A.W. Stripling Jr.'s Blog
December 6, 2021
The Little Jester
The Little Jester
My current puppy, pictured on my website thecyclistbook.com, is a one-year-old female German Shepherd. I’ve been trying to make the distinction between a furry baby and a therapy dog in my head. This one is a beautiful mess. My last shepherd was dainty but this one, as my sister said, is a truck driver. She’s brash, she’s bold, and she loves to bark and be obnoxious. But, when the time comes and I really need her, she cuddles up and helps me through the next while. She’s seen the worst happen a number of times, full-blown mixed mania. She’s quite sassy. When we’re playing, she often snaps her teeth in a show of gusto while we play, taunting me and making me laugh. When she drinks, I think more gets on the floor than in her belly. Luckily, she stopped turning over the bowl at six months when I put her bowls in a tray. If anyone ever tells you having a puppy is great, they’re lying. You endure the first three to four months while you potty train, and then it’s cleaning up chewed things like books and tables. Luckily, she hasn’t had any real medical problems since seven weeks. But one thing that always makes me laugh is her attention-getting mechanism. If she thinks you are bored, she will wildly chase her tail with her eyes focused solely on you. One turn and stare, another and stare, and a few snaps of the teeth and she is playing the Jester. She’s my best friend and companion. She definitely is a furry baby and a therapy dog in one. We are still working on a lot of behaviors, but she is very, very, very bright and with a treat, she’ll do just about anything. It seems impossible for me to live without a dog, and I wouldn’t want to live without this one or any of my previous babies. More on the puppies at a later time. She’s asleep and will wake up and want to play in a few hours. To a dog, life is about playing, they’re always trying to get to the play session. Not a bad way to look at life. Until later…
My current puppy, pictured on my website thecyclistbook.com, is a one-year-old female German Shepherd. I’ve been trying to make the distinction between a furry baby and a therapy dog in my head. This one is a beautiful mess. My last shepherd was dainty but this one, as my sister said, is a truck driver. She’s brash, she’s bold, and she loves to bark and be obnoxious. But, when the time comes and I really need her, she cuddles up and helps me through the next while. She’s seen the worst happen a number of times, full-blown mixed mania. She’s quite sassy. When we’re playing, she often snaps her teeth in a show of gusto while we play, taunting me and making me laugh. When she drinks, I think more gets on the floor than in her belly. Luckily, she stopped turning over the bowl at six months when I put her bowls in a tray. If anyone ever tells you having a puppy is great, they’re lying. You endure the first three to four months while you potty train, and then it’s cleaning up chewed things like books and tables. Luckily, she hasn’t had any real medical problems since seven weeks. But one thing that always makes me laugh is her attention-getting mechanism. If she thinks you are bored, she will wildly chase her tail with her eyes focused solely on you. One turn and stare, another and stare, and a few snaps of the teeth and she is playing the Jester. She’s my best friend and companion. She definitely is a furry baby and a therapy dog in one. We are still working on a lot of behaviors, but she is very, very, very bright and with a treat, she’ll do just about anything. It seems impossible for me to live without a dog, and I wouldn’t want to live without this one or any of my previous babies. More on the puppies at a later time. She’s asleep and will wake up and want to play in a few hours. To a dog, life is about playing, they’re always trying to get to the play session. Not a bad way to look at life. Until later…
November 17, 2021
City, Country, Mountain, and Sky
City, Country, Mountain, and Sky
I grew up about ten minutes outside of the city limits of Atlanta. From the time I was able I would take a trek down to downtown. I had a particular route down the major road (Peachtree Street) through the suburbs and into the city. It changed names a few times (a simple right out of my neighborhood) but ended up in downtown proper where I would go up the glass elevator in the Westin to the jazz bar on the 72nd floor. The only thing I ever wanted to do was just admire the city and what was once the tallest hotel in the world. I’ve been to a lot of cities in the U.S. and abroad. I love the atmosphere and the constant motion of the streets that many of them hold. I always thought it would be fun to live in New York, but the expense of living is enormous. My oldest friend lives above the Barclay Center in Brooklyn. He and his wife are doctors so they can afford it; a meager writer’s salary would afford me a one-bedroom in Jersey: hardly any fun.
