around 1:00 O'clock. It's not even 12:30. We're doing fine. Step on it, a little? You're not even going thirty miles per hour? That last log truck ? that passed us ? was going twice as fast on this same road!&quot;

The loud blast of the air horn behind us meant that another log truck driver agreed with Mom.  Dad pulled to the right as far as he could, without leaving the road. The truck, loaded to the top with fresh cut pine trees, roared past us before I could roll up the window.

&quot;I told you so, Bud. Now let's go!&quot;

&quot;I'm not going to follow that crazy man, too close.  Chains break on loads like that.  You can't stop by the time you see the logs through all the dust? So, you just calm down, Mildred. I want us all alive when we get to this mill.&quot;

As the dust trail of the log truck settled in the distance, Dad increased the speed to thirty-five mph. Billowing from more bumps, a new layer of road powder inside the car, settled upon us. It was well over 100 degrees, inside the car and out. We continued on, in our hot pursuit of the elusive logging camp. I had, pretty much, given up hope on ever getting to Izee. At eight years old, you can keep the faith, while riding in a hot car, for just so long.

Mom saw it first. &quot;Look, Rusty! A real ball park!&quot;

The backstop appeared from out of nowhere. Except for a few wooden benches, it was the only thing there, situated in the gully between the creek and a hill. The hill had one small trailer, perched on the peak.

The next sights were less than encouraging. More single wide trailers and make-do-mobiles with clothes flapping on rusting lines. This was the &quot;Upper camp,&quot; where many of the less permanent workers with families lived.

&quot;Keep on driving, Bud! These shanties are not the main town. It has real houses. They said we will see the mill when we get here.&quot;

We continued on ? around another two more corners ? to the &quot;Main camp.&quot; Rounding the last curve, we saw the smoke from a sawdust burner drifting slowly over three rows of wooden structures, houses of the main camp. Steams and gasses could be seen bursting forth from the many operational buildings of the Ellingson Timber Company sawmill.

Arrogantly, on one side of the creek, the sawmill sprawled on the large, level side of the landscape. All but a few of the houses were close together on the other. Like bleachers in a stadium, rows of adiquate housing assended the mountainside due limited flatland on their side of the creek.

Actually, this creek was the &quot;South Fork&quot; of the John Day River. Our forner hometown, "Bates, Oregon," lay eighty-eight miles to the North East, and was on the &quot;Middle Fork.&quot; There is, also, a &quot;North Fork&quot; of these tributaries. After the forks all join the &quot;Main John Day,&quot; it flows on to expand &quot;The Columbia River.&quot;

In those days, sawmills were built on creeks in remote areas where timber was in close proximity. A sawmill could be expected to operate for fifty to seventy five years. The towns were the necessary outgrowth of a place to house the laborers for the mill, loggers to cut the trees, log truck drivers ?. to haul the fresh logs in ? and lumber truckers ? to transport the finished dry boards out.

The lumber companies that built the mills owned the towns. These were not &quot;One horse towns.&quot; There were no horses or cows or pigs or sheep. Just families who rented company owned houses, from the company, while the men held jobs at, or for, the mills. Permanent workers, at the mills, got first choice of the housing. The better the job, the better the house, made available from the cheaply constructed one-level structures. Most had only two bedrooms, no matter how many children were in the household. Most families had one or two dogs that roamed freely.

The mill workers were &quot;Permanent.&quot; So long as they could perform their work adequately, and their families did not disrupt anything, men had a job and a place to live. The companies made all of the rules. People with too many family problems were fired. There were, always, people who wanted a job. Many people worked their whole lives for these companies, raising families, perfectly content with their lots in life.

Then, like now, most problems developed when people felt too isolated or blamed each other for  their own dissatisfaction. When a worker was injured on the job, the company took care of the medical. When the injury to a good worker was severe, the company might find him another job that he could do. Unmarried men, and those waiting for a house, &quot;Batched&quot; in bunkhouses. Women were not allowed to work in the mills. Once grown, single women were not even allowed to live in the towns.

Most sawmill towns had two sections, one where the &quot;Permanent&quot; workers lived and a second section, where the &quot;Temporary&quot; or seasonal workers, with families, resided. These might include the contract or &quot;Gypo&quot; loggers. People who worked at the mills usually didn't get too close to the families of the people who might be gone in a few months or years when their jobs or contracts ran out. Izee was a &quot;Logging-camp.&quot; The company, that owned everything but the land it was built upon, made no pretense of this being ? or ever becoming ? a &quot;Town.&quot;

Our first stop in Izee was at the &quot;Commissary.&quot; That was the word used for the company owned store. It was the only store in the camp. Can goods, toilet paper, dog food, cleaning supplies, candy bars, and cigarettes, were the major items stocked. A gas pump was in front and the prices were &quot;Sky-high.&quot; Most people bought their groceries in John Day, when they went in to town to cash their paychecks. There was no bank in Izee. No alcoholic beverages were sold in the camp, either. The land lease agreement, allowing the mill with its necessary housing, clearly prohibited alcoholic sales of any kind. The mother of the rancher owning the land was a devout Catholic. When the mill shut down permanently, all evidence of it prior existence would have to be removed.

The wood floor of the commissary was raven black, having recently been oiled. Dad observed my hesitation to step on it. He assured me it was all right.

&quot;They do this, Rusty, to cut down on wear and to make the floor easier to keep clean,&quot; he said before asking the man where he could find Mr. Ellingson.

Mom found the ice-chest cooler and bought me a seven ounce 7-Up. Boy, did it taste good?

Johnson, the commissary clerk, who was also responsible for the separate mail section, pointed to the superintendent's house.  Dad and Mom were to apply for the job of running the &quot;Cookhouse&quot;. It was an important position for the company that had enjoyed, too much, turnover in years past. It would not, anymore.

Dad was hardly inside the door when he told Mr. Ellingson, &quot;A man can't do an honest day's work on an empty stomach. You've got to feed him, and you've got to feed him real good!&quot;

The Superintendent gleefully agreed and set about selling my parents on taking the job.

The position required that the &quot;Cookhouse, husband and wife operators,&quot; work about sixteen hours a day ? seven days a week. Of course, the job wasn't represented that way but that is actually what would be required, to handle it successfully. Included, with the position, were the attached living quarters, and all meals for the operator's own family. Although no restaurant ? or other eating establishment ? was allowed in Izee, residents that occupied houses, neighbors, or even friends were not allowed to eat at the Cookhouse. It didn't matter how much people were willing to pay.

Dad was offered the position, as &quot;Head Chef&quot; and Mom would be the &quot;Second&quot;. Her job would be to help Dad, bake all of the breads, make the deserts, and serve the tables. Together, they would prepare the meals for all of the forty five to eighty single men ? mill workers and loggers ? who lived in the bunkhouses.

By five O'clock A.M., the loggers and woods crews would sign in for breakfast. The mill workers came in at 6:00. By then, the woodsmen would have eaten, packed up their lunchboxes, and departed. All meals were deducted from worker's paychecks. This was no free lunch.

