Sometimes you can't repay people for an act of kindness, loyalty, charity, sacrifice, or courage, but you can try -- sometimes life is in the effort...
"He did not understand the war --
"He understood the blistering injustice of it; the stroke-like fear in the faraway sight of the raped as they blamed him for not being there; the accusing eyes of the children that leered from atop distended bellies even as they starved; the seeping lines of grief lacerated into the faces of fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives who had lost all they loved; the tortured and the maimed becoming in part or in whole separate from who they once were; and the Dali-draped carcasses of the dead…
"The evil of the war bored into his heart, twisted with agony until he learned to ignore it --
"Until he could ignore it no longer." - from The Invisible War aka The Forgotten War, a short story by Kevin O'Kendley
"He’d seen a lot of death in his life but it hadn’t inured him to the pain of it, the tragedy, the loss, the suffering. On the contrary, it had a cumulative effect: on darker days this effect swamped him in a Tsunami of emotion, after all the smaller waves passed, a big one threatened. He would watch it nearing shore with a rising dread…" - from Chandler's Bar, a novel by Kevin O'Kendley
Happy Memorial Day to my father, Major Patrick O. Kendley, U.S.M.C. retired, who served as a decorated private in Korea and as a decorated lieutenant and captain in Vietnam.
Please give to The Paralyzed Veterans of America: VA Palo Alto Health Care System/
3801 Miranda Avenue/ Palo Alto, California 94304/ 650-858-3936/ And:
The Wounded Warrior Project: National Processing Center/ P.O. Box 75840/ Topeka, Kansas 66675/ 877-832-6997
Happy birthday Conor:
Printed originally on 7/10/2013:
Taken from real events the following is dramatized:
We climb in our new used truck. We close the doors. Sniff, sniff. Wow. There's a jagged cloying smell. P.U.
My son groans, “I can’t breathe dada.* I can’t breathe.”
I grab the offending deodorizer, which is hiding in plain sight and hanging from the rearview mirror, and I rips it down.
My son yells, “No dada it stinks in here! We need that artichoke-looking deodorizer thing!”
I calmly rebut, “No we don’t,” and instruct the lad in a wise and fatherly way: “Roll down the freakin window, son, we live in Maine.”
* The a in the first syllable of a central Maine word for father is pronounced like the a in dad. The second syllable in pronounced duh. Da-duh.
added 8/18/20: My son, Conor Finn O'Kendley, is in the Navy.
A carbuncle is a roiled mass of skin or a beautiful gem. The incredible gem is pictured in the logo below and at the bottom of the short story section...
Kevin O'Kendley is the owner of Carbuncle Moon, and the author of all original material -- cartoons, blogs, shorts, essays, articles -- on the website (there has been a very limited editorial input in some of my work). Quoted sources are noted. I am responsible for all posts.
Kevin O'Kendley: P.O. Box 172, Winterport, Maine, 04496, and 200 P Street, A-32, Sacramento, California, 95814, firstname.lastname@example.org.
Technical help is provided by an evolving computer genius, my son, Conor O'Kendley: A good kid with a great heart who can be reached at P.O. Box 172, Winterport, Maine, 04496. (Conor is in the Navy now, a swabby)
Photography provided by a visual artist, my daughter, Caitlin O'Kendley: a young woman with a beautiful soul. (Caitlin is in college now, a media-journalism student)
If your nonprofit is advertised on this site and you wish to have it removed please contact me at the above listed snail-mail or email address or use the contact form on the website.
If you download a blog, cartoon, a short story -- or for any other reason -- and wish to donate $ to this site, its author and technical support personnel, please send donations to above listed addresses payable to Kevin O'Kendley. My family and I could use the dinero.
All cartoons, blogs, and short stories are for sale.