In stark contrast to my upbringing, my mother and father started their lives in a small town in southern Georgia, and my father often gets offended when I say I don’t like the country. I will admit that rows and fields of pecan trees are quite pretty, but beyond that looking at fields of collards and watermelon just doesn’t quite get me excited. My father and his second wife lived in his lake home a few miles from where he grew up and originally retired. They have recently found their forever home in a country club in Colombia, South Carolina; Honestly, that sounds like an oxymoronic statement to me. Sadly, I guess the closest you get to the country in the city, or at least a vast expanse of open grass and space, is a park or a golf course. One can admire long sightlines of greenery of which my father’s lake home is less than two miles from the state park and golf course. The country is a necessity, this I know, but the small towns of South Georgia, besides the pool room which has the most amazing chili dogs (cues and balls, not water), just doesn’t cut it.
I’m very torn between the serene life of the mountains and sky versus the hustle and bustle of the city. One of my favorite things is waterfalls in the mountains. They don’t have to be large; they can just be cascading falls a few feet high. I found a lot of happiness in the northern Appalachian Mountains of Georgia in my youth. The forest has a certain peace attributed to it that I have coupled with joy and silence. It feels like you can touch the sky at Brasstown Bald at sunset, the highest peak in Georgia. I guess that’s why I made those trips to the Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel all those years ago, to see the highest peak and to touch the sky. I live only a mile from the largest city park in the country. My ex-wife and I climbed the mountains of that park now and then. Since my divorce, I find it rather lonely, and lovely, to trek the trails. Since the beginning of COVID, I have only made it once. I have yet to take my one-year-old shepherd out on a hike because she’s still a little rambunctious. But her training is coming along and hopefully by spring she’ll be ready to go out on the trail. Still, I long to return to Atlanta and the Plaza, but for now, the city of Portland, the Cascades, and the snow cap of Mount Hood will have to suffice.
I grew up about ten minutes outside of the city limits of Atlanta. From the time I was able I would take a trek down to downtown. I had a particular route down the major road (Peachtree Street) through the suburbs and into the city. It changed names a few times (a simple right out of my neighborhood) but ended up in downtown proper where I would go up the glass elevator in the Westin to the jazz bar on the 72nd floor. The only thing I ever wanted to do was just admire the city and what was once the tallest hotel in the world. I’ve been to a lot of cities in the U.S. and abroad. I love the atmosphere and the constant motion of the streets that many of them hold. I always thought it would be fun to live in New York, but the expense of living is enormous. My oldest friend lives above the Barclay Center in Brooklyn. He and his wife are doctors so they can afford it; a meager writer’s salary would afford me a one-bedroom in Jersey: hardly any fun.
In stark contrast to my upbringing, my mother and father started their lives in a small town in southern Georgia, and my father often gets offended when I say I don’t like the country. I will admit that rows and fields of pecan trees are quite pretty, but beyond that looking at fields of collards and watermelon just doesn’t quite get me excited. My father and his second wife lived in his lake home a few miles from where he grew up and originally retired. They have recently found their forever home in a country club in Colombia, South Carolina; Honestly, that sounds like an oxymoronic statement to me. Sadly, I guess the closest you get to the country in the city, or at least a vast expanse of open grass and space, is a park or a golf course. One can admire long sightlines of greenery of which my father’s lake home is less than two miles from the state park and golf course. The country is a necessity, this I know, but the small towns of South Georgia, besides the pool room which has the most amazing chili dogs (cues and balls, not water), just doesn’t cut it.
I’m very torn between the serene life of the mountains and sky versus the hustle and bustle of the city. One of my favorite things is waterfalls in the mountains. They don’t have to be large; they can just be cascading falls a few feet high. I found a lot of happiness in the northern Appalachian Mountains of Georgia in my youth. The forest has a certain peace attributed to it that I have coupled with joy and silence. It feels like you can touch the sky at Brasstown Bald at sunset, the highest peak in Georgia. I guess that’s why I made those trips to the Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel all those years ago, to see the highest peak and to touch the sky. I live only a mile from the largest city park in the country. My ex-wife and I climbed the mountains of that park now and then. Since my divorce, I find it rather lonely, and lovely, to trek the trails. Since the beginning of COVID, I have only made it once. I have yet to take my one-year-old shepherd out on a hike because she’s still a little rambunctious. But her training is coming along and hopefully by spring she’ll be ready to go out on the trail. Still, I long to return to Atlanta and the Plaza, but for now, the city of Portland, the Cascades, and the snow cap of Mount Hood will have to suffice.