Lunch for mill a worker was between when the lunch-time whistles blasted, at noon and at 1:00 P.M. A man might have to run to get there. Dinner was served from 5:30 until 7:30, seven days a week. The Superintendent spent more time selling them in taking the job than my folks spent trying to get it.

While Dad and Mom were going over details of what the position entailed, I asked if I could walk down to the swings that I had noticed when we had arrived. Mr. Ellingson thought it would be a great idea, a chance for me to meet some of the kids who were playing there. He was quite proud that the company, only recently, had the huge swings constructed for all of the children in the logging camp to use.

Mom walked me outside, with a stern reminder that I had my &quot;New clothes on.&quot;

&quot;Don't get into any fights,&quot; she said. &quot;I have heard that these Izee kids are the toughest and meanest on this earth? And, watch out for the rattlesnakes? If you see one, Rusty, promise me that you won't go near it. Your father and I will pick you up in a few minutes. You see that big house across from the swings? That's 'The Cookhouse.' It's going to be our new home?&quot;

Rattlesnakes! We don't have rattlesnakes in Bates! I could feel my heart hammering against my stomach as I walked ? what I believed to be ? 'The Rattlesnake Road.' Maybe, I thought, if I kick that rock ahead of me, it will scare them away. But, I didn't want too kick it too far. I might need it to kill a snake.

I could see two boys and two girls at the swings. They're all watching me. The girls look friendly, but the boys ? they want to fight. They're both bigger than me. I remembered that my Dad had said, &quot;The bigger they are, the harder they fall!&quot; If they give me any trouble, I'll show them that Bates kids are tough, too.

I wished that my brother, Robert, had come, this first time. Instead, he had gone camping with the Boy Scouts, that day. Robert can beat up anyone. Well, anyone but Okie Joe. He's taught me to never back down from a fight. I ain't never yet! Anyway, them boys are looking at me funny. I kicked the rock off the dirt road in the direction of the swings. The biggest boy stepped forward to challenge  me.

&quot;Whatta ya doin' kickin that rock?&quot;&quot;Lookin' for rattlesnakes. What's it to yea?&quot; &quot;That's my rock!&quot;&quot;Oh, yea?&quot;&quot;Yea!&quot; &quot;Here, take it then!&quot; I kicked the rock at him.He had long legs and jumped out of the way. &quot;Where da ya think yer goin'?&quot;&quot; Those swings.&quot;&quot; They're mine, too?&quot;&quot; Oh, yea?&quot;&quot;Yea, my dad built 'em!&quot; &quot; Mr. Ellingson said they's for everybody?&quot;&quot; Yea, well, I'm next!&quot;&quot;O.K.,&quot;I said, willing to wait my turn. But, I could see that 'Long-legs' didn't like it.&quot; That's a funny looking shirt? you Roy Rogers?&quot;&quot; No?&quot;&quot; Sez Roy Rogers? whata ya doin wearin his shirt?&quot;&quot; It's mine. My mom bought it ? for me - this morning ? in John Day.&quot;&quot; Oh, yea?&quot;&quot; Yea! You wanna make somethin' of it?&quot;&quot; If I do, you'll be sorry?&quot;&quot; Oh, yea?

Two buttons flew off when he grabbed me by the collar. But, my head moved faster than his fisted fingers! When I slugged him in the stomach, Long-legs doubled over. So, I punched his snorting nostrils. Blood squirted, everywhere. It spurted at my new shirt, too. Fear gripped me! Mom's gonna be mad.

Our fight was over for that day. Long-legs left holding his nose and swearing that he'd &quot;Get even, later!&quot; His faithful friend ? who even looked a little like Tonto ?  went with him. So did one of the girls who had been on the swings.

&quot; Do you want to swing, &quot; the other girl asked me?&quot;Okay,&quot; I answered, trying to wipe some blood off my shirt. &quot; What's your name?&quot;&quot; Rusty Miles.&quot;&quot; Are you going to live here?&quot;&quot; Yeah, I guess so.&quot;&quot; Which house? &quot;&quot; That one ? right there?&quot; I said, pointing.&quot; Oh, good. I live right across the street. I'm Diana. We can be friends.&quot;

We were flying high, in the swings, when our family Ford pulled up. Mom got out of the car.

&quot;Rusty, did you fall down? Honey, are you all right? Look at your shirt! What, on earth, happened to you?&quot;&quot; He started it? Mom, I didn't mean to?&quot;&quot; Hush up! Get into this car, right now? before anyone sees you like this? Let's go, Bud? They want us back here, and on the job, Monday morning.,&quot; Mother  urged.

[ End Chapter One ]

*  *  *

Russ Miles is the author of the novel, For Sale By Owners:FSBO. Seasoned Real Estate NAR® Broker Disabled by Multiple Sclerosis, FOR SALE BY OWNERS:FSBO ISBN 0-595-28703-4,in trade paperback,is available by phone or Internet:1-800-Authors to order direct!Very HOT?LINK Adobe e-book & hard cover editions also availableFSBO at Amazon.com at Barnes and Noble and other fine booksellers.Comments: <a href="mailto:MilesRuss@Gmail.com">MilesRuss@Gmail.com</a>. Personal referrals to his publisher]]>
      
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</entry>
<entry>
   <title>IZEE Growing Up In A Logging Camp:  Reality Intertrude Insert Between Ch1 and Ch2</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/izee_growing_up_in_a_logging_c_2.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1564</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Reality intertrude As MS (multiple Scler...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Reality intertrude

As MS (multiple Sclerosis) is doing such a fine job of devastating my mortal body, I thought it prudent to begin writing my life story. At least, to recall some parts of it that have had significant impacts on me becoming who I think I am. If I wait for someone else to write it ? I won't be around read it. If I delay any longer to begin, I may not be able to remember my life ? at all.

I suppose that it's normal to want people to say nice things about you, after you're gone. Sometimes, you can make a deal with them to say nice things about you ? if you will just go. Since I don't have very much to cut a deal with, I figure ? if I want some nice things said ? I'd better say them myself.

I'm reminded what I once said about a dog that I had. &quot; He never bit anybody?&quot; I don't remember ever biting anyone, either. Another dog, I adopted,  kissed everyone. Although I tried to do that, too, I was never as well received as he was.

Cats don't try to kiss you. They spend all of their time licking themselves. A lot of people that I've met do that. While many things are yet within their power to accomplish, they give up.

I've learned, there is nothing shameful about trying and failing. It was only a shame when I failed to try. We all get to have our share of failures. No one else gets to have them all. If you've never failed, you have probably never tried to do the impossible, like be a good marriage partner, or eat soup with a fork. I get better at being married each time I try it.

In this story, I don't think I'll change the names. No one is so innocent that they need protecting.

*  *  *

Izee continued
Chapter Two

We moved to Izee early Saturday, to the house we had never seen the inside of. Mom was following in the car, Dad commandeering a borrowed pickup with all of our earthly possessions. Robert came with us to Izee, this time. Since Mom would be explaining to him &quot;The boardinghouse rules&quot; for high school away from home,&quot; I rode with Dad thinking it was funny that my brother got to eat more dirt than I did, as they followed us over the miles of unpaved road. Like a filthy phantom from planet dust, Robert kept emerging from the 52 Ford, recovering anything that blew off our loosely tied down load. He looked even scarier when it started to rain.

