false 1252204 male Nashville, TN 06/2008 05/2009 25 1 1 true 5661732 read 0 true 2651971 currently-reading 0 true 2651970 to-read http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/141855-the-ghosts-of-route-66 http://photo.goodreads.com/groups/1221434598p2/8477.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Fri, 08 May 2009 19:27:10 -0700 When I was a kid, buying a “record album” was an experience. It was about more than just listening to the latest from my favorite band. There was
excitement in the liner notes, lyrics, and artwork that kept me listening, from start to finish, over and over again. It was in that spirit -- the true spirit of the record album -- “Ghosts of Route 66” was born.

Inspired by some of the great acoustic albums of the 70s by James Taylor, Carole King and Jackson Browne, “Ghosts of Route 66” was recorded directly to 16-track, 2” tape. No digital samples. No
auto-voice tuners, computers, or isolation booths. Just great musicians playing together in the same room- a cool, 1920s pharmacy-turned-studio-as live and as transparent as it gets (Listen closely to the opening song “Rules of the Road,” and you’ll hear the siren from an ambulance that drove past the studio while I was singing...) And, yes, the old, upright piano is slightly out of tune. Drums? A wooden box with brushes.

So, here's the deal-I have 12 advance copies I want to give away. No strings attached. Just send me a mailing address and I'll send a copy out right away. And once get the CD, I highly recommend you take a drive out to the beach, down your favorite country road or pour yourself a glass of wine and give yourself a full 42 minutes and 53
seconds. If you do, “Ghosts of Route 66” may become more than 11 songs, connected in music and lyric, it could spark a familiar feeling that has all but disappeared from the musical landscape – the feeling of a good old-fashioned, “record album.”]]> http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/32912.Paper_Routes_and_Neighborhood_Dogs_?chapter=1 http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Mon, 05 Jan 2009 17:46:05 -0800 ...more]]> http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/74693-a-search-for-the-perfect-horse http://www.goodreads.com/images/nophoto/groups_nophoto-50x66.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Wed, 12 Nov 2008 06:02:45 -0800
The first time I got thrown from a horse. I wasn’t even riding one. Jody Campbell took care of the actual physical experience for me and my young, unbridled imagination handled the rest. Word had spread throughout the day camp how “Old Red” had run off with the ten year old girl, a rumor, in retrospect, that was grounded more in fantasy than reality considering Red was about 150 years old and the circle he routinely gave campers rides around was the size of a postage stamp. Still, the impression it left on my young psyche was permanent and images of her limp, lifeless body being carried off by a camp counselor as the mighty stallion reared up into the sky tempered the way I looked at horses for the better part of my life.
I ran into Jody some fifteen years later and asked her if she remembered that day.
“Yep,” she replied. “Bruce (the camp counselor) had just lifted me up on Red, who was bareback and very furry, and I just accidentally slid off the other side. I was more stunned than hurt. I don’t think ‘Ole Red ever moved an inch during the whole thing.”
Despite the clarification, it would be twenty years before I’d actually have the courage to climb into a saddle. Aided in part by my wife’s lifelong love of horses and a strong curiosity about the spell these magnificent animals have cast on so many people, I decided to give it a shot.
My first three riding experiences were less than inspired. My initial outing was a trail ride with some friends from Linda’s barn.
“We can put Gary on Max,” one of the riders suggested.
“Max?” another rider asked. “Are you sure?”
“He’ll be fine,” another piped in.
I looked at Linda, a little concerned about the “are you sure?” comment. I spoke up.
“I’d feel most comfortable with something that’s partially crippled,” I said.
Everybody chuckled.
“You’ll be fine,” they all assured me.
Things started out OK. Max, a nice enough eight year-old gray quarter horse, seemed perfectly content to just walk along the ridge trail overlooking the valley. Then a voice from the front of the pack made a suggestion.
“Let’s run a bit!” she said
Before I could voice my opinion on the proposal, the six horses in front of me took off. I was not pleased. Max was not pleased. And he was not about to be left behind.
As if shot out of the starting gate at Hollywood Park, Max bolted past the entire group in a dead gallop. Then, like a scene out of an old Hollywood western, where the hero rides up beside the runaway stagecoach, I saw one of the ranch hands gallop up beside me. He grabbed one of my reins; all the while saying “Whoa” and “Easy boy”. He eventually slowed my charging mount to a dusty stop. To this day, I have no idea how I stayed on.
“Forgot to tell you that Max likes to be out in front,” he said matter of factly.