October 15, 2021
Free Range and Laissez Faire Parenting
Free Range and Laissez Faire Parenting
People often tell you they have a certain brand of parenting style. I’d like to introduce two new forms of parenting to the world: Free-Range and Laissez-Faire parenting styles. Since people often refer to their children as little animals, I thought I’d bring to light the concept of Free-Range Parenting which Gabriel underwent after six years of age. It’s not the concept of not loving your child but allowing them to roam and learn on their own; one might even call it Laissez-Faire or hands-off parenting.
In economics, the hands-off approach to business means very little regulation or any at all. So, we see the same thing in parenting. Allowing a child to roam so to speak, will allow them to become street smart and self-motivated with school, so you hope. The opposite could occur, therefore creating a govern-less monster. In the case of The Cyclist, Gabriel’s life begins with attentive very hands-on parents. He describes playing catch and hide-and-go-seek with his mother and father often. His father schooled him from a very early age which became apparent when he started the first day of school. It wasn’t until school began that the Free-Range parenting style of the Liden’s came into play. They left the world in which he was transported to be his teacher. They hoped that the roots they had given him as a very young boy would help him to grow to a fruitful, well-rounded young man and beyond, wandering or not. The Liden’s were lucky in the fact that Gabriel had a moral compass to guide him, and more strangely, that his new guardian was a bit Laissez-Faire as well—Gabriel relied on his base teachings.
Haw had a four-month period to assess Gabriel’s potential. He doesn’t actually appear in the book until the third chapter, and right off the bat, the boys are off around the swanky part of town, out until all hours of the night. Herein lies the question, were the parent's hands-off because they just didn’t care or were too busy, or did they just have an inherent trust that the boys would do the right thing? I think the important part of the Free-Range, Laissez-Faire teaching, is that there must be a solid base for the child, to begin with. You can’t just go from womb to wanderer, you would fail every time. The next question I would ask would be, how long does the initial period need to be. You might argue that raising a child to eighteen and then sending it out into the world could be Laissez-Faire, just depends on how deep you want the teacher's roots to go in the child? So, I guess one would say do you want your child or your adult child to wander? It’s a valid question…
People often tell you they have a certain brand of parenting style. I’d like to introduce two new forms of parenting to the world: Free-Range and Laissez-Faire parenting styles. Since people often refer to their children as little animals, I thought I’d bring to light the concept of Free-Range Parenting which Gabriel underwent after six years of age. It’s not the concept of not loving your child but allowing them to roam and learn on their own; one might even call it Laissez-Faire or hands-off parenting.
In economics, the hands-off approach to business means very little regulation or any at all. So, we see the same thing in parenting. Allowing a child to roam so to speak, will allow them to become street smart and self-motivated with school, so you hope. The opposite could occur, therefore creating a govern-less monster. In the case of The Cyclist, Gabriel’s life begins with attentive very hands-on parents. He describes playing catch and hide-and-go-seek with his mother and father often. His father schooled him from a very early age which became apparent when he started the first day of school. It wasn’t until school began that the Free-Range parenting style of the Liden’s came into play. They left the world in which he was transported to be his teacher. They hoped that the roots they had given him as a very young boy would help him to grow to a fruitful, well-rounded young man and beyond, wandering or not. The Liden’s were lucky in the fact that Gabriel had a moral compass to guide him, and more strangely, that his new guardian was a bit Laissez-Faire as well—Gabriel relied on his base teachings.
Haw had a four-month period to assess Gabriel’s potential. He doesn’t actually appear in the book until the third chapter, and right off the bat, the boys are off around the swanky part of town, out until all hours of the night. Herein lies the question, were the parent's hands-off because they just didn’t care or were too busy, or did they just have an inherent trust that the boys would do the right thing? I think the important part of the Free-Range, Laissez-Faire teaching, is that there must be a solid base for the child, to begin with. You can’t just go from womb to wanderer, you would fail every time. The next question I would ask would be, how long does the initial period need to be. You might argue that raising a child to eighteen and then sending it out into the world could be Laissez-Faire, just depends on how deep you want the teacher's roots to go in the child? So, I guess one would say do you want your child or your adult child to wander? It’s a valid question…
September 23, 2021
The Alfa Gavalli
Like most people, I remember my first car very well. The high school I went to was in an upper middle-class area, and most of the kids had really nice cars. I remember one of the teachers saying that the student parking lot looked like that of a fine automobile used car center. Most of the cars were hand-me-downs from the students’ parents and were only a few years old. My parents were not rich but did very well and my father was always fond of cars-especially old Corvettes. Each of the children in our family was allotted a certain amount of money, and we were told to use it wisely; we could get a new car or a nicer used one. My sister chose a lesser new car after a year or so with my mother’s old car, and my other sister chose a used Honda. I had always been fond of the Jeep CJ-7’s and was planning to buy a used one for my sixteenth birthday choice of cars. There was a place called CJ’s Unlimited about an hour into the mountains of north Georgia, and I frequented it often. As fate may have it, the local Chrysler/Jeep/Eagle dealership had a Jeep CJ advertised, so I went to see it. Like I said, as fate may have had it, the dealership had also recently become an Alfa Romeo dealership. I had never been close to an Alfa, so when I went to look at the Jeep, I perused the lot; it was love at first sight. I knew I couldn’t afford a brand new one, but I began looking in the Auto Trader magazine (yes, I’m that old) for a used one within my price range. I eventually found one in our area and my father and mother spent just that little more money than they did for my sisters, and I’m still grateful all these years later. The character Arthur gets a convertible for his fifteenth birthday, and Gabriel also gets a very nice gift the following year. These gifts in the book are modeled after the gift, and other unique gifts as well, that my parents gave to me throughout my lifetime.
The first really amazing expensive item my father and mother bought me was a GT, bright blue and pink, Pro Performer bicycle. I had worked mowing lawns in our neighborhood throughout the spring and my parents said they would match what I had made to purchase the bike I wanted. When we finally got it, me and my friend Chad would ride along all through the town, going to bike shops and fast-food restaurants all summer. It is quite unique how real-life slips into our writing as we age. That life-long lesson we have learned somehow seems great enough to us to share it with the world. I believe my siblings, parents, and friends were great enough to share with the world. Godspeed…
The first really amazing expensive item my father and mother bought me was a GT, bright blue and pink, Pro Performer bicycle. I had worked mowing lawns in our neighborhood throughout the spring and my parents said they would match what I had made to purchase the bike I wanted. When we finally got it, me and my friend Chad would ride along all through the town, going to bike shops and fast-food restaurants all summer. It is quite unique how real-life slips into our writing as we age. That life-long lesson we have learned somehow seems great enough to us to share it with the world. I believe my siblings, parents, and friends were great enough to share with the world. Godspeed…
August 18, 2021
Simplicity of Flowers
THE SIMPLICITY OF FLOWERSI can remember as a child watching cartoons and one character giving flowers to their would-be suitor.�� It seemed like such an innocent way to apologize or ingratiate oneself to the male or female character.�� But in the book, the reader will find that Gabe���s character falls back on a regular trip to the flower shop with most visits to Sydney���s home.�� Unfortunately, in my marriage, I found that too many flowers can lead to taking them for granted (miss one week and
August 5, 2021
Perhaps A Return to Innocence
Rediscovering innocence after a romantic blunderSince the beginning of time, men, women, and young adults have been putting their hearts out on the line.�� Hopefully, time and again, we find something about our past relationships that were worthwhile and made our time feel positive and worth the headache and the heartache we endured. Getting back on the horse so to speak, and feeling that you can let yourself start over, over and over, can be exhausting to the body, mind, and soul.�� Reaching
Deleted Diagnosis
This is the post contentINTRO TO DELETION����Hello, again!�� This month is a rather fun month for me, it is my birthday month.�� In the past, I would spend the month celebrating my waning youth.�� However, I���m a little older and wiser, so now I spend a few hours with my family and perhaps a glass of wine for dessert.�� We used to go to a restaurant when we lived in the southeast, and I was married, but because of COVID, we���re just now able to go places again.�� I think this year will be at the local
Rapid Cycling
Rapid Cycling: A Short Story for My ReadersPrologueThe Cyclist: A love story for the ages is the only book or story I have taken through the grueling yet rewarding task of reading and editing for the literary market. I have started and finished two books and several short stories over the 20 years prior to the release of this site in June 2021.��With a lot of time on my hands during COVID-19 quarantine and some urging from friends and family, I revisited the dusty books about a year ago this
Divorced-Thank God No Kids
Hola chicas y chicos, how is everyone?�� The subject of this particular post is one that plagued me for a good while when I decided to redo some of the dialogue in The Cyclist: A love story for the ages.�� People who have never really experienced marriage and divorce firsthand, and they are a single entity in today���s society, probably won���t get the sentiment right.�� I guess you could say it was much like me getting the dialogue for Sydney completely wrong the first time around, myself being