[Continue on in Chapter Two if you still wish to read more.]

Russ Miles is the author of the novel, For Sale By Owners:FSBO. Seasoned Real Estate NAR® Broker Disabled by Multiple Sclerosis, FOR SALE BY OWNERS:FSBO ISBN 0-595-28703-4,in trade paperback,is available by phone or Internet:1-800-Authors to order direct!Very HOT?LINK Adobe e-book & hard cover editions also availableFSBO at Amazon.com at Barnes and Noble and other fine booksellers.Comments: <a href="mailto:MilesRuss@Gmail.com">MilesRuss@Gmail.com</a>. Personal referrals to his publisher]]>
      
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</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Empowering Teenagers - A Few Clues About Teens And A New Book</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/empowering_teenagers_a_few_clu.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1565</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>EMPOWERING TEENAGERS From a new book: &amp;q...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[EMPOWERING TEENAGERS

From a new book: &quot;Adolescence is a difficult period, both for the emerging adult and for those around him/her. Intellectual growth, sexual awareness, quantum physical growth and the need for increasing independence are all natural and expected patterns. We  need, badly, to recognize these patterns and to empower the &quot;young adult&quot; to deal with growth in wholesome and productive ways.  That is not a utopia... it is achievable with understanding and open communication.

I'll give you a major clue: always understand that what peers think of your child and his/her actions is an overly important consideration for the child. Maybe such peer opinions are unjustified, but they are excruciatingly  important to the child. We have not done the best job possible at empowering our children....giving them the room and respect that they deserve and expecting the same in return. &quot;

A new book, &quot;Empowering Children&quot; is a powerful tool for parents and others interested in raising children to the crowning height of their individual potential.  The jeopardy of children in today's world is revealed at length, with camera angles on internet dangers, child abuse, sexual predators, domestic violence and ecology issues. Parent and family roles are discussed. There is a chapter on the author's hundreds of motivational talks in the classroom. Then  a global journey, examining the empowerment needs of children in the most desperate conditions as well as those in better circumstance.

Some comments from the children:

&quot;I wish everyone was as inspiring and open minded as you.&quot;

&quot;I thought my life was cruddy... thanks for coming to our class, now I know I can do something great with my life.&quot;

&quot;I really appreciate you coming to talk. I think it's really cool how you try to help teens.&quot;

&quot;Changed the way I thought about things and helped me to open my eyes.&quot;

<a target="_new" href="http://www.buybooksontheweb.com/description.asp?ISBN=0-7414-2331-6">http://www.buybooksontheweb.com/description.asp?ISBN=0-7414-2331-6</a>

Dr. Malkin holds a B.Sc. in Business and a Masters and Ph.D. in Religion. He has made hundreds of visits to schools with a moving and effective motivational presentation, urging teens to do their personal best. His mentoring programs have empowered many, many children. His quest for years has been to teach the power of Right Action, working towards the goal of  a better world.]]>
      
   </content>
</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Niche Site Confessions Revealed ? An Unbiased Ebook Review</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/niche_site_confessions_reveale.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1566</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>If you&apos;re like me then chances are when ...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[If you're like me then chances are when it comes to purchasing ebooks online you want to make sure you get your moneys worth.  As someone who is trying to establish a home-based Internet business within 4 years before I retire trust me when I tell you that Niche Site Confessions Revealed is easily the best ebook to come out in a long time.

The book is comprised of interviews with 3 very successful niche marketers who share some of their tips and secrets that allowed them to become successful in the first place.  I can honestly say that the information shared is extremely interesting and very informative.  I was so moved by the ebook that I actually sent a testimony to the author describing my excitement from reading his book.  In my own words I told him that

&quot;Without a doubt the best online niche explanation product that I have bought in thelast couple of years. I own and operate 2 successful SBI websites so I was extremely pleased to see tons of information from fellow SBI webmasters that are making large amounts of passive cash flow. I couldn't sleep the night I received the ebook and read everything you sent me. In fact I had to read it a second time due to the generous amounts of tips and strategies that are clearly explained throughout your excellent book.&quot;

Please don't take this as a sales letter for the ebook.  I am in no way shape or form compensated for any sales that occur.  I just feel that every good ebook should be announced to the consumers looking for quality information.  What makes this book so much better then other ebooks on the same subject?  Well, the interview with Phil Wiley (you know who he is don't you) is well worth the price of the book by itself.  Mr. Wiley shares some very interesting tips that if properly followed will increase the amount of money anyone can make online.  Of course Phil isn't the only interview covered in the book.  The other 2 interviews are with people that have had some stellar success with niche affiliate websites.

The best part about this book is the nuggets of information that is shares and its ability to motivate you to want to achieve better results.  I mean who doesn't want to learn how to make several thousand dollars a month from the Internet?  The book doesn't give a complete blueprint but it does provide enough information to point you in the right direction and kick start you towards making money online.

The bottom line is this book is full of tips and very easy to read information.  I personally also enjoyed the two extra ebooks that came with it ? Super Affiliate Confessions Revealed and Top Affiliate Tactics Uncovered since I hadn't previously read them.  A third bonus is the free monthly updates.  Unfortunately I can't comment on them because I just bought the ebook a few weeks ago.

Take my word for it and purchase this ebook.  It will inspire you to want to succeed and it gives just enough information to allow you to succeed.  Best of luck!!
Timothy Gorman is a successful webmaster and publisher of Best-Free-Insurance-Quotes.com. He provides insurance information and offers discount auto, life and <a target="_new" href="http://www.best-free-insurance-quotes.com/home-insurance.html">home insurance</a> that you can research in your pajamas on his website.

<b>Other websites operated by Tim</b>

Cellular-Phone-Solutions.com - Free information and resources regarding cell phones and <a target="_new" href="http://www.cellular-phone-solutions.com">cell phone plans</a>. 

Military-Loans-Online.com ? Which provides free money saving loan quotes on all of your loan needs to include <a target="_new" href="http://www.military-loans-online.com/home-equity-loan-information.html">home equity loan information</a>.]]>
      
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</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Rat Race Blues E-book Review</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/rat_race_blues_ebook_review.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1567</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>RAT RACE BLUES:  How To Break The Strang...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[RAT RACE BLUES:  How To Break The Stranglehold
Darlene Arechederra
DAR N-Centives
25 Della, Fenton, MO  63026, 636-343-5495
October 2002, ISBN:  None, Format:  E-book
92 pages, $16.95
<a href="http://www.RatRaceRemedies.com" target="_new">http://www.RatRaceRemedies.com</a>

Rat Race Blues is a beautifully designed and easy to navigate e-book with valuable strategies for living the life you want and deserve.  This e-book begins with an analogy that most of us can understand:  comparing our lives to a merry-go-round.  How many of us spend our days overworking, overspending, frustrated and feeling like we can never get ahead?  We work harder to pay the bills, overspend in response to the stress and work harder to pay for the overspending.  On and on it goes.  Darlene Arecheddera offers readers a way to get off the merry-go-round,  improve their lives and reduce their stress.

