Music's Impact

I'm in a melancholy mood. A family emergency is unfolding.
My Bride and Son are in Chicago, providing comfort and support to my extended family.
I'm left alone in Arizona caring and supporting our aged pup, Lucy.

At times like these my mind thinks of songs that fit my mood.
Today, this piece by Elton John is one of those.
I had never researched the situation that motivated him to write it.
If you are interested, the story is HERE.

I got home from Viet Nam late in 1969.
At some point soon afterwards I saw these guys sing this song at a club in my hometown of Indy.
I'm a free speech kinda guy. I think you ought to be able to say whatever you want, however you want, so long as speechifyin' is all you do.
I'm not positive what these guys are trying to say. I suspect in 1969 they were trying to convey some sort of anti-war sentiment. But the tune has stuck with me all these years to the point that when I'm in a club with a good bluegrass/country band and they ask for requests, I ask them to sing "Two Hangmen".
Most bands know of it.
Most of 'em won't do it, claiming it has "Too many words!"

For some reason it's been on my mind all day. So I thought I'd share it with you to see if I can get it out of my head.
Hope you enjoy it.

Pearl Harbor and Dad, Redux

I almost never repeat an old post.
Today I'll make an exception; I first published this in 2005:

My Dad was born on 7 December 1921.
So had he lived, he would have been 84 today. Dad started smoking when he was 13 or so, and succumbed to lung cancer two years ago.
He was truly a part of what we now call "The Greatest Generation."
Dad had joined the Indiana National Guard when he was 19. When the news came on his 20th birthday that Pearl Harbor had been bombed, I wonder what he thought about this surprise birthday present?
At 20, I suspect he was frightened, but like most of his generation, knew there was a job that needed doin' and was ready to get to work.
My Dad was typical of many Dads of that era. He didn't talk a lot about what happened to him during the war, but in the jewelry box I had found the Purple Heart and knew my old man was special. He was like that about life too.
He didn't brag. He was not formally educated, but he was the type of guy the neighbors would bring their broken appliances to because they knew if Greybeard's Dad couldn't fix it, it was genuine junk!
He was a carpenter, mechanic, bricklayer, roofer, electrician, concrete finisher... you name it, he could do it, and he could do it better than average.
I was proud of him for a thousand reasons.
When I reached manhood, I started hugging him and telling him THE WORDS.
You know "THE WORDS" don't you?
He was uncomfortable saying them, as were all the macho guys of his generation. And because he was uncomfortable, I was too... at first.
But over the years, the hugs and the words came more easily, 'til finally he was the hugger, and I was the huggee...
and he freely said THE WORDS...
"I love you."
I was glad I had made him uncomfortable for a little while.
So now you know, for our family this day is important for more than bombs and battleships, although we had family directly under the bombs on the West Virginia at Pearl, too.
I'd like you to share the importance of this day and honor my Dad by being the hugger.
Give all those you love a hug for me today, please, and say THE WORDS.
I know my old man would like that.
Happy Birthday Dad.
I love you.

"Smart" TV's

"In America you watch TV. In Russia, TV watches us!"

Now our cell phones, TV's, and Alexa watch (and listen intently) to us.
And we gladly subsidize it.

Names.

We are in Destin, Florida.
If you've never visited here, you should put it on your "list". The beaches are the color of driven snow, and the water changes color with the angle of the sun or coverage by clouds, but is almost always some spectacular shade of green.

Destin is located about midway 'twixt Pensacola and Panama City, Florida.
U.S. Highway 98 connects the three.
Forecast temperature today was 75 and mostly sunny. I had an errand I needed to do in Pensacola for a friend, and decided it'd be a great day to get the Piaggio MP3 out and exercise its legs.

I took 98 West to the beach town of Navarre, then dropped South a little and picked up the coastal road that skirts the Gulf all the way to Pensacola. That road takes you through the "Gulf Islands National Seashore". It runs through dunes, with now-and-then glimpses of the Gulf, and is a reminder of what this area must have looked like before man started building houses and condos everywhere near the water. Again... spectacular.