“He’ll be fine, my ass,” I mumbled to Linda, while prying my Samurai death grip off the saddle horn.
After that, I decided to limit my riding experiences to the arena. A couple weeks later while watching Linda work her horse over some small jumps, a young English rider named Jessica, asked if I wanted to ride tandem on her big 16.2 thoroughbred.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m a pretty big guy.”
“Dakota won’t mind,” she said. “Use that step stool and just hop on right behind me on my saddle pad.”
Knowing how skydivers often make their first jump strapped to their instructors, her offer seemed like a sound and safe idea. So I climbed aboard. Dakota wasted no time in letting us both know that he didn’t want another passenger. The big gelding immediately reared up high in protest. Somehow I managed to slide off his back haunches, landing on my feet just off to the side, away from danger. Jessica wasn’t so lucky. Dakota fell straight back and under his full weight, landed squarely on her left leg, fracturing it in three places. It would be six months before she could ride again.
“I’m so sorry,” I said the next day when she showed up at the barn in a full leg cast
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.
But it sure felt like it was.
By this time, the whole horse thing had turned personal. I was determined to at least sit on the back of a horse for a minute or two without it running away or throwing me off.
The following week, I asked Linda if I could sit bareback on her stocky quarter horse, Eighty, who was quietly grazing in the upper pasture. It was a perfect summer day and he looked peaceful and relaxed under the midday sun.
“Sure,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Wrong. No sooner had I swung my leg over his furry back that I was airborne, compliments of a very swift and efficient buck-off. I landed unhurt, in a pile of fresh manure.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled. He gave me a brief side-eye look and resumed foraging through the tender grass.
“You looked like you popped out of a jack in the box,” Linda laughed.
“I’m done with horses,” I said.
And I was. It would be twenty years more before I would even think about riding again.
That didn’t mean I stopped hanging around barns and horses. And I still loved the idea of riding. But the older I got, the more afraid I was to get on. And I had no idea what to do about it.
Then, one Thanksgiving, about two years ago, over a bowl of potato chips and Lipton’s French Onion dip, I met a cowboy from Arizona. I told him about my dilemma.
“They’re predator prey animals” he snapped. “That’s all you need to know to get started.”
“Predator, prey?” I asked.
“Most people think they’re just big dogs,” he continued. “Can’t look at them that way. They are prey animals always on the lookout for predators. Mow you and anything else down to get away from danger. But it’s nothing personal.”
For years, I had been searching for some kind of idea, some concept I could grasp that could help me get over my fear of horses. For some reason, the fact that a horse
would run me over to get away from danger was the piece I needed in helping me to approach horses in a whole different light.
“Predator. Prey. Always on the lookout,” the cowboy reminded me as we said goodbye at the end of the evening. “Start there and you’ll be on your way.”
A week later, Linda came home from the stables after riding her thoroughbred, Buddy, and told me that one of her friends was looking to do a partial lease on one of her horses.
“What kind of a horse is it?” I asked.
“He’s a mustang.”
Immediately, every National Geographic television special that I had seen on the majestic wild horse filled my mind.
“A mustang, huh?” I replied.
“Actually, a mustang/Appaloosa mix.”
An Appaloosa! The magnificent horse of the Great Plains Native American Indian? I pressed on.
“What does he look like?” I asked.
“He’s very handsome and stocky with a flashy white diamond on his forehead.”
My first horse was not going to be a retired old plug from the local riding stables. It was going to be a magnificent mustang/appaloosa with a white diamond on his forehead. I could only imagine what his name was, something, undoubtedly that fit his wild-western and earthy mix-perhaps Cheyenne, Cochise or the like.
“What’s his name?” I asked eagerly.
“Bob.” Linda replied.
“Bob?” I said.
“Bob,” she repeated.
My first horse was going to have the same name as our local TV weatherman.
]]> http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/70899-a-challenge http://photo.goodreads.com/groups/1193017525p2/1357.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Wed, 29 Oct 2008 17:16:04 -0700
We are tired, pushed to the point of breaking under the pressures of work, taking care of our families and keeping up with the actions and influences of a world we have little control over. Yet, as weary as we are, it is a benchmark of the human spirit to still ask, “What can I do to make a difference?” Is there some small thing I can do that won’t tax my already overloaded life and nourish me at the same time?