This e-book is not about budgeting or finding yet another part-time, work at home job to accelerate bill paying. It is not about which credit card to pay off first - although it does cover that issue.  This e-book is about living within the income you make without working dozens of hours of overtime unless you really want to.  It's about reducing stress, analyzing what it costs you to work and breaking down what you owe and what you own.  Filled with worksheets and examples, Rat Race Blues helps readers make calculations, offers suggestions and provides examples that make you look at your money in a completely different way.

Early in the e-book we are introduced to Marcy and Paul, a married couple working too hard and spending too much.  Marcy discovers the techniques taught by Rat Race Blues and begins to apply them to her life.  Later, her husband Paul sees the change these techniques make in Marcy's life and he begins to use them as well.  The story of Marcy and Paul keeps us entertained and engaged while learning how to live better within our means.  We learn along with Marcy and Paul how to save rather than spend and in return gain a new respect and appreciation for the money we work so hard to earn.

This e-book is appropriate for anyone caught on the merry-go-round of modern life.  It offers clever money saving strategies and encourages readers to keep a small notebook of expenditures, goals, lists, etc.  I started my "Life Book" as the notebook is called the day after finishing Rat Race Blues and found $200.00 in unnecessary expenditures from this month's income.  I thought of new ways to save money and began calculating how little I could actually spend every week.  For an investment of $16.95 readers will find ways to save hundreds of dollars every year while reducing the number of hours they work.  Rat Race Blues is a life changing e-book that everyone should read.

About The Author

Bonnie Jo Davis is a Virtual Assistant and the author of the e-book "Articles That Sell."  For more information about Bonnie visit <a href="http://www.DavisVirtualAssistance.com" target="_new">http://www.DavisVirtualAssistance.com</a>.]]>
      
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</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Media Star Power Book Review</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/media_star_power_book_review.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1568</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Media Star Power:  ABCs to Successful TV...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Media Star Power:  ABCs to Successful TV, Radio, Print & Net Interviews
Judy Jernudd
MindShelf Publishing
270 North Canon Drive, #1175, Beverly Hills, CA  90210 310-306-6999
June 2003, ISBN:  0-9722398-3-9
194 pages, $14.95
<a href="http://www.MediaStarPower.com" target="_new">http://www.MediaStarPower.com</a>

Judy Jernudd is a former newscaster and television talk show host turned professional speaker and media coach.  Her unique background has given Ms. Jernudd the insight into what makes a great media interview and she shares this insight in her book.

Media Star Power covers the terminology of the media world with concise descriptions, quotes and gold star tips.  The book starts with "Advance Work" and ends with "ZZZ" and covers just about everything you need to know about media interviews in between.  This book will help you become a media savvy guest, market your product and business, position yourself in the media, improve your confidence and help you prepare for a crisis.

All of the topics covered are helpful but some of the most interesting are: creating an on camera look with tips on dressing and jewelry for both men and women, how to react to the media covering your company crisis and how to manage on camera anxiety.  This book is a must have for anyone seeking or preparing for media coverage and is sized just right to fit into a purse or briefcase.  Readers can use this guide while launching their own media campaign on a budget or to prepare themselves for working with a media coaching company.

About The Author

Bonnie Jo Davis is the owner and operator a Virtual Assistant firm.  She can be reached at <a href="http://www.DavisVirtualAssistance.com" target="_new">http://www.DavisVirtualAssistance.com</a>.]]>
      
   </content>
</entry>
<entry>
   <title>Product Review: Affiliate Mistakes Special Report</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/product_review_affiliate_mista.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1569</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>In his ebook &quot;Affiliate Mistakes Special...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[In his ebook "Affiliate Mistakes Special Report," Chuck McCullough teaches you how to spot and avoid or correct ten simple, yet costly errors that can seriously damage your efforts to promote affiliate programs successfully. Instead of writing about the broad based generalities of affiliate marketing, Chuck takes you by the hand and teaches you why most affiliates never make a dime in commission. Then using a detailed and systematic approach, he provides you with an effective, easy to implement solution to correct these mistakes.

The ebook prints out to about 151 pages and although some of the information may seem pretty basic to some advanced affiliate marketers, it does cover in detail how to avoid the mistakes that 95% of all affiliate marketers are making. Most of this ebook delivers rock solid information that both beginning and intermediate affiliate marketers can put to use.

Chuck McCullough is the owner of AffiliateMatch.com one of the most visited affiliate program directories on the internet today. Chuck also owns FindSticky.com and publishes the Affiliate Informer Newsletter. Chucks' experience in affiliate marketing along with his unique perspective and boundless enthusiasm, make him very qualified to write a report on affiliate program marketing.

In "Affiliate Mistakes Special Report," Chuck doesn't just tell you what the most common affiliate mistakes are, he provides you with a very clear and concise solution to each of the mistakes. Chuck has divided up each of the mistakes into a chapter of its own.

Chapter 1 on why you should actually own the products you promote, and Chapter 2 about trying to promote too many programs at once were two dynamite chapters. They were 100% right on the mark. McCullough must not believe in appetizers, because he gives you the meat and potatoes right off the bat in this report!

Chapter 5 which provides a glimpse into Chuck's "unconventional wisdom" which proved to me that Chuck was holding nothing back in this report. There is also an additonal chapter on Advanced Topics and two other bonus chapters. One of the bonus chapters provides you with a nifty "secret". I will be adding this "secret" to my site.

Though Chuck's expertise in affiliate marketing is clearly evident throughout the book, I thought a section in chapter 7 about calculating the worth of a visitor when you are purchasing traffic from pay-per-click search engines was a bit confusing. However, after my 13 year old son explained it to me, it became crystal clear. So, maybe this initial confusion on my part should be attributed more to my mathematical dysfunction and less to Chuck's formula.

In his sales copy, McCullough asserts that anyone can learn the exact methods necessary to have a profitable online business. Now, I am the world's leading skeptic when a person says "anyone". However, after reading this report, I can see how he can actually back up this claim.

Chuck takes the high road in his report and tells you right up front that making money on the internet is hard work. He deserves high marks for his honesty. Making Money on the internet is certainly not as easy as some of the "gurus" would have you believe. What makes this report different in my opinion is that McCullough's approach is not only about affiliate marketing it's also about business building.

If you are interested in promoting affiliate programs and building your online business the correct way, then I give "Affiliate Mistakes Special Report" my highest recommendation and a 9 on a scale of 1 to 10.

For more information on Chuck McCullough's ebook, "Affiliate Mistakes Special Report," please visit <a href="http://www.affiliatemistakes.com/c.pl/coopsd" target="_new">http://www.affiliatemistakes.com/c.pl/coopsd</a>

Hopefully Chuck will produce another ebook that will teach us another important aspect of internet marketing in the same well-written manner.

About The Author

David Cooper is the owner of <a href="http://www.1source-webmarketing.com" target="_new">http://www.1source-webmarketing.com</a> and the publisher of the 1Source-WebMarketing Newsletter. Subscribe to his FREE Newsletter at <a href="http://www.1source-webmarketing.com" target="_new">http://www.1source-webmarketing.com</a>

<a href="mailto:dave@1source-webmarketing.com">dave@1source-webmarketing.com</a>]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>Book Excerpt: Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/book_excerpt_give_me_a_home_wh.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1570</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>When I reached the top of the driveway a...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[When I reached the top of the driveway after getting off the school bus one April afternoon, I couldn't help but wonder why Dad was standing on the stepladder next to the tractor.

I had never seen my father use a stepladder to fix a tractor. He didn't have to climb on anything to reach the engine. I also knew he wasn't filling the tractor with gasoline. The 460 Farmall was too far away from the gas barrel underneath the silver maple tree by the garage, so the hose wouldn't reach that far.

"What's Dad doing Needles?" I asked.

Our dog, Needles, had come to meet me, his tail going in circles. Needles was a Cocker-Spaniel mix we had gotten when he was a tiny cream-colored puppy with wavy hair on his ears. Within the first week, he had nipped my sister's ankles while she was hanging clothes outside to dry. She had exclaimed, "Get those needles out of here!" And the name had stuck. As Needles grew older, his color had darkened to light caramel.

At the sound of the word, 'Dad,' Needles' ears perked up, and his round, dark-brown eyes stared at me with sharpened intensity. Needles was Dad's 'hired man.' That's what Dad said, anyway. When my father worked in the field, the dog would either trot behind the tractor or, on warmer days, would find some shade at the end of the field where he could keep an eye on things. When we milked cows, he stayed in the barn, sometimes nudging aside the cats so he could drink some milk from their dish. And when Dad went on an errand with the pickup truck, Needles often rode with him.

"What's Dad doing?" I repeated. "Go find Dad, Needles."

The dog, his feathery tail still wagging, spun around and took off toward the machine shed.

I stood for a minute, listening to the redwing blackbirds singing in the marsh below our driveway-on-ka-leeee-eeeeee, on-ka-leeeee-eeeeee. From the pasture next to the barn, meadowlarks joined in-tweedle-ee-tweedle-eedle-um, tweedle-ee-tweedle-eedle-um.

As I turned toward the house, my books tucked in the crook of one arm and my jacket draped over the other, I still couldn't quite believe that the sun was shining. For the past two weeks, the weather had been cold and rainy, but today the dark clouds had gone away and the sun had appeared. During afternoon recess at school, it was so warm that we had all taken off our jackets.

Last night at supper, Dad said he wished it would stop raining, and I knew this was the kind of weather he had been waiting for so he could plant oats and corn, although he wouldn't start for a few days, not until he was sure the fields were dried out and that he wouldn't get stuck in the mud with the tractor.

Although I usually went into the house right away when I arrived home from school, today I set my books on the  porch steps. The house seemed bigger, somehow, now that the snow had melted and the grass was beginning to turn green. My mother said our house was nothing more than a glorified log cabin-and in fact, underneath the siding it was a log cabin that had been built by my Norwegian great-grandfather.

The rumbling in my stomach reminded me it had been a very long time since lunch. I liked to eat a snack right away when I got home from school, but with Dad working outside by the machine shed, curiosity got the better of me and I figured I could always eat a snack later.

When I drew closer to the machine shed, I saw a green bottle standing on the engine cowling next to Dad's elbow and a wad of rags hanging out of his back pocket. Dad was wearing faded blue work overalls, a blue short-sleeved chambray work shirt and brown leather work boots. During the winter, he wore long-sleeved plaid flannel shirts, but during the summer, he wore short-sleeved shirts.

&quot;What're you doing?&quot; I asked.

My father looked up quickly, as if he were surprised that someone had spoken to him. Needles sat beside the tractor, keeping a watchful eye on Dad.

&quot;Home from school so soon?&quot; Dad asked, reaching for his pocket watch. &quot;Well, yes, I guess it is that time already, isn't it.&quot;

I had asked him once why he carried a pocket watch. He said a wrist watch would get too dirty from the dust and oil and grease and would probably stop working.

&quot;Why are you standing on the stepladder Daddy?"

The four-sixty had been around for almost as long as I could remember. It had been brand new when Dad bought it. He called the four-sixty &quot;the big tractor," and he called the Super C Farmall &quot;the little tractor.&quot;  He used the four-sixty for all of the heavy field work. Plowing and planting in the spring, cutting and baling hay during the summer, harvesting oats in August-right around the time of my birthday or maybe a little later-and for picking corn in the fall.

The four-sixty was the prettiest tractor I had ever seen, with its bright red fenders and the alternating red and white sections above the engine. The rear tires, as black and shiny as licorice, were much taller than me.

Sometimes when Dad went to our other place (a second farm that my parents owned about a mile away), he would let me ride on the four-sixty with him. It was tremendous fun to sit on the red fender, right next to Dad, while the wind blew through my hair and Needles trotted beside us.

Instead of answering my question about why he was on the stepladder, Dad grabbed the green bottle and tossed it in my direction.

I reached out with both hands and caught it up-side-down. When I turned it upright, I saw that the label had the letters T-u-r-t-l-e-W-a-x printed on it.

Turtle Wax?

&quot;You're waxing the four-sixty?&quot; I said.

Dad pulled another rag out of his back pocket. &quot;Yup."

Now that I was close to the tractor, I could smell the wax, a  bitter odor that reminded me of the way peach pits smelled. Every summer, Mom would buy a couple boxes of peaches to can. Homemade canned peaches tasted much better than the canned peaches from the store.

Several used rags occupied the little shelf on the front of the stepladder where Dad or my brother or sister put paint cans when they were painting. The shelf was knobby with drips of dried paint. Most of the drips were white because all of our farm buildings were white, although light blue drips from the kitchen and pale yellow drips from the living room were mixed in with the white drips.

I looked down at the bottle again. &quot;But I thought this was for cars. And trucks.&quot;

Dad shrugged. &quot;Well, yes, I guess it is.&quot;

&quot;Then why are you using it on the tractor?&quot;

My big brother, Ingman, waxed his car a couple of times a year, and my sister, Loretta, waxed her car as well. But I had never seen Dad wax anything.

&quot;I wanted to get this done before I start the field work,&quot; he said, &quot;to help protect the paint.&quot;

&quot;Protect the paint? From what?&quot;

&quot;The sun," he explained. "Sun' s hard on the paint. Fades it."

I had to admit that the tractor did look nice. The red parts were bright and shiny, like an apple that's been polished, and the white parts looked as clean as puffy clouds drifting across a blue summer sky.

&quot;The sun would fade the paint?"I asked. "Like the sun faded Mom's curtains in the living room?&quot;

The curtains had been white with gold and brown patterns that reminded me of leaves drifting to the ground on a warm fall day. Mom said she liked the curtains because they were pretty and were made of heavy cotton and would be easy to wash. Except that after the first summer, the curtains didn't have gold and brown patterns anymore. They were mostly just white with pale brown streaks.