Navarre is 30 miles from where we're staying in Destin. The ride was as our weathergirl had predicted... mid-70's temps and mostly sunny.
And then my lifelong irritation with weather prognosticators struck again. Fairly thick clouds that had formed over the water Southwest of me moved overhead, and started spitting at me. The wind got chilly. Stupid me... I didn't bring coat OR rain gear. I hunkered down behind the windscreen and soldiered on.

I rode through Pensacola Beach. The rain stopped. As I made my way further North- inland, the temperature rose and my ride became comfortable again.
I completed my errand for my friend.

Pensacola has a park dedicated to Veterans on property within sight of the Gulf, just Southeast of the old part of the city. It's a quiet, beautiful setting.
One of the memorials there has a Marine "Cobra" helicopter on a pedestal, overlooking a miniature version of the Viet Nam Wall, complete with all the names inscribed on it. I've passed this park many times while visiting the area, but never stopped.
Today, I remedied that.

When I visited the Wall in Washington, D.C., I was surprised at my reaction-
I couldn't stop myself... started to cry.
Today, alone, under clouds and the threat of rain, my personal rain began again.
I don't know how anyone can look at 58,000 names etched into that black edifice and remain dry eyed.

Heroes.
All.

"Can You Hear Me NOW?"

We continually hear our cell phones have "some order of magnitude" more computing power than was available on Apollo 11.
Watching my son use his Apple device, I know that to be true.
I want my phone to make and receive calls...
How much "computing power" do I need?

"The Times, They Are A'Changin' "

My mind is going off in six different directions.
In the mid-80's, I was surprised by the reporting of an acquaintance that Yassir Arafat preferred boys to women for his sexual fulfillment:
"Women are for breeding. Boys are for enjoyment."
No expert on Muslim men, I have no idea if this is as big a deal in the Islamic world as my friend suggested it was.

Segue to today's political world-
Sara Jean and I discussing democrat candidates for president...
Me: "Can you imagine fundamental followers of the Quran  having to discuss world issues with homosexual Pete Buttigieg?"
And then I wondered about where those same Islamic leaders might have put their genital probes.

I'm really confused about the world we live in today.

Hippies?

While we were in New York in May we went to see The Temptations "Ain't Too Proud" just off-Broadway. Our 36-yr old son sat alongside his parents and knew all the words to the songs.
And I remembered:
He grew up buckled into his seat in the rear in our car listening to "Oldies" or "Classic Rock" radio.
And we liked it LOUD.
On a road trip when he was about 13 or so he asked, "Mom, were you and Dad Hippies?"
And we LOL'd.

During the day I wore OD Green.
But after hours I wore Bell-bottom pants with flowers embroidered around the cuffs, and gave the "peace sign" to every motorcyclist I passed on the highway.

I'm glad to have lived that life.
I'd also bet he's glad he knows all the words to "Ain't Too Proud To Beg".

Tazio Nuvolari

Doesn't it happen to everyone?
But it seems to be happening to me more often now.
Aging? I dunno.

We have one of those alarm clocks that projects the time onto the ceiling so you can learn the time without lifting your head from the pillow.
3:37 it said.
And I'm wide awake.
"Tazio Nuvolari" says my brain.
Okay... maybe I was NOT QUITE awake!
Mulling it over, I was pretty sure Tazio was another of those superhuman race car drivers from the past, like Juan Manuel Fangio. But I wasn't absolutely sure.
"I'll have to look Tazio up after a couple cups in the morning", I said to myself.

"Leopold and Loeb", shouts my brain."
"Why are you doing this to me?"  I ask.
3:38 says the ceiling.
I KNOW who Leopold and Loeb are. I read a fictionalized account of their story while I was in High School.
It obviously made a pretty big impact on me.

"Sacco and Vanzetti"! 
ARRGH!
3:40.
"This is REALLY irritating!"
I force myself to roll over and think boring stuff.
And I refuse to look at the ceiling.

Blackface

Several of our political leaders are, and have been in trouble because of blackface. "Cultural appropriation"?
Watching old movies, I sometimes find myself cringing at what was deemed "normal" behavior and attitude toward "people of color", most often negroes.
That was then. That's history. The fact it makes me, (and I hope others) uncomfortable? That's a good thing.

