Read Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson)

Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson)

James W. Nelson

4.9/5 (15967 ratings)

Description:My true account of growing up on a storybook farm, experiencing a killer tornado, surviving teenage confusion, an adventurous four-year ride on a submarine, not maturing into your regular adult, discovering the world is not a bowl of cherries, a crash to the bottom, and, finally, accepting that the only person responsible for me, is me. But first I had to descend into the deep depths of the emotional chasm. Following that is my most recent short fiction "Waiting to Die" a tale of today and the coming, feared, pandemic.Excerpt from Chapter 6 Tornado! Supper is mostly finished by twenty to seven. Anxious to console Pal, probably still cowering under the hoghouse, and also to move my toys into the garage, I am first to leave the table. But upon reaching the porch I see a yellow glow outside. Unexplained dread stops me. The barn is about thirty feet high and sixty feet long. Beyond its peaked roof the sky is pale blue. The barn is bright red against the blue; its silver cupola is gleaming. The yellow glow fades. Outside begins to darken, fast, yet the sky beyond the barn remains friendly-looking mid-summer blue. Fears stabs at me as I hurry back to the kitchen. Everybody is already up, standing silently at the double kitchen windows facing north, toward where darkness is spreading, covering the farthest treetops quickly, as if a sky monster is swallowing the sun. It is so quiet. Nobody is talking, and outside not even the sound of a bird. Nothing. The quiet is so intense it’s becoming a pressure beginning to hurt my ears. A roar is becoming apparent from the west, like a distant freight train, usually a pleasant sound but now insidious, rumbling, approaching nearer and nearer, faster. From where there is no railroad. “Boy, we’re going to get an awful hailstorm,” Mother announces, “Hear that roar?” “I think so too,” Dad agrees. But it’s more than a roar. It’s a sound I’ve never heard, nor imagined, and it’s beginning to terrify me. It’s terrifying all of us. We keep staring at the silence and calm right outside, at the green of our farmyard, at the blue sky where ragged fingers of black cloud are finally edging into view, looming over our thought secure, tree-surrounded farmstead. From the floor, Celi, sensing terror from the rest of us, begins to whimper. Gerry immediately kneels and gathers the usually happy baby into her arms."What's a hail storm, grampa?" Curtis asks.Excerpt from Chapter 10 USS CarboneroMarshall is my instructor for helmsman, lookout and planesman. He is a poster sailor if I ever saw one. Tall and slim. Blonde crewcut. Clean-shaven, always, even if we had been at sea for three weeks. He looked sharp no matter what uniform he wore. Dress whites, dress blues, dungarees. He probably went on to become a Navy recruiter. The officer of the deck (OOD) for my first dive is Mr. Anderson, Lieutenant JG (Junior Grade), O-2, the second rank for officers in the Navy. He has silver dolphins because at some point in his career he had qualified as an enlisted man, but then had risen to the officer ranks. But he didn’t yet have his gold dolphins, so, in a way (a very vague way) he is like me. Nonqualified.***************** Soon the OOD will say “Clear the bridge.” And we will be diving. I am nervous about that. Not about actually going beneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean with likely a couple of miles of water still beneath us (I never worried about going down and not coming up; that was something one shouldn’t think about if one wanted to be a submariner). No, what worries me are those two ladders I have to get down, first to the Conning Tower (where the periscope is), then on down to the Control room...with two other guys coming down right behind me. The starboard lookout goes first, then the port lookout, then the OOD. Upon arrival in Control, the starboard lookout pushes the start switch for the bow planes, then jumps left and pushes the start button for the stern planes and becomes the stern planesman. And the port lookout becomes the bow planesman. And the OOD stands right between us telling us what depth he wants from the bow planesman and what degree bubble he wants from the stern planesman. “No problem,” Marshall assures me, and goes on to demonstrate. I watch as he grips the handrail of that ladder, jumps, grips the same handrail with his feet, and drops smoothly to the Conning Tower deck beside the helmsman, makes an about-face, then pulls off the same feat with the longer Control Room ladder. A pro. He should have been a stuntman in the movies. He comes back up. “Now you do it, Nelly.” Right. Adrenalin already was getting its grip on me. Funny thing about adrenalin. Suddenly you can do something you thought you couldn’t. And if you do it wrong you don’t notice, and if you get hurt, well, you feel it but it doesn’t really register as pain until later. ...We have made it easy for you to find a PDF Ebooks without any digging. And by having access to our ebooks online or by storing it on your computer, you have convenient answers with Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson). To get started finding Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson), you are right to find our website which has a comprehensive collection of manuals listed.
Our library is the biggest of these that have literally hundreds of thousands of different products represented.

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ISBN: 1449976433

Description: My true account of growing up on a storybook farm, experiencing a killer tornado, surviving teenage confusion, an adventurous four-year ride on a submarine, not maturing into your regular adult, discovering the world is not a bowl of cherries, a crash to the bottom, and, finally, accepting that the only person responsible for me, is me. But first I had to descend into the deep depths of the emotional chasm. Following that is my most recent short fiction "Waiting to Die" a tale of today and the coming, feared, pandemic.Excerpt from Chapter 6 Tornado! Supper is mostly finished by twenty to seven. Anxious to console Pal, probably still cowering under the hoghouse, and also to move my toys into the garage, I am first to leave the table. But upon reaching the porch I see a yellow glow outside. Unexplained dread stops me. The barn is about thirty feet high and sixty feet long. Beyond its peaked roof the sky is pale blue. The barn is bright red against the blue; its silver cupola is gleaming. The yellow glow fades. Outside begins to darken, fast, yet the sky beyond the barn remains friendly-looking mid-summer blue. Fears stabs at me as I hurry back to the kitchen. Everybody is already up, standing silently at the double kitchen windows facing north, toward where darkness is spreading, covering the farthest treetops quickly, as if a sky monster is swallowing the sun. It is so quiet. Nobody is talking, and outside not even the sound of a bird. Nothing. The quiet is so intense it’s becoming a pressure beginning to hurt my ears. A roar is becoming apparent from the west, like a distant freight train, usually a pleasant sound but now insidious, rumbling, approaching nearer and nearer, faster. From where there is no railroad. “Boy, we’re going to get an awful hailstorm,” Mother announces, “Hear that roar?” “I think so too,” Dad agrees. But it’s more than a roar. It’s a sound I’ve never heard, nor imagined, and it’s beginning to terrify me. It’s terrifying all of us. We keep staring at the silence and calm right outside, at the green of our farmyard, at the blue sky where ragged fingers of black cloud are finally edging into view, looming over our thought secure, tree-surrounded farmstead. From the floor, Celi, sensing terror from the rest of us, begins to whimper. Gerry immediately kneels and gathers the usually happy baby into her arms."What's a hail storm, grampa?" Curtis asks.Excerpt from Chapter 10 USS CarboneroMarshall is my instructor for helmsman, lookout and planesman. He is a poster sailor if I ever saw one. Tall and slim. Blonde crewcut. Clean-shaven, always, even if we had been at sea for three weeks. He looked sharp no matter what uniform he wore. Dress whites, dress blues, dungarees. He probably went on to become a Navy recruiter. The officer of the deck (OOD) for my first dive is Mr. Anderson, Lieutenant JG (Junior Grade), O-2, the second rank for officers in the Navy. He has silver dolphins because at some point in his career he had qualified as an enlisted man, but then had risen to the officer ranks. But he didn’t yet have his gold dolphins, so, in a way (a very vague way) he is like me. Nonqualified.***************** Soon the OOD will say “Clear the bridge.” And we will be diving. I am nervous about that. Not about actually going beneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean with likely a couple of miles of water still beneath us (I never worried about going down and not coming up; that was something one shouldn’t think about if one wanted to be a submariner). No, what worries me are those two ladders I have to get down, first to the Conning Tower (where the periscope is), then on down to the Control room...with two other guys coming down right behind me. The starboard lookout goes first, then the port lookout, then the OOD. Upon arrival in Control, the starboard lookout pushes the start switch for the bow planes, then jumps left and pushes the start button for the stern planes and becomes the stern planesman. And the port lookout becomes the bow planesman. And the OOD stands right between us telling us what depth he wants from the bow planesman and what degree bubble he wants from the stern planesman. “No problem,” Marshall assures me, and goes on to demonstrate. I watch as he grips the handrail of that ladder, jumps, grips the same handrail with his feet, and drops smoothly to the Conning Tower deck beside the helmsman, makes an about-face, then pulls off the same feat with the longer Control Room ladder. A pro. He should have been a stuntman in the movies. He comes back up. “Now you do it, Nelly.” Right. Adrenalin already was getting its grip on me. Funny thing about adrenalin. Suddenly you can do something you thought you couldn’t. And if you do it wrong you don’t notice, and if you get hurt, well, you feel it but it doesn’t really register as pain until later. ...We have made it easy for you to find a PDF Ebooks without any digging. And by having access to our ebooks online or by storing it on your computer, you have convenient answers with Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson). To get started finding Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson), you are right to find our website which has a comprehensive collection of manuals listed.
Our library is the biggest of these that have literally hundreds of thousands of different products represented.

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Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson)

Dying To Live: (the life & times of jimmy nelson)

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