Mom said the streaks made her curtains look like they were dirty, so the curtains had been replaced with something Mom called "drapes" that were the color of  ripe corn. Yellow was my mother's favorite color. Mom said if the sun faded her new drapes she was going to give up and leave the living room windows bare.

By the smile on Dad's face, I could tell he clearly remembered the episode with Mom's curtains.

&quot;Yes, kind of like that,&quot; he replied.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out another rag and held it up.

It was a piece of Mom's curtains.

"Mom's letting you use her curtains to wax the tractor?"

"Well, I don't know if she knows I'm using them to wax the tractor. They're not much good for curtains anymore, but they make dandy wiping rags."

I watched as my father rubbed a few more spots on the engine cowling. A breeze rustled the maple branches arched high above our heads. The maples didn't have leaves yet, but they were covered with fuzzy red buds that would soon turn into leaves. From the other side of the barnyard fence, one of our cows bellowed. "Mooooooo!" she said.

I turned toward the barn and saw a dozen of the cows standing by the  fence, watching us. Most of our cows were black-and-white Holsteins.

Dad looked up and saw the cows too. "I guess they know it's almost time for their supper, don't they."

He climbed off the stepladder and turned to me. "Since they all seem to be expecting it, I suppose I'd better put them in the barn and feed them. And you should probably go in the house and change out of your school clothes."

"What's Dad doing?" Mom asked when I walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. She sat by the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and an oatmeal cookie and the newspaper spread out in front of her. We had lots of newspapers at our house. One that came once a week, and one that came every day. Mom was reading the one that came every day.

"How did you know I was talking to Dad?" I asked as I set my books on the table.

"When you didn't come in the house right away, I poked my head out the door to see where you were," she replied.

I might have known. My mother hardly ever missed anything that went on around the place.

"Dad just got done waxing the tractor," I said.

"Dad's waxing the four-sixty?"

"With Turtle Wax. And he used your curtains."

Mom frowned. "My curtains? What in the world is he doing using my curtains?"

She paused. "Oh-you  mean the curtains I put into the rag bag. I knew he was doing something with the tractor, but I didn't know he was waxing it."

The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach suddenly reminded me I still had not yet eaten a snack. "What's for supper?"

"Meatballs and gravy and mashed potatoes," Mom said. "I suppose you're hungry right now, though, aren't you."

"I'm starving."

She turned to look at the clock. "I don't think you're starving in the literal sense, but we won't eat for at least an hour, so I suppose a couple of cookies would be all right."

Last weekend Loretta had baked a batch of oatmeal cookies. I reached into the canister on the counter. Usually my sister made ordinary oatmeal cookies, but this time she had added coconut.

After I had finished my cookies, I went upstairs to change my clothes, and then a little while later, Dad came in the house.

"I hear you've been doing y our spring cleaning," Mom said.

"My spring cleaning?" Dad replied. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. We paid good money for the big tractor and it doesn't hurt to keep it looking nice."

"I also heard you used my curtains."

"They're not much good for curtains anymore," Dad said.

My mother sighed. "No, they're not."

Dad grinned. "Especially not since you ripped them up into rags."

Mom turned and made her way over to the table, grasping the back of one of the kitchen chairs to keep her balance. It wasn't so much that Mom sat down. She collapsed. The polio hadn't left her legs with enough strength to allow her to sit down gracefully.

"Roy," she said to Dad after she had settled into her chair, "since when do you have time to wax the tractor, of all things?"

My father shrugged. "What else am I going to do on a beautiful spring day when I can't get out in the field yet? Those curtains were just what I needed to do the job. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep them out in the shed to use for polish rags."

"Well," Mom said, "I'm glad my curtains are good for something."

Although that was the first time I saw Dad waxing the tractor, it certainly wasn't the last. In the following years on the first nice spring day, he would get the four-sixty out to wax it before he started the field work.

Every year, Mom and Loretta did their spring cleaning, too, washing walls and windows and curtains in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom and all three bedrooms.

From what I could see, Dad had more fun than Mom and Loretta.

Instead of cleaning the curtains-he used the curtains to do his cleaning.

*********************

About The Author

LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books "Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam" and "Christmas in Dairyland." <a href="http://ruralroute2.com" target="_new">http://ruralroute2.com</a>; <a href="mailto:bigpines@ruralroute2.com">bigpines@ruralroute2.com</a>]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>Book Excerpt: Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam -- 5</title>
   <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hiroseno.com/blog/01bookreviews/2007/05/book_excerpt_give_me_a_home_wh_1.php" />
   <id>tag:hiroseno.com,2007:/blog/01bookreviews//38.1571</id>
   
   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>May-Day! The school bus had long since d...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[May-Day!

The school bus had long since disappeared over the last hill toward the main road one afternoon when I set my books on the kitchen table and hurried into the living room to talk to my mother.

Mom was sitting in her favorite easy chair by the picture window, and her crutches were laid neatly on the floor next to the chair where she could reach them.

Outside the window, the air was so clear everything shimmered and sparkled. The fence posts. The plum trees. The lilacs. But even though the sun was shining and the grass was as green as the bottle of food coloring in the kitchen cupboard, a chilly wind blew out of the west. I would never tell her so, but I was glad my mother had insisted I put on my red button-down sweater before I left for school this morning.

&quot;Mom?&quot; I said. &quot;Is it all right if I ride my bike?&quot;

As I waited for her to answer my question, she looked up from the newspaper and peered at me through her black-rimmed reading glasses.

&quot;You won't have much time before supper,&quot; she said. &quot;Why don't you go out and find Dad instead?&quot;

Since there were no other children in the family for me to play with, and no neighbor children close by, going outside to see Dad was even more fun than riding my bike.

There was only one problem.

&quot;Isn't he in the field someplace?&quot; I asked.

For the past month, Dad had been plowing, disking and planting. He often didn't arrive home until it was time to put the cows in the barn and feed them. If Dad was out in the field, then he would be too busy to talk to me.

My mother shook her head. &quot;He's finished with the fieldwork. He came in for coffee this afternoon for the first time in I don't know how long.&quot;

&quot;Yipee!&quot; I said.

Mom smiled and went back to reading the newspaper.

A little while later after I had changed out of my school clothes and had put on my denim chore coat, I opened the porch door and saw our old, battered, green pickup truck backed up by the granary.

The driveway made a circle past the buildings, and in the middle sat the garage, a round, wooden grain bin, and the red gasoline barrel shaded by a large silver maple. Another silver maple grew in the front lawn, and a row of silver maples lined the lawn in back of the house. One time Mom had told me the silver maples were planted by my great-grandfather after he homesteaded the farm in the late 1800s.

The granary, which had little windows in the peak near the roof that looked like a square tipped on end, stood across the driveway from the gas barrel. The position of the pickup truck told me that Dad was inside the granary, loading oats into burlap bags, and that he planned to go into town tomorrow to grind feed. About once a week he loaded the truck and made a trip to the feed mill.

I stood on the porch and watched as Dad lifted a burlap bag of oats into the back of the truck. My father made it look as though the bag of oats weighed no more than a ten-pound bag of sugar, but I knew better. A bag of oats weighed about a hundred pounds. Dad had put one on a scale once so I could see how much it weighed.

As my father disappeared into the granary again, I smiled to myself, happy in the knowledge that I knew right where he was, so I wouldn't have to wander around the buildings, yelling for him.

I sat down on the porch steps. All afternoon, the concrete steps had been soaking up sunshine, and beneath the seat of my jeans, the top step felt almost hot. Dandelions filled the lawn, as if someone had scattered handfuls of gold coins, and big, white clouds that looked like giant cotton balls floated across the sky, pushed by the wind.

Only a few days of school remained, and I could hardly wait for summer vacation to begin. We usually got out of school the third week of May if we didn't have too many snow days to make up. And on the last day of school, we always had a picnic. Everybody took their plates outside, and we sat on the grass instead of eating in the cafeteria.

I wasn't looking forward to the picnic quite as much as I did other years, though. Last year on the last day of school, I had no more than settled down with my plate when a garter snake had slithered out between my feet. The mere thought that I had almost sat on a snake still made my stomach do flip-flops.

As I sat there thinking about the school picnic, one of the barn cats rose to her feet, arched her back and stretched, and then climbed the steps to sit beside me. She had been sprawled in the grass, sunning herself, and beneath my hand, her brown tabby fur felt warm and soft.

In a couple of minutes, the cat went back to sunning herself, and I headed for the rope-and-board swing hanging from the clothesline poles. While cloud shadows slipped across the fields, I swung higher and higher, my arms wrapped around the thick rope tied over the crosspiece. The rope had come from an extra coil stored in the haymow. Dad used the same kind of rope for letting the big door down so he could put hay into the barn during the summer.

When I had gone as high as I could go, I sat quietly while the swing moved slower and slower and slower. More puffy clouds drifted across the sun, and in the field behind the barn, clumps of alfalfa rippled in the cold breeze. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have put on a stocking cap. But then reason prevailed. It was May, after all.

I hopped out of the swing and strolled toward the granary just as Dad brought another bag of oats and heaved it into the truck.

The maple trees around the lawn were now covered with green leaves, and as I passed beneath the maple tree by the gas barrel, I was close enough to the truck to see the crack in the upholstery on top of the seat behind the steering wheel.

I had no more than lifted my foot to take another step toward the truck when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

I looked down.

And there, coiled in the grass by my feet, was the biggest snake I had ever seen.

I had come within inches of stepping on it.

The snake watched me with beady black eyes-and then its forked tongue flickered in my direction.

Before I had time to think, I drew a deep breath?turned?and took off for the house.

As I raced past the garage, I became aware of someone screaming. Blood curdling screams that were enough to make the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

Then I realized the screams were coming from me.

Seconds later, I cleared the porch steps in one leap and barged into the kitchen, startling my mother, who, by this time, had left the living room.

&quot;What's wrong? Are you hurt?&quot; Mom gasped, as she turned away from the sink.

&quot;Snake!&quot; was all I could say before collapsing against her.

Mom grabbed the cupboard to steady her balance and then put her arm around me. &quot;Where was the snake, honey?&quot; she asked, patting my back with one hand as she held onto the kitchen counter with the other. &quot;Did you see a little grass snake?&quot;

Before I could answer, I heard the porch door open and then the kitchen door.

It was Dad.

&quot;What's wrong?&quot; he asked, sounding slightly breathless. &quot;What happened? Is she hurt?&quot;

&quot;She saw a snake, that's all,&quot; Mom replied.

I still had my face pressed tightly against her, but I thought she sounded exasperated.

&quot;It was a BIG snake,&quot; I sniffled.

Hah! I wondered how calm Mom would be if she had almost stepped on a fifty-foot boa constrictor. We had learned about boa constrictors in science class, and even the smaller ones could eat rabbits in one swallow.

&quot;Oh,&quot; Dad said. &quot;I thought maybe she'd hurt herself.&quot; He quietly closed the kitchen door and went back outside to finish loading oats.

As I stood there leaning against my mother, I became aware that she was trembling.

I took a step back.

Mom wasn't trembling.

She was laughing-laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

I drew a shaky breath. &quot;What's so funny?&quot;

&quot;Hee-hee,&quot; she spluttered. &quot;Tee-hee.&quot;

&quot;It is NOT,&quot; I said, drawing myself up to my full height, &quot;funny.&quot;

Mom nodded her head. &quot;Yes, it is.&quot;

She made her way over to the table and sat down.

Wouldn't you just know it. I was almost dragged away and killed by the biggest snake I had ever seen, and all my mother could do was laugh. Now that I'd had time to think about it, the snake by the granary was at least as long as the handle of the push broom we used to sweep the barn aisle.

I was beginning to wonder if my mother was ever going to stop laughing when she finally started to wipe her eyes.

&quot;What,&quot; I asked once again, &quot;is so funny?&quot;

&quot;Your poor father,&quot; she said, as fought back another snicker &quot;There he was, out there in the granary, loading oats, minding his own business?and then?well?&quot;

Dad? My mother was laughing because??

She was laughing because Dad must have run to the house as fast as I did. If not faster.

The thought of Dad running almost made me forget about the snake.

I had never seen Dad run anywhere. Sometimes he walked pretty fast. But I'd never seen him run.

&quot;He probably wondered if you fell out of the tree and broke your arm, or something,&quot; Mom explained.

&quot;Oh,&quot; I said.

In a little while after I calmed down, I ventured outside again.

The truck was still parked in the same place, but this time, I approached the granary with extreme caution.

I even squatted down to look under the pickup truck.

I didn't see the snake anywhere.

Not in the grass.

Not by the truck.

And not by the granary step.

Then, and only then, did I consider it safe to squeeze past the tailgate and climb into the granary.

&quot;Hi, Daddy,&quot; I said, waiting for my eyes to adjust after the bright sunshine outside.

&quot;That was a bull snake,&quot; Dad said while he continued bagging oats.

My father had a funny way, sometimes, of knowing what I was going to ask before I could say it-except that knowing what kind of snake it was didn't make me feel any better.

&quot;He's a good snake,&quot; Dad added. &quot;I've seen him around here a lot. He helps us. He hunts mice, like the kitties hunt mice. We want him to be around the granary.&quot;

&quot;He's a good snake?&quot;

As far as I was concerned, there was no such a thing as a 'good' snake.

&quot;Will he bite?&quot; I asked.

I had watched the cats hunt mice, and I understood why Dad didn't want mice in the granary. He said the cows wouldn't eat the feed if it had mouse droppings in it. I didn't blame them. Who would want to eat something that had mouse droppings in it?

&quot;No,&quot; Dad said, dumping another shovel of oats in the bag, &quot;the snake won't hurt you. I suppose he was taking a sunbath when you saw him. The sun is warm today, but that wind is awfully chilly.&quot;

By now, I was starting to feel a tiny bit guilty about my terrified, screaming reaction to the snake. If my father said he was a good snake-and that he was only taking a sunbath, just like the kitty by the porch had been taking a sunbath-then maybe it wasn't quite so bad.