Canadian PM Justin Trudeau now finds himself in hot water.
He was attending an "Arabian Nights" costume party in full regalia... clothing AND darkened face, neck, and hands to fit the occasion.
Photos have emerged, and he's under political pressure from some.
And I'm questioning "WHY?"

I've long been an admirer of "Pastor, Civil Rights leader, and (now notorious) philanderer," Martin Luther King Jr, and I wonder...
If I was invited to a costume party celebrating the life and accomplishments of MLK Jr,
would I be chastised for getting out the brown shoe polish and time correct clothing?
I think in today's world, that answer is a given. And that's a shame.
I'd be honoring a great man. I fear we no longer have a sense of proportion... or a sense of humor.

And this is the reason I have fewer friends today than yesterday.

Tattoos

Yep.
I am "of a certain age".
And I try, always, to remember that.

We LOVE to watch the black and white movies from the late 30's through the 40's. And the thing we notice most about them now, (in addition to wondering if there really WERE that many coupe automobiles running around on the streets back then), is that EVERYONE... and I mean all the really cool folks... smoked.
If you wanted to be like the cool people, the only question you had to answer was whether you'd smoke Chesterfields or Camels.
My Mom and Dad both smoked. Back then cigarettes weren't almost prohibitively expensive, so I can't throw stones at them for hurting our family financially.
But my Father died of lung CA and I will always wonder how long he'd have lived if he had not allowed the fad... the desire to "be like Humphrey Bogart... (remind me how he died?), to influence him.

Fads.
They come and go.
One of 'em that irritates me now is this craze to permanently scar your own body.
Sara Jean and I walk four miles or so every evening. The other night, from about a football field's distance, I saw an attractive woman in short-shorts unloading groceries from her car.
Long-legged, I hoped she had more groceries to unload when we got closer. She did, and when we got close enough to say "Hello" I could she her legs were completely covered with tattoos.
I admit being disappointed. God gave her a wonderful gift. And in my opinion, she had willingly defaced God's artwork.

I know...
We have no indication (yet) of long-term unintended health consequences from defacing your body this way.
But it once was fact that you couldn't give blood within a certain time-frame after receiving one because of the possibility of infection.
So there's that.

I once heard a story of a Marine Enlisted Father advising his son not to get a tattoo because "you'll never be considered Officer material if you get one."
That Marine Dad was obviously "of a certain age" too.

Yeah, fads come and go.
I'll be happy when this one is gone.
(And I hope to live that long.)

The Man With No Name

I've never smoked.
Well, unless I was mocked and given a dare.
But, as a child, I was offended by and resented the air my parents forced my baby sister and I to breathe during Winters in our old automobiles. And I promised myself I would NEVER do that to my own children.
But I must admit to being tempted.

Images of Clint Eastwood with his Cheroots...
WOW! Was he cool or what?
And on the screen, when he slowly removed that cigar from his lips, the indentation was still there!
I wanted to be Clint.
I bought a pack of "HavaTampa Jewels".  And hated the taste.

A few friends smoked pipes...
Pipe smokers in the movies were smooth dudes... intellectual. Smart. Upper crust.
I wanted to be intellectual, smart, and maybe, "upper crust"... eventually.
I bought a pipe. I bought some tobacco I had smelled others smoking. Their "second hand" smoke smelled wonderful.
I hated the taste.

Now, "electronic cigarettes" are in the news.
I'm WAY BEYOND being influenced into trying them by movies and TV, but I fully understand how cool it looks to kids and folks wanting to be "in".
And I'm surprised at how many folks I see "vaping" around me.
It ain't cheap. The screen doors on your home are in disrepair.
How can you afford "strawberries and bananas with cream"  E-Juice?
(Yes, I see that it's cheaper than cigarettes, and agree it's probably not so unhealthy as smoking them.)

I can't help thinking, at some point in the future, thinking people will look back at things we've done to ourselves in wonder.
"Doctor, it hurts when I do THIS."

-"Don't do THAT!"

Bit By Bit

It's August.
It's HOT in Middle America.
It's EASY to sit in the Air Conditioning and push buttons on the remote control-
Made easier by the fact nothing I need to do around our property must be done NOW.

My neighbor across the street suggested-
"I get out early, while it's still cool, and do ONE constructive thing every day. That way I don't feel so guilty."
Good advice.
Today I trimmed a couple trees with the pole saw.

Now?
It's five O'Clock somewhere, right?

Heroes

He was in line behind me, wearing a ball cap that said "Viet Nam Veteran, 25th Infantry Division".
"25th, huh?" I asked. "Where was that?"
"Pleiku", was his response.
"Oh really? I was there too, at Camp Enari", says I.
He got a strange look on his face...
"Where was that?"
And at that point I knew I was dealing with a pretender.

A few other questions yielded "Facts"-
He was a LRRP, (a member of a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol).
His unit was absorbed by the 4th Infantry Division, (yet he's unaware of Camp Enari, the 4th's HUGE main base?)

I wish there was a fast and easy way to punish these liars.
I'm sure he, like me, gets the "Thank you for your service" comments, and maybe even discounts on meals, etc..

I hope my dead fellow Veterans haunt him.

As Time Marches On-

In this political environment I normally say, "I'm glad I'm old".  But...

Last week we watched archeologists exploring the caves around the Dead Sea, trying to find more scrolls in jars. Only 10% of those caves have been investigated. Now they have new technology that gives them ways to read the scrolls without opening and damaging them.

As death approaches, political me will say, "good riddance!"

Curious me will say, "WAIT... what's next?"

"By The Time We Got To Woodstock..."

"We were half a million strong!"

Like Apollo 11, we're approaching another 50th anniversary.
And just like Apollo 11, I viewed the event from half a world away in Viet Nam.
Enroute to Sydney, Australia for my R&R, I picked up the most recent "TIME" magazine in Cam Ranh Bay and saw the photo of the crowd.
WOW! What in the world was I missing back home?

We're watching a PBS produced documentary devoted to the event.
It is, at times, unintentional comedy.
"Peace. Love. And Music."
A HUGE crowd living in peace, doing what they wanted without interference.
Taking care of themselves.
(?)

They ran out of medical supplies the second day of the event.
New York's National Guard TO THE RESCUE in UH-1 Hueys. The Guard Hueys brought in supplies AND Doctors to take care of the drug overdoses, babies being born, and normal minor injuries that happen in a city of about 500,000 people.

The third day of peace, love, and music they ran out of food for the crowd.
People from the two nearest towns heard of the trouble and decided they had to do "the Christian thing" and feed the multitude. They raided their pantries, refrigerators, and freezers. Farmers donated what they could... one of 'em boiled thousands of eggs and had them transported, by civilian helicopter this time, to feed the, now mud covered, crowd.
"FREE FOOD!"

I can't help but laugh.
Good, responsible people are such wonderful suckers.
We never learn, do we?

To my readers:
Peace! LOVE! Happiness to you.

My Compound Ankle Fracture-

It has now been a little over a year since I watched my right ankle bone make a special appearance in Santorini, Greece. (Help! Part Two-, Pitchpull, 22May18. Look it up.)
I'd like to share my "healing" thoughts.

First, I knew the instant upon seeing the bone erupt that I was in real trouble.
We were halfway down the steps of a vertical cliff on a tiny island, in a non English speaking country, 2500 miles(?) from home. I stood up to see if I could hobble my way to the boat landing at the end of the steps; tried to put weight on my right foot. The ankle acted like a mechanic's "universal joint", and wobbled freely in all directions. Walking would be impossible. I was no longer in control of my own life.
I HAD to depend on the help of others. 
I am a control freak. I HATE being in that position.

You can read at my original May of 2018 posts how "others" came to our rescue...  our perilous donkey ride to the bottom of the cliff at Santorini; and the rest of our journey home.
But I want to share my thoughts from just over a year later:

There are wonderful people everywhere. When we were desperate, an American couple got off their donkeys, mounted Sara Jean and me, (her FIRST ride on a four-legged animal!) and walked alongside us to get us down that hill, asking me all along the way if I was "faint".
We don't know their names, but to us they certainly are heroes. I wish there was someway I could express my gratitude to them.

My Greek surgeon, when he came to visit me post-surgery, bragged about having attended a refresher course at Loyola University, and asked if we had ever been to Chicago. The U.S. Ortho expert that looked at his work when we got home expressed amazement at the wonderful job he had done.
When you hear some idiot Congresscritter from Minnesota put our country down, remember this:
People from EVERYWHERE in the world flock to the U.S. to suck up the BEST, because we are the BEST. And I thank God that Doctor Giannanopolis came to our country and paid attention to the training he received.

If this injury had happened to me 100 years ago, I'd have spent the rest of my life as an invalid. I'd have been a burden to my family. (See my out of control comment above.) I'd have been miserable, walking with a cane or crutch, and might have died early, with a bad attitude.
As it is, I am back to about 95% complete recovery. My beautiful bride and I walk 3-5 miles every evening. I don't limp. I feel a twinge of pain now and then, but I attribute that to the fact that I have a 72 year old model body that I'm trying to push in a way it does not like being pushed. My 72 year old belly looks better because of it. The 72-yr old belly and my 72 yr-old heart tell the 72-yr old ankle to kiss their 72-yr old hindquarters!


Being escorted via wheelchair through the airports in Athens, Rome, Copenhagen, Reykjavik, Boston, and here at home was wonderful... and terrible:
Going to the head of the line to get tickets, board the plane, and get baggage was great. Receiving the looks from those standing in line was uncomfortable. (Again, see "control" comment above".)  
During the trip home I COULD have fended for myself with the crutches I had been given. But again, I'd have been a burden to others.

Every day, we all get a day older.
For most of us, TODAY is the healthiest we are ever gonna be in our lives. Health-wise it probably won't get better than today.
We should be aware of that, and enjoy it to the fullest.
I have a newfound respect for old people, and people recovering from terrible injuries... some MUCH worse than mine. When you see them wheeled to the front of the line at the airport, be glad it ain't you, and don't resent them.

And take notice when our elected officials denigrate our wonderful country.
When you get to the ballot box, REMEMBER.
Who is leaving the country for somewhere better?
How many are risking their lives to come here?

Thank you for the reminder Lord.
I know how blessed I am.

Al Franken-

I despise Al Franken's politics, and I'm glad he's no longer a Senator, but...
As an affirmed "Boob LOVER", if I had a nickel for every time I wanted to act out the action he expressed in the photo that cost him his job?..
I could have retired a VERY young man.

Tough Decisons-

Our "Schnoodle" Lucy was 13 in June. If the 7-yr rule applies, she gets around mighty good for a 91 yr-old female... begs to go with us on our nightly 3-4 mile walks. We DO have to help her with tasks requiring the ability to jump... getting up on the bed or sofa. We happily help her to do that.
But she has begun to have some of the other "old dog" problems: Growths inside and outside her body.

Our Vet has identified two "squamous-cell carcinomas" on her chest. She also has MANY warts beginning to form on her body that the Vet says is normal for poodles. And she now has a fatty growth starting to expand on her flank that could be benign or malignant. At this point, I don't even want to know which.

Is it sane to spend a fortune on an old dog to correct problems like these? (We're by no means wealthy.) And if you do try to intervene to help, how long before a similar problem recurs?



This is a smart dog. She's the lowest-maintenance dog I've ever owned, and I've owned some mighty good dogs. We've often made trips in our car rather than fly just because we wanted to comfortably bring her along.

We're now realizing at some point in the not-too-distant future we'll have to make a horrible decision.
When does her quality of life degrade to the point where she'd want us to let her go?

Again, we all take on the responsibility of pet ownership knowing, in 10-15 years, (if we're lucky), we'll face a heartbreaking loss. And the loss is more crushing when you have to say, "Yes, let her go".

We're almost there.
And even the thought of it brings tears to my eyes.

Second Verse... Same As The First !

The new Taurus SHO is in our garage. It looks EXACTLY like the old one, except the new one has a moonroof.
It's weird. Turning the old car "out to pasture" after five years of faithful service actually made me sad. And there are just enough niggling little differences between the old and new to keep us on our toes for a little while.

It smells new.
What's that worth? :)