Pat Ritter. Books

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Thank you dub for your kind thanks: Here is the story for today: 'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 8:

Heavy Duty

In 1978, Mr Malcolm Fraser, Prime Minister of Australia visited our region. My role at the time a member of the Criminal Investigation Branch at Dalby, a country town three hours travel west from Brisbane.
How our lives dovetailed together became heavy duty to the most powerful person in Australia at the time. With other detectives I became one of the Prime Minister’s personal guards, wherever he went, so did a team of four armed guards which included yours truly.
Mr Fraser visited another country town near Toowoomba to open an exhibition. His personal bodyguards consisted of selected members of the Australian Federal Police never left his side. We, on the other hand kept a distance with eyes searching for any assassins.
Superintendent Byers, our boss, supervised all police during Mr Fraser’s visit. We met the Prime Minister’s plane on arrival at Oakey Airbase and escorted his motor cavalcade through the back roads to arrive at a small hamlet outside of Toowoomba.
Once the Prime Minister left his vehicle, he joined the local chairman and committee members; our role, to mingle amongst the crowd, keeping a lookout for any suspicious actions to be taken against the Prime Minister.
Amongst the gathering I estimated about two thousand people. At one time it became almost impossible to see the location of the Prime Minister when so many joined him to celebrate this occasion.
I remember standing among the gathering when Superintendent Byers came up beside me and asked, ‘where’s the Prime Minister?’ At the time I didn’t have a clue, however I saw a cluster of people gathered near the hall, ‘over there Superintendent’ and I pointed toward the gathering.
‘You’d better get closer because if someone shoots him you’re to jump in front to take the bullet.’ My mind went blank with thoughts jumping in front of the Prime Minister of Australia to take a bullet for him. I thought, not bloody likely, they can replace a Prime Minister but they can’t replace me.
I answered the Superintendent ‘yes sir’ and immediately lost myself in the crowd.
On our return to Oakey Airbase, Superintendent Byers led the procession in a marked police vehicle followed by the Prime Minister’s vehicle. We followed in an unmarked police vehicle close behind the Prime Minister’s vehicle.
Suddenly up ahead a vehicle left the road and stopped on the gravel shoulder. The vehicle carrying the Prime Minister stopped behind this vehicle. Mr Fraser alighted from his vehicle and walked to where the driver stopped on the side of the road.
Mr Fraser apologised for the incident, shook the driver’s hand and called out to the driver of the Superintendent’s vehicle which happened to be Superintendent Byers, ‘slow down, we don’t need to kill anyone.’ I smiled and thought karma. This was heavy duty indeed.
Word count:473
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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Thank you dub. Here is the story for today: 'Dynamic - OMR - Stories': Story 9:

I Don't Know How Much Awful It Can Get

Last week my computer decided after a couple of years friendship with me to depart with a crash taking some of my work. At first I became alarmed. Now it was gone and I don't know how much awful it can get.
For many years my adviser tells me what type of computer I should have and this time was no different. Under normal times she'd build one to my design. Unfortunately this time her words, 'buy a new one' ricocheted through my brainwaves. My mouth opened with thoughts of I can't do this!
I needed a computer for without one, honestly, what I would do all day. I write and write and write, I'm not into gardening or house cleaning, all I do is write. You may say my life is dull compared to many other retired people but I love what I do and without a computer I'm lost.
Daily my task of posting information on facebook and other websites to market my books. If I let my customers down I'd be letting myself down. My decision to purchase a new computer became a no-brainer. Now a decision to purchase the correct one.
Where do I purchase this computer? I hate visiting those computer stores when a pimply teenager shows you disrespect because of your age. He didn't grow up in a world of no computers, only a wind-up alarm clock the closest comparison. We had no knowledge of what a computer looked like little wondering once we understood them, we totally depended on them to live.
So off to the computer shop and pray I'd be able to purchase one of my choice. Luck became my angel sitting on my shoulder when I entered the store. Lines of computers sat like sentinels waiting to be purchased. Pick me, pick me!
When I'm about to purchase anything I admit to taking the first one which is shown to me. This time a kind lady, much older than a pimply teenager asked if she could help. My thoughts relaxed to explain to this wonderful shop attendant I wanted to purchase a computer.
As if by magic a computer, a screen the size of a huge television took my eye, 'I'll take that one,' I told her and pointed to the one on the display table.
'Great choice,' she said, 'got the latest 8.1 windows without all of the bells and whistles.'
'Thank you', I replied, 'I only want a simple machine to type'.
After paying for the computer | was as pleased as punch. Now to learn the latest technology.
My friend installed the software which I'd been accustomed with and away I went to again rise above myself with a brand spanking new computer. This was likened to selling my old Toyota and purchasing a brand new one.
Eventually this latest technology has filtered into my slow brain and I must admit to become acquainted with this latest technology. Now I realise technology is not all so damaging to my mind, only the leap of faith to encompass this.
Word count: 523
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 10:

I Haven’t Had So Much Fun Since……

This may sound strange but the only time I do have fun is when I’m writing. Strange as it may seem, my mind is completely focused on the topic I’m about to write.
For instance before I commenced writing this topic I thought about the term ‘so much fun’. Thoughts erupted in my mind like fireworks sparkling crackers of thought through the maze of storytelling.
Endorphins spring into action giving me a calmness of happiness of what I’m about to write is fun, like taking a ‘happy’ pill which settled the mind. Thoughts scattered to form words and next my fingers are typing words generated from the creative side of my brain.
This is my type of fun, imagination to discover I can be anyone I wish, be anywhere I want to be, act a hero or villain. This happens in my mind and with these stories developed in my mind urges me onto telling a story.
We were always taught at school a story has a beginning, middle and end. It may sound easy when the teacher pushed this formula down our throats to settle in our minds, yes sounds easy to speak the words, another to actually write the words to make a story.
My time at school I remember writing ‘compositions’ when this formula adhered to the rules of writing. Next were ‘essays’ followed by ‘assignments’, all having a similar meaning to ‘compositions’?
Progression over the years of writing led us to become ‘storytellers’, write an interesting story for your audience to say ‘Wow’ or ‘Ah’ or ‘Don’t want to read any more of this crap’. On top of my desk I have a saying which I repeat over and over in my mind: ‘How Can I Make The Reader Devour The Words I Write’? This saying is my writer’s totem.
Storytelling has spread its wings from ‘composition’ to ‘telling a story’. Just like the storyteller who sat under the bunyip tree telling a story to his gathering of children, seeing their eyes light up like a Christmas tree, listen to their silence to hear how the story end. The heart of storytelling, to capture your audience’s attention and keep their attention until the end.
We all love to hear or read a great story and I love to tell one, or write one for my readers to enjoy. There is no better feeling than to have a reader provide feedback from reading one of my books to say they enjoyed the story. I know then, I have completed my dream of connecting with my reader and I can tell you its fun.
Word count:446
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 11:

I Left A Note On The Mirror

Mistakes are easily made, I thought after I left a note on the mirror. How would a puff of wind blow through the window to cast the note where it couldn't be found. A simple exercise gone wrong.
Away I ventured on one of my mystery trips, no where in particular, only an overnight bag filled with sufficient clothes for a couple of days. My mind free of family, friends and anything else to clutter my mind. I needed to escape to regain my sense of self. Not many can escape to wherever when they want to, except me.
After my wife passed away, I admit to being lost in grief. Honestly, I had no idea where to turn or who to turn to. My life was my wife and I for thirty-one years, doing everything together. Now, my life wasn't anything like it used to be. From time to time I needed to escape to find myself to learn what it was like to live alone.
Each second weekend my son visited to stay with me. Whilst everything seemed fine I appreciated his support, I needed to escape to question my own existence. Before he arrived on Saturday morning I decided to escape that previous afternoon. I left a note on the mirror which couldn't miss telling him I couldn't be contacted. I wanted my time!
Every so often I escaped into my own world, grab a overnight bag and drove where the car took me. Amazingly I always headed west. This trip was no different. I loved stopping in small towns, visiting different shops to take me back to an earlier era. The city wasn't for me. This time my vehicle took me north of Gympie.
Time for morning smoko. I stopped at a café in Goomeri. Instead of sitting at a table in front of the café, I walked across the road to a park and sat at a table beside a pond. My mind relaxed, too much. Memories flicked back almost thirty years to remember seated at the same table with my work mate.
Clear as this memory became in my mind, I almost felt my companion seated beside me speaking as if in the present. He long ago left earth and now rested in peace in heaven. This didn't stop the memories forming in my mind.
I remembered 1977, a year both detectives in Queensland Police Force, as it was known then. Earlier on the day in question, we investigated an assault and robbery at Chinchilla committed by two male offenders on a handicapped male. They lured him to the rear section of the hotel pretending a female waited for him.
When they reached a spot out of sight one punched him in the stomach whilst the other stole his wallet which totalled seven dollars. They escaped and travelled north and later apprehended by Goomeri police. We drove from Chinchilla to Goomeri and returned the two culprits back to Dalby for questioning.
My companion and I went without sleep for over twenty fours hours which we were used to doing. Sleep is something we all need but when the adrenaline pumps through your veins rapidly, your mind comes alive and your body functions normally. Often people speak about 'getting a second wind', perhaps this is what happened to us.
Two o'clock the following morning we arrived with the culprits to question them about their actions toward the handicapped male. Memories flooded to my mind seated at the table, birds chirping their song and having no knowledge of my thinking. A hologram appeared before me of my companion typing down questions when I asked the first person his account of the assault. He sang like the bird chirping before me.
When it was my turn to type the questions and answers, my companion spoke with the second culprit. It was a different story. He denied all knowledge of being at Chinchilla or assaulting the person we spoke about. The hologram vanished before my eyes. Memories returned to normal. I finished my hot chocolate, returned to my vehicle and kept driving.
After my two days venture I returned home to find a note on the mirror from my son showing anger because he didn't know where I'd gone. After searching beneath the lounge chair I discover the note I left for him. Obviously he didn't read it because it had blown from the mirror and landed out of sight beneath the chair.
Word count:755
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 12:

It Was The Best Of Times
It Was The Worst Of Times

This title contains the first words written by Charles Dickens in his book ‘Tale of Two Cities’ in 1859 selling over 200 million copies.
In my latest book ‘The Shearer’ the major character Joe Ryan is a shearer who wants shearer’s wages and work conditions improved. His good friend Joe Gibson also a shearer supports his friend in wanting these changes.
They work under harsh conditions shearing with blade shears. Instead of shearing in a shearing shed; they shear in the open on a stretched tarpaulin. At night they speak about how they’d love to improve conditions and a seed of hope is planted.
In 1890 a shearer’s conference was held in Bourke, New South Wales which Joe Ryan attends. After listening to the speakers he’s determined to return to Queensland and commence a union to protect his fellow shearers to create better working conditions and improve wages.
Over twelve months he convinced most of his fellow shearers to join the ‘Queensland Shearer’s Union’ as a group they can confront the pastoralists to fight for their rights. His friend Joe Gibson declined to join.
The straw which broke the camel’s back came when shearers at Jondaryan Station on the Darling Downs went on strike on 5th January 1891.
A spark ignited this debate and before long a raging fire erupted between shearers and the pastoralists across Queensland when shearers belonging to the ‘Queensland Shearers Union’ went on strike.
Joe Ryan hearing of the strike gathered his fellow shearers to form a camp on the outskirts of Cunnamulla and stayed until a resolution reached between the two parties. This strike continued for five months. His friend Joe Gibson didn’t join in the strike.
They lived in make-shift tents across a wide area living in cold and wet conditions. Ultimately the shearers couldn’t hold out because of lack of food, no money; something had to give.
By the end of May, hungry, penniless, shearers had had enough. Joe did his best to encourage his fellow shearers to continue their fight but alas at the end he too could see the writing on the wall.
On the morning the police were to enter the camp and arrest Joe Ryan, his friend Joe Gibson entered the camp and spoke about the forthcoming arrest, ‘they’re coming to arrest you Joe’, his friend told him.
Instead of Joe Ryan being arrested, his friend Joe Gibson took his place and assumed his identity. It was the best of times: it was the worst of times.
Word count: 434
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 13:

Life Is A Jigsaw

What is life? Life is marked by continual activity, growth, reproduction and the ability to change according to the surroundings. We rise in the morning, tend to our daily chores and sleep at night, again repeating a similar lifestyle daily.
Life is a jigsaw joined by different pieces to form a tapestry. My tapestry began with a corner piece sixty-six years ago when my life began. From there more different shaped pieces fitted along the bottom portion of this tapestry.
Memories of events growing up in a country town pieced together fun, excitement, growth, friendships, school, and country living to finally complete the first two layers of this puzzle ending my childhood to enter into the puzzled world of adolescents.
Finding various shapes of this puzzle in this period of my life began with living in a different environment compared to how and where I had lived. City life began with serious issues compared to the lifestyle of country living.
This third layer of life jigsaw puzzle took me on a journey to experience a relationship of jungle warfare with testosterone induced day and night, not clearly understanding what happened to the child to turn into this monster - a teenager.
Only fifteen percent of the puzzle complete, a search began to find pieces to fit into the rest of this life’s jigsaw. Career and work finally found the way to cover the next twenty percent of the pieces to form a small version of the completed tapestry.
Love, marriage and family took on a whole new direction and meaning to this puzzle. Meeting a soul-mate, falling in love, marriage, children and growth to make a family, increased the pieces to form sixty percent of the jigsaw.
Happy memories, children born, raising a family, and raised to adults, their children to almost complete the jigsaw, with pieces which cannot be found until the jigsaw is complete. Until these pieces are discovered life continues to be a jigsaw.
Who knows with time the pieces will all fit into this tapestry of life? We have no knowledge when this ‘life as a jigsaw’ will be complete. Until then all we can do is reach our goals, achieve what we want from life, and live a life well lived?
Word count: 383
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 14:

Lightning Never Strikes Twice

Or does it! A couple of decades ago a person living in my neighbourhood won first prize in Gold Lotto on a Saturday night. This win gave him sufficient fortune to retire from the workforce.
We’d meet at a function soon afterwards and when we spoke I thought how lucky this person was to win Gold Lotto, ‘imagine if this happened to me’ I thought, my face broke into a smile showing bubbles of winning in my mind bursting with excitement.
Within a couple of years this same person won Gold Lotto again, this time sharing it with his family. Also, on the prior Saturday night a young man who stayed with this person won Gold Lotto giving him sufficient fortune to purchase anything he desired.
Luck was in our neighbourhood with winning lotto and I was hopeful this luck would travel onto my place so I’d share in their excitement. Unfortunately it didn’t.
Lightning did strike twice with this family and another who stayed at their home. My neighbour purchased five houses with his winnings whilst his tenant purchased two although they’d won almost near the same amount.
Alas, within two years the tenant returned to his old way of life exhausting his wealth and ending up with nothing more than he started with before his win. On the other hand my neighbour continued to purchase homes and to my knowledge continues to do so today.
When scratch-its first appeared before us purchased from Newsagents, my mother-in-law won $50,000.00. The family had never seen this amount of money before in their lives.
I remember the moment when I telephoned to congratulate them on their win. They honestly didn’t know what to do with the winnings. I strongly suggested investing $40,000.00 in the bank and doing what they wanted with the remaining $10,000.00.
Within three months they were broke having destroyed their winnings on things they didn’t need. My mother-in-law then went on a buying spree to purchase as many scratch-it ticket she could afford to see if ‘lightning strikes twice’. I still remember her purchasing tickets, sitting down and with her fingernail on her right index finger protruding sufficient to scratch the ticket in hope to win another huge prize. She went to her grave not winning another huge prize.
I love lightning to strike me once in winning Gold Lotto to feel the excitement of winning. I’ll never give up until I do.
Word count: 412
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 15:

Memoirs Of A Postie

Would you believe I began operations two hundred years ago? My first postal job began in April 1809 when letters were delivered to my care from the ships arriving from mother England. I’ve delivered mail, through rain, hail or shine across Australia ever since.
Isaac Nichols became my first Australian postmaster, in the colony of New South Wales. In the same year Post Offices opened in Sydney and Hobart and by 1844 every town had their own letter box.
I remember delivering mail on horse back, similar to overland express rider in the wild western plains of America. We didn’t have the romantic ventures as did these express riders however we delivered mail to all corners of Australia.
One particular delivery I remember well was during First World War when our Australian troops were fighting overseas. Weekly I’d be the person who delivered THAT letter, no one wanted to open, addressed to mothers who’d lost their son in the fighting. They knew the instant I handed them the envelope what it contained; to see their eyes fill with tears. I couldn’t console their feelings.
Delivering mail throughout the great western plains in the mid fifties when I delivered parcels to outback stations riding a horse for miles until the motor vehicle replaced the horse to improve mail delivery service.
Then our ‘Postie Bike’, arrived, red Honda 80 fitted with saddles to hold the mail. From riding the horse to riding a Honda 80 mail delivery became easier for the postie. Only problem with riding these red coloured delivery bikes mostly attracted the swoops of the magpie, to overcome these constant attacks from above I placed straws into my helmet which ceased their attacks.
Nothing changed for decades until technology introduced the internet, telephones, sending of e-mails which constituted in less letter writing and therefore less mail delivery by the postie.
This became a sad day in the life of a postie. I suppose one advantage did arise from technology in that the internet provided buying items on the internet sites delivered to homes. Parcels overtook delivery of letters with postal delivery of letters reduced from five days per week down to three.
In my opinion I don’t think the ‘postie’ will ever be placed on the endangered species list for there are too many red coloured ‘Postie Bikes’ still seen throughout Australia to use in their daily delivery of mail to every address in Australia. The postie will never die!
Word count:417
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 16:

My Dad Was In The Navy

Actually he wasn’t, his four brothers joined the navy. My Dad served in the Army.
On a Saturday afternoon my family visited our grandmother. Through this period of the late 50’s and early 60’s I remember as if it was yesterday. I’d walk into her bedroom seeing displayed beside her bed photographs of her sons dressed in their navy uniform.
Pride swelled in her chest when either of us children mentioned anything about her sons who were in the navy. Stories filled in our afternoon when our grandmother told us about their adventures on the high seas.
During my older years when I grew to know my uncles they each had a different story as told to us by our grandmother. One uncle told me all he saw of the ocean, when he left the ship. Most of the other time he worked below in the engine room shovelling coal to operate the engines.
They each finished their time in the navy to return to life on the land. One uncle drove his own taxi which he did until he retired. Another a labourer and two others followed employment whenever and wherever they could get a job.
As for my father, he married my mother whilst in the army and discharged to follow employment as a dry-cleaner, his lifetime work.
We must remember these roles were part of World War 11 when Japanese threatened Australia. They never spoke about the war or anything which happened. This became a taboo subject.
I can only imagine how courageous my father and uncles must have been to enlist in their selected services to fight a war which made Australia what it is today, free.
I remember at seventeen years old the government of the day conscripted men to fight in the Vietnam War. I was fortunate enough not to have my birth date drawn. Many of my mates were conscripted and went to Vietnam to fight a war no one wanted. My cousin became one of those conscripted. I don’t know what happened in Vietnam, but I do know those who went didn’t return in the same mental capacity as before they left.
No doubt our country needs our services. My nieces and nephews joined the Army following school; some still remain whilst others joined civilian life to become professional people. I applaud their efforts to join and participate in a disciplined life of service to our country.
Word count:414
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.

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'Dynamic OMR Stories' - Story 17:

My Least Favourite Restaurant

Without a doubt – McDonalds. Although their franchise is one of the largest in the world, I hate going to McDonalds. My reason is fast food, quick service, and cost.
To give you an example let me share with you a story when I take my grandson to McDonalds. I'm inadequate to order the food because of my age. I don't understand the choices. Therefore I tell my grandson, 'order what you want.' He doesn't worry about the cost because he's not paying.
With a flurry of words, clearly understandable to him, he recites from the menu which I haven't a clue what he's ordered. The person standing behind the cash register interprets his order without a blink of an eye, 'do you want fries with that?' The cashier added.
The cashier says, 'that'll be forty-four dollars and twenty cents.'
'What!' My mind gushed with astonishment. Withdrawing my plastic card from my wallet and slide it into the grove of the machine.
'Do you require any cash?' The teenager behind the desk asked.
'No, thank you, only the food.' I answered with tongue in cheek.
'Your account and password,' the teenager completes the transaction finishing the order to ask the customer standing next to me for their order. They don't let grass grow under their feet.
Within seconds our order is delivered. Do we stay inside to eat our calorie induced food or take it with us? We decide to stay indoors; this way at least I'll be able to read the local newspaper while I eat my order of fish fillet with no chips combined with a vanilla thick shake.
My grandson golloped his food down in a couple of mouthfuls, 'Pop, can I go to the playground?' I nod between eating my fish burger, slurping on the vanilla thick shake and reading the newspaper. He's gone faster than Flash Gordon.
What did we do before McDonalds came along? We had our local fish and chip shop when we purchased as many chips to feed an army, wrapped in newspaper and pay only sixpence. This became our Saturday outing for my mate and me.
How times have changed with drive through service, coupled with not leaving your motor vehicle, to receiving home service delivery either over the internet or telephone.
We can't escape this phenomenon of fast food in today's society, but please it would be nice to slow down a little to smell the fat and feel grease run down your arm after purchasing hot chips wrapped in a newspaper with one end torn open. The heat of the chips burn when your fingers grab one to place in your mouth. They were the days.
Word count: 453
IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THESE STORIES CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501597.