I apologize for the paucity of posts, but I just haven't had the inclination and situation together to facilitate writing.
I'll try to rectumfy that.
Soon.
The bike is in the bed of the truck.
In the A.M. we depart Eastbound.
God willin', we'll be in Manassas, VA tomorrow (Tuesday) evening.
Wednesday morning we hope to join two million of our bestest friends on two wheels in D.C..
Denied a permit to rally, I can foresee many of us having some sort of minor problem that necessitates a stop and check.
Often.
Watch the news.
I'll wave.
I promise.
09 September 2013
22 August 2013
"I Like The Way You Walk..."
.... said "Fats" Domino in his song "Let The Four Winds Blow".
I was thinking yesterday about a gal I dated 40+ years ago.
Pretty and pleasant, curves in the right places, I dated her for a year.
But there was something about her that REALLY turned me off, and now I'm wondering if I should be ashamed of myself for it...
She couldn't walk in high heels.
Wearing them, she clop-clop-clopped along like her feet were sticking slightly to the surface.
The thought set me to thinking about other "walks".
Except for his walk, I LOVE John Wayne.
But he walks like a horse in some Dressage exhibition.
On the other hand, my Mother used to talk about how watching Henry Fonda walk was like watching Fred Astaire dance, and she loved him for it.
I'm very conscious of my walk.
Relatively short-legged, I try to "move with a purpose" without taking mincing little steps that would make me look like a hamster on a treadmill.
I make my short legs step out as far as they can with each stride.
What about you?
Is the way someone walks noticeable to you?
Is it important?
I was thinking yesterday about a gal I dated 40+ years ago.
Pretty and pleasant, curves in the right places, I dated her for a year.
But there was something about her that REALLY turned me off, and now I'm wondering if I should be ashamed of myself for it...
She couldn't walk in high heels.
Wearing them, she clop-clop-clopped along like her feet were sticking slightly to the surface.
The thought set me to thinking about other "walks".
Except for his walk, I LOVE John Wayne.
But he walks like a horse in some Dressage exhibition.
On the other hand, my Mother used to talk about how watching Henry Fonda walk was like watching Fred Astaire dance, and she loved him for it.
I'm very conscious of my walk.
Relatively short-legged, I try to "move with a purpose" without taking mincing little steps that would make me look like a hamster on a treadmill.
I make my short legs step out as far as they can with each stride.
What about you?
Is the way someone walks noticeable to you?
Is it important?
21 August 2013
Welcome To The Stable !
This is the latest bike I bought.
(Click it for a better look.)
It's a Yamaha "V-Star Classic".
Shaft drive, 650cc, obviously a longitudinal V-Twin.
More on all this soon.
19 August 2013
The Swiss Army Kni... er... Motorcycle
But I'm havin' a ball, so I don't intend to change.
And money? That's just a tool anway, right?
So actually I AM gonna make a change.
But it entails buying another motorcycle.
Three years ago I made the first motorcycle purchase I had made in over twenty years.
But there was a problem. Pizza Bike had no backrest, and Sara Jean refused to ride pillion on it.
So I bought another bike.
And then another.
My garage is full.
Sold a few, then bought a few more; there have been as many as four bikes under that roof. Our car resides in our drive because there's no room in the garage for it.
Tags and insurance are another factor...
It's about $200 per bike per year to keep them legal.
I dream of being Jay Leno, but I ain't quite there yet.
The only really sane thing to do is to try to consolidate... turn two bikes into one.
And that means compromises.
The bike pictured is a mess of compromises.
The "Yamaha Super Tenere" (pronounced like canary) is what is referred to in the motorcycle industry as a "Dual-Purpose" motorcycle.
That means, if you are a competent rider, you can take it out on the Interstate, or you can take it down a fire trail. It will do neither perfectly.
But it will trail ride better than any Dresser Harley, and cover 400 miles cross-country better than any dirt bike, (and carry Sara Jean as pillion.)
I want one.
(UPDATE)
All the above was written two days ago.
This morning I bought yet another bike, so we're back to four!