&quot;Tell you what,&quot; Dad continued, using a short section of string to tie the bag shut with a miller's knot, &quot;whenever you're around the granary, keep an eye out for the bull snake. That way, the next time you see him, he won't be so scary.&quot;

&quot;Are you sure he won't bite?&quot; I asked.

Dad heaved the full bag of oats into the truck.

&quot;No, kiddo,&quot; he said. &quot;The snake won't bite. In fact, I'd even be willing to bet that you scared him more than he scared you.&quot;

I seriously doubted the snake had been more scared than me, but I kept it to myself.

For a long time after that, whenever I went near the granary, I looked for the bull snake.

But I never saw him again.

And neither did Dad.

&quot;What do you suppose happened to that snake, Daddy?&quot; I asked one day a few weeks later when he was loading oats again.

&quot;I think you scared him away,&quot; Dad said, taking another burlap bag and hooking it over a nail to hold up one side while he shoveled oats into it. &quot;He probably decided to go live someplace else where it was quieter.&quot;

&quot;Do you really think he moved?&quot; I asked. &quot;Just because of that?&quot;

My father nodded solemnly. &quot;Snakes don't want to be where there's a lot of commotion. You wouldn't like it if someone screamed just because they saw you, would you?&quot;

I thought about that for a few moments. &quot;No, Daddy. I wouldn't like it.&quot;

I hoped, then, that the snake had found a nice place to live, a quiet place where his afternoon sunbath wouldn't be interrupted by blood-curdling screams of terror.

And with any luck at all, it would also be someplace where I wouldn't almost step on him again.

***************

About The Author

LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books "Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam" and "Christmas in Dairyland." <a href="http://ruralroute2.com" target="_new">http://ruralroute2.com</a>; <a href="mailto:bigpines@ruralroute2.com">bigpines@ruralroute2.com</a>]]>
      
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<entry>
   <title>Book Review: Christmas in Dairyland</title>
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   <published>2007-05-05T12:09:31Z</published>
   <updated>2008-04-05T02:30:48Z</updated>
   
   <summary>Author/Publisher Christmas in Dairyland ...</summary>
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      <![CDATA[Author/Publisher
Christmas in Dairyland
by LeAnn R. Ralph
Published by LeAnn R. Ralph
E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730
Printed by <a href="http://Booklocker.com" target="_new">Booklocker.com</a>
ISBN 1-59113-366-1
$13.95, 2003, 153 pages

Reviewer
Boyd Sutton
Siren, Wisconsin
maxdude@centurytel.net

Description of the Book

Christmas in Dairyland is a collection of short, true stories about a little girl growing up on a small dairy farm in Wisconsin in the early 1960s. The book tells of life for a young girl and her family-her father, who did the farming; her mother who, despite being disabled by polio, took care of the house and cooking; and a much older brother and sister, both of whom worked and contributed their incomes to the family.

The stories recall preparations for Christmas at home, school, and church, how LeAnn learned about her Norwegian heritage and, most important, the love that pervaded this close-knit mid-20th century American family. As a bonus, Christmas in Dairyland includes tried and true recipes for many of the Norwegian heritage foods featured in the stories, including lefse (wafer-thin potato bread), Julekake (a rich Christmas bread), fattigman (a deep-fried sweet cookie), and a variety of traditional Christmas cookies. For the more adventurous, there is a recipe for lutefisk (cod that has been preserved in lye). Finally, the book includes instructions for making colorful candles using old crayons, paraffin, ice cubes, and milk cartons.

About the Book

This is a heartwarming book about a vanishing way of life. Small dairy farms, with around 30 milking cows, were plentiful when the author was growing up and they provided a warm and loving home for hundreds of thousands of families back then. There are few left today, as small farms have been abandoned, sold for development, or gobbled up by industrial-scale farming operations. Small dairy farms can no longer provide for a family's financial needs. Even then it was a real struggle. But, though such families were often well below the poverty level in strictly financial terms, they were usually wealthy in love and family relationships, as these stories show.

One or more members of the family-the wife, a son, or daughter-usually had an outside job that contributed to the family income. And the farm usually provided sustenance-milk, beef, pork, chicken, corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and other produce, while mothers and daughters sewed and knitted to supplement clothing needs.. Most important, farm life developed close-knit, loving families that were strong on self-reliance, responsibility, and respect for hard work. My own wife grew up on such a farm and I have often heard her stories about the joys and difficulties-mostly joys-of growing up that way.

LeAnn R. Ralph's stories tell of the excitement of making ornaments and decorating the Christmas tree in her school room each year (another bygone era) and at home. The annual expedition with her father to select the &quot;just right&quot; tree from the stand of red pine on their farm was one of many experiences that built a strong bond between father and daughter. Then there was the year that she and her older sister climbed a large pine to cut off the very top for their tree because all the other pines had grown so much.

LeAnn learned to make lefse from her mother and tells of the mouth-watering aroma of the freshly made, thin Norwegian bread as she came home from school. &quot;By itself, lefse didn't really taste like much, but once it was spread with butter, sprinkled with sugar and rolled into a log, I would have happily eaten nothing but lefse for breakfast, dinner and supper.&quot; It made my mouth water just to read about it and I was happy to find LeAnn's recipe for lefse (and other goodies) at the end of the book.

This is a good book for all ages, from pre-teens through octogenarian. The writing is clear, simple, and direct, easily read by young children, but not so simple as to put off adult readers. Children will connect with

LeAnn's description of a young girl's life on the farm, helping Dad with the chores, helping Mom wrap Christmas presents, yearning for a toboggan, and being surprised by her brother's purchase of a saddle for her pony, Dusty. They'll understand her attempts to get out of wearing boots, heavy coats, and mittens on warm winter days, &quot;just because it might get cold.&quot; And some will relate to LeAnn's stark fear of having to stand up in front of all the people at church to sing a solo-memorized in Norwegian-of an old-country Christmas carol. Older folks will feast on the nostalgia, and may get tears in their eyes as they learn how that Norwegian carol affected one old woman in the congregation. People from all generations will enjoy the depiction of a close, loving family as it prepares for and enjoys Christmas in Dairyland.

About the reviewer: Boyd Sutton is president of Northwest Regional Writers and a member of the Yarnspinners critique group. He served for 11 years in the U.S. Army Infantry and Intelligence and wrote professionally as an analyst and manager with CIA for 27 years. He enjoys writing essays, fiction, and humor and has been published in local papers and magazines. Boyd won the Wisconsin Regional Writers' Assoc. Florence Lindemann Humor Contest in 2003. He is working on a spy novel and a nonfiction book addressing how Christian denominational doctrine (&quot;Churchianity&quot;) sometimes interferes with Christianity.

About The Author

LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books: "Christmas in Dairyland (True Stories from a Wisconsin Farm) and "Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam." For more information, visit: <a href="http://ruralroute2.com" target="_new">http://ruralroute2.com</a>; <a href="mailto:bigpines@ruralroute2.com">bigpines@ruralroute2.com</a>]]>
      
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