Grampa Jones' Publishing Company Edit info

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Carl Jones Sr. at the age of 77, is energetic and finds little time to be inactive or bored. He and the love of his life, Vicki, keep active as they cut firewood, plow snow from their mile long driveway, or just sit on one of the decks over looking a beautiful River. Sometime, they steps out to fish in the half mile of exclusive trout fishing in the creek that runs past their log-cabin built on the very secluded acreage that they have lovingly named, The Enchanted Forest. After stepping back from a very busy but successful business life , that involved a number of professions as well as self established entrepreneurial ventures, he has now decided to just kick back and make his part time love for writing, now, his full time venture. God knows, he has plenty to draw from because of his full and exciting life. He writes in a way that teaches people, even the young children, to think for themselves and to see the value of getting an education. He lives by the theory; a person will become as great as their dominant aspirations or as small as their controlling desires. He also thinks, a person must usually be willing to suffer a little embarrassment doing things unfamiliar to them, if they ever want to be good or great at about anything. His favorite poem that he seems to live by, It Couldn't Be Done by Edgar Guest Somebody said that it couldn’t be done, But, he with a chuckle replied That "maybe it couldn’t," but he would be one Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn’t be done, and he did it. Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you’ll never do that; At least no one has done it"; But he took off his coat and he took off his hat, And the first thing we knew he’d begun it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn’t be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That "couldn’t be done," and you’ll do it.