I have an idea.

There are 60 million homeless cats across the United States. As both a dog and cat lover, I understand the challenges of owning a dog. The daily demands of time and space prevent many from adding a dog to their lives.

But there are few reasons why we can’t find a home for all our homeless or shelter-bound cats across the country. They can be the easiest and most manageable living addition to anyone’s life. And for those who have been led to believe that all cats are distant, cold and unaffectionate, it is one of the great misconceptions of our time. They are no more or less independent than many dog breeds and just like any living thing, a little affection and attention can go a long way. The simplest act of brushing them once or twice a week will not only soften their coats and hearts, it will nourish and heal yours as well. In return, you’ll receive the satisfaction of knowing that you, albeit small in nature, have made a difference-you have saved a life. And you’ll also discover the power of purrs-the comfort and peace that comes from having a cat warmly curl up on your lap at the end of a long day. Unlike the stock market, for the smallest of investments, the enjoyment and benefits you’ll receive from them for the rest of your life will be immeasurable.

So I offer this challenge. Over the course of the next two months, make a commitment to visit your local animal shelter or humane society and adopt a cat, with the goal of 100.000 cats being adopted across the country by Christmas.

Can we do this?

I think so…

Gary Shiebler
Author of “The Power of Purrs”

P.S. Let’s keep track of how many cats we can save this holiday season. As soon as you adopt a cat, go to my myspace site (www.myspace.com/powerofpurrs) and share a photo, the shelter or humane society you adopted from and the name of your new kitty!
]]> http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/70898-delta-spirit http://photo.goodreads.com/groups/1221434598p2/8477.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Wed, 29 Oct 2008 17:13:45 -0700 http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/19341._The_Power_of_Paws_Reflections_on_a_Life_with_Dogs?chapter=1 http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Sun, 22 Jun 2008 22:16:01 -0700
Tiffany had decided that it was time for an adventure. It had been six months si"...more]]> http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/19337._The_Power_of_Purrs_Reflections_on_a_Life_with_Cats?chapter=1 http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Sun, 22 Jun 2008 22:06:07 -0700 ...more]]> http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/36975-why-i-write http://www.goodreads.com/images/nophoto/groups_nophoto-50x66.jpg 1252204 Gary http://photo.goodreads.com/users/1213883930p2/1252204.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1252204-gary Sun, 22 Jun 2008 21:38:57 -0700 And often, it's not a very comfortable process. For me, writing is like removing a splinter-sometimes it's relatively effortless, other times it's a painful mess.


I always wanted to write a trilogy about cats, dogs and horses-the three domestic creatures that I treasure the most. The first two are finished and were published by Lyons Press last month-"The Power of Purrs"-Reflections on a Life with Cats and "The Power of Paws"-Reflections on a Life with Dogs. I'm now working on the horse book.

My grandfather was a great writer. Drank himself to death. Sometimes, I write for him...

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