Here I am again, almost a dichotomy, short on words, but much I want to say. Was it Moses God chose to lead the sons of Israel out of Egypt, and explained to him in detail what and where to speak along the way.

Still, Moses didn't act like he'd had thinking on his feet training. Grumbled about most everything God told him to do. That's how I feel tonight, a little like Moses, wandering around on dry land.

Part of the problem may be because more than one post is bouncing around in my head, making it feel like work, instead of the high I get when I'm into a good story knee deep. Maybe if I separate the ideas, writers' block will get out of my way.

This all started a few nights ago when I was looking for a certain paper in a satchel full of stuff. That might be simple for better organized souls. Both my daughters, and some of my sons would know exactly where they filed it away. Not me.

I should have a little plaque somewhere around that says: "A neat desk or drawer or old satchel is a sign of a sick mind", but I might misplace it too.

So I leafed through things that had nothing to do with what I was searching for. Old newspapers, some special editions of history making events. Denver's blizzards, recent, and long ago. The paper that has pages and pages about one in 1982 also ran a long account of a 1913 blizzard that gave Denver 47.7 inches of snow. They used horses and wagons to clear enough of it to get around. Piled it up near the State Capitol.

All my treasured relics aren't about the weather. The loss of the shuttle Challenger and the seven astronauts blazed across Rocky Mountain Newspaper on January 29, 1986.

Another paper I had forgotten about, the Beaumont Journal (from Texas) headlined its March 14, 1964 edition with trial results of Jack Ruby, who was found guilty for killing Lee Harvey Oswald.

More recent papers and magazines I had kept because of stories about ex president Bill Clinton. Another dated 1999, of which I am very ashamed, covered the trial and conviction of a John William King, found guilty of a horrendous killing of a black man,in Jasper, Texas, where I was born, my home town.

My grandmother was a King. For all I know, but I don't want to know, the person who did this racial murder may be distant kin.

I kept many papers and magazines about our country's 9:03 a.m. Tuesday, September 11, 2001 attack. I am still mystified that it could happen, and more confused why people act as if it didn't, or that it can't again.

I don't go through all these papers, not often, and I can see why. One story leads to another, and the next thing you know, it's after midnight. That's what happened the other night. I was so engrossed about the hometown killing, and began searching through family tree records for names, and ran across a paper someone must have sent me, when I was tracing family history. My people were from South Carolina, and other Southern states, and resettled in Texas.

The paper is called "Great Sale of Slaves", and is dated January 10, 1855. The ads, it says were taken from three books: "American Slavery As It Is", "Slavery Times in Kentucky", and "Slave Trading in the Old South". Apparently it was a public auction to sell slaves claimed by a John Carter in Lexington, Kentucky. The details about people other people claimed to own made me regret even more that even today, there are those such as John William King, who would still do this, if they could.

I never did find the paper I was looking for. Leafed through other mementos, old pictures of relatives. Found birth announcements of some of my children. Finally put it all away, and fastened the satchel's clasps, and started toward the closet door with it.

But thinking about it, the slave paper still bothered me. At first I wouldn't read it. Nothing about it could be good. But I opened the satchel again, and got it back out. More than one ad mentioned slaves with children. One Said they were six years down to one and a half years old, and could be bought together or individually.

I realize the subject of slavery isn't something you hear much about today, at least not in our country anymore. I looked at some of my family pictures some more, and the little faded birth announcements. If slaves couldn't keep their children, were they even allowed to have records of their births? The newspaper account of what happened in my home town is what got me to thinking about this tonight. In case you're wondering why I take it so seriously, it is because we must care that it happened. Those ads to sell the slaves and their children will always haunt me.