Remembering Robert - The Loss of Wonderful Author and Friend...

I woke up this morning and his name popped into my mind--Robert Noonan. Ok, it was kind of a selfish thought because it's my birthday...and Bob would nearly always send me an online "Lawson" card--beautiful art and music!

Or he would call if we could get our connections... mostly my fault since I had problems with my phone then...

It's over five years since I met Bob online...it was to review his first novel...

I remember I wrote back and said it had too many errors in it and refused...LOL Well, he promptly asked for my help and I was helping him with one thing or another then on...

We became friends... Isn't that wonderful when you need never meet an individual, who lived at that time in Wisconsin, but can become close electronically??!!!

Now not a computer expert...but I was in comparison to Bob! LOL
So with my limited knowledge, I created a blog for him, even while I was explaining that a blog was not supposed to be stagnant, but one that he should continuously update...Well, it's still out there, never having been touched since then! You can see that it's not really a format to be updated, but it was what he wanted, so he was happy...
http://orphantraintrilogyauthor.blogspot.com/

Notice that all of his followers were women, older women... So we signed him up for the older groups that might be interested in his books...I likened them to Little House on the Prairie stories for those who know that television series... We found more sites out there--AARP, Not Over the Hill for instance and then the routine Facebook, LinkedIn, Gather...He worked very hard to both learn the computer at the same time he was trying to talk about his books. I know many were sold, but not enough to proceed to publish his fourth book, which would have closed out the series... Wildflowers was published first and began the reference to the orphan train which passed through communities from New York, but Bridie's Daughter was the main book which talked about the Orphan Train and the way children were moved west to find homes... Secrets was supposed to be the end, but he kept getting requests to know what happened to his characters... I hope his daughters will someday maybe put that final book in ebook form at least...

While spotlighted on Book Readers Heaven, I believe I published the one and only poem written by Robert--at my request...

Why I Write History

What I write is seen by thee

Arranged the way it ought to be

To tell a tale or present some facts

The words are guided by my acts
To share a time of days gone by

We feel that age and maybe cry

Unable to return and change things then

Accepting all that has been
The past can make our hearts react

But all words written should be exact

To please myself is what I do

Wishing it is the same for you
To reveal the past is all inspiring

Where I do my desired reveling

I share with all my heartfelt words

So those gone by can still be heard

Robert Noonan had great sympathy for those children who were orphans...I know that it came from his own strong and deep love for this own children and his family. I was so happy that he had gone to Chicago to be with them...

You know a Zemanta popup for this article revealed a young lady Leah...She used the name Bridie, wrote a historical short story, which includes a train... If she is a relative...congratulations! If she is not, it's an amazing coincident by which I can help honor the man, Robert Noonan, who loved children enough to spend his final years creating an historical account of the children who rode an orphan train to new lives. This proves that there are future writers named Noonan who will continue to share with the world...

Robert, who died February 2nd, I miss you and know I will one day see you again...

With much friendship love,
Glenda

Advocate Joan Price Provides Senior Erotica...

c. 1800-1803 (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) "You are so beautiful! Your hair is shining. You have a beautiful figure! You feel so good in my arms! I missed you so much! I love you to no end! Let's make love right now!" "Just like a typical guy years younger, Max is always ready to go before I am. "I am so horny," he whispers hoarsely into my ear. I smile, enjoying his eagerness... "I want to kiss you all over," he mumbles into my neck as his hands begin to roam... "There's something I want to do, and I hope you will allow me." he begins, rather formally... "I want to kiss you all over and lick your vagina!" "I gasp, feigning shock. "I'll let you as long as you do it as long and as thoroughly as you did last week." "We did it last week?" ~~~ Ageless Erotica Edited by Joan Price I met Joan on line a number of years ago when she was writing a book. Finding her name in my files, I we...

The Harbinger - Continued Reading... Have you become Interested?

Nuriel Kaplan has convinced the individual to whom he is pitching his book... and she is willing to listen... “All right, Nouriel. Tell me about your mystery.” “It’s not my mystery. It’s much bigger than me. You have no idea how big, or what it involves.” “And what does it involve?” “Everything. It involves everything, and it explains everything…everything that’s happened, that’s happening, and everything that’s going to happen.” “What do you mean?” “Behind September 11…” “How could an ancient mystery possibly have anything to do with September 11?” “An ancient mystery behind everything from 9/11 to the economy…to the housing boom…to the war in Iraq…to the collapse of Wall Street. Everything in precise detail.” And it’s not only a mystery, it’s a message, an alarm.” “An alarm?” she asked. “An alarm of what?” “Of warning.” “To whom?” “America.” “Why?” “When you hear it,” he said, “you’ll understand why.” ~~~ OK, how good are ...

A Biker's Funeral from the Novel, Running With Wild Blood By Gerrie Ferris Finger

I’m easily amused. Lake circled the rental car around Palms Garden Cemetery. A spiked, wrought iron fence kept the dead in, otherwise, who knew? They might run out and vote. I didn’t say that to Lake for fear of an unappreciative groan. At the white stone gates, at intervals , the uniformed cop held up a hand to allow other boulevard traffic to flow past the line of bikes and cars waiting to enter the city of the dead. My skin started to hum. The voltage in the atmosphere was amped to the max despite the fanning palms doing their damndest to make this day a celebration of the dead. “Don’t anyone light a match,” Lake said. Riley "Big Red" O'Rourke We weaved and shouldered our way through throngs of bikers, some startled at seeing three people not wearing cut, sleeveless denim, or leather, or visible tattoos— until they caught the badges. They growled and spit, then went back to their conversations. Lots of fucks and fuckers bein...

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