I don't need it, but there are extenuating circumstances for the purchase.
It's a 650cc Cruiser.
Purchase of the Yamaha Super Tenere will be put off until later.
I'll update ya then.
14 August 2013
The Well
There is a nice village in Utopia.
The community well in this village replenishes itself at the rate of 1000 gallons a day.
That means the ten families using it can withdraw 100 gallons per day each and the well will stay healthy.
Four families move into the community.
Every family continues to draw 100 gallons daily from the well.
How long before the most wealthy guy in the community is accused of being greedy and starts being fearful for his family?
(Preaching mostly to the choir, I know. Sorry.)
The community well in this village replenishes itself at the rate of 1000 gallons a day.
That means the ten families using it can withdraw 100 gallons per day each and the well will stay healthy.
Four families move into the community.
Every family continues to draw 100 gallons daily from the well.
How long before the most wealthy guy in the community is accused of being greedy and starts being fearful for his family?
(Preaching mostly to the choir, I know. Sorry.)
02 August 2013
Hot
Tired of being treated the way we're treated going through security, we've decided to forego being trapped in the long, thin, silver tube and drive rather than fly unless time restraints make driving impossible.
And it's pretty difficult to put a Suzuki motorcycle in the overhead bin, isn't it?
Big Bubba couldn't seem to find anyone competent to turn wrenches on the old BMW R80RT. He was having some sort of difficulty with it at every turn, so I had decided to take "Roswell", my 650cc Suzuki V-Twin out and trade it for the old "airhead" BMW.
In the extreme Phoenix heat the water-cooled, much newer Suzuki will be more reliable for him, and I LOVE riding the old beater BMW and have a little more mechanical knowledge to keep it puttering down the highway.
Road trip! I loaded Roswell into the bed of the truck and Sara Jean, Lucy and I pointed our noses West.
Two days and 1700 miles later, we arrived in the land of sand-for-lawns and Saguaro cacti.
It's HOT. But remember, "It's a DRY heat".
Having experienced that desert heat now on several occasions, my immediate response is-
"So is an oven".
I figured two-wheeling with 95 degrees and almost no humidity would be comfortable.
I was wrong. It's like riding next to the dinner rolls cooking in the OVEN.
There IS a benefit...
Nights are wonderful. Remove the sun from the equation and you're no longer a grape being turned to a raisin. Clear, dry air makes night riding near-perfect.
But that Arizona sun is brutal. If the temperature is above 90 and the sun is shining, riding longer than about half an hour is not only uncomfortable, the possibility of dehydration makes it dangerous.
Big Bubba once ran out of gas on Interstate 10 and waited an hour in near 100 degree heat for the Auto Club to bring him fuel. He had no water. Disoriented, he couldn't tell the Auto Club where to come help him. When he called to tell me his predicament, from half a continent away I started making phone calls to AAA, and the State and local police.
We both learned valuable lessons that day.
The last night of our stay we loaded the old Beemer into the bed of the Dodge.
The next morning I loaded the rest of our stuff.
When traveling, I always load my computer and the transformer for it first, to insure I don't inadvertently leave it behind. I tucked it into the pocket behind the driver's seat for easy access should I need it somewhere along the line. I then walked the minute-or-so walk back to Big Bubba's apartment to get suitcases, pillows, etc. for our trip home.
Five or six legs back and forth to his apartment, and we're all loaded and ready to go.
We all hugged and said our good-byes, and two of us plus dog joined I-10 for Tucson and beyond.
Our first stop was Ruidoso, New Mexico to visit "Old Prairie Dog".
There, I grabbed our pillows and toiletries, then went back to get my laptop.
The pocket was empty.
Now I'm confused...
Maybe I just THOUGHT I loaded it?
Call Big Bubba... "Is it still there?"
Nope.
It's gone.
Someone had to be watching as I loaded the truck and saw where I put it, then in the time it took me to return with more stuff to load, they grabbed it and the transformer.
I later found they had also taken my digital camera.
Yeah, my homeowner's insurance will cover the loss. But there's a $500 deductible involved there, and the laptop was over a year old. Is it worth filing the claim?
Not to me.
I ate it.
Ordered a new laptop for $700. It came with "Windows 8", and I hate it. I was comfortable with the old laptop and miss it terribly.
I've learned another valuable lesson...
We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
Sigh.
What a world we live in.
That computer was double-password protected so I don't know how anyone will use it. How much is a "HOT" laptop worth at a Pawn shop?
Same with the camera...
Without a way to recharge the battery or download the photos, what's that worth to anyone other than me?
And the worst part of it is the reminder that the country is NOT a place where you can trust your neighbors.
You have stuff? There are people willing to risk serious trouble who will take it from you, even if you just leave it for a few seconds.
How terribly sad.
And it's pretty difficult to put a Suzuki motorcycle in the overhead bin, isn't it?
Big Bubba couldn't seem to find anyone competent to turn wrenches on the old BMW R80RT. He was having some sort of difficulty with it at every turn, so I had decided to take "Roswell", my 650cc Suzuki V-Twin out and trade it for the old "airhead" BMW.
In the extreme Phoenix heat the water-cooled, much newer Suzuki will be more reliable for him, and I LOVE riding the old beater BMW and have a little more mechanical knowledge to keep it puttering down the highway.
Road trip! I loaded Roswell into the bed of the truck and Sara Jean, Lucy and I pointed our noses West.
Two days and 1700 miles later, we arrived in the land of sand-for-lawns and Saguaro cacti.
It's HOT. But remember, "It's a DRY heat".
Having experienced that desert heat now on several occasions, my immediate response is-
"So is an oven".
I figured two-wheeling with 95 degrees and almost no humidity would be comfortable.
I was wrong. It's like riding next to the dinner rolls cooking in the OVEN.
There IS a benefit...
Nights are wonderful. Remove the sun from the equation and you're no longer a grape being turned to a raisin. Clear, dry air makes night riding near-perfect.
But that Arizona sun is brutal. If the temperature is above 90 and the sun is shining, riding longer than about half an hour is not only uncomfortable, the possibility of dehydration makes it dangerous.
Big Bubba once ran out of gas on Interstate 10 and waited an hour in near 100 degree heat for the Auto Club to bring him fuel. He had no water. Disoriented, he couldn't tell the Auto Club where to come help him. When he called to tell me his predicament, from half a continent away I started making phone calls to AAA, and the State and local police.
We both learned valuable lessons that day.
The last night of our stay we loaded the old Beemer into the bed of the Dodge.
The next morning I loaded the rest of our stuff.
When traveling, I always load my computer and the transformer for it first, to insure I don't inadvertently leave it behind. I tucked it into the pocket behind the driver's seat for easy access should I need it somewhere along the line. I then walked the minute-or-so walk back to Big Bubba's apartment to get suitcases, pillows, etc. for our trip home.
Five or six legs back and forth to his apartment, and we're all loaded and ready to go.
We all hugged and said our good-byes, and two of us plus dog joined I-10 for Tucson and beyond.
Our first stop was Ruidoso, New Mexico to visit "Old Prairie Dog".
There, I grabbed our pillows and toiletries, then went back to get my laptop.
The pocket was empty.
Now I'm confused...
Maybe I just THOUGHT I loaded it?
Call Big Bubba... "Is it still there?"
Nope.
It's gone.
Someone had to be watching as I loaded the truck and saw where I put it, then in the time it took me to return with more stuff to load, they grabbed it and the transformer.
I later found they had also taken my digital camera.
Yeah, my homeowner's insurance will cover the loss. But there's a $500 deductible involved there, and the laptop was over a year old. Is it worth filing the claim?
Not to me.
I ate it.
Ordered a new laptop for $700. It came with "Windows 8", and I hate it. I was comfortable with the old laptop and miss it terribly.
I've learned another valuable lesson...
We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
Sigh.
What a world we live in.
That computer was double-password protected so I don't know how anyone will use it. How much is a "HOT" laptop worth at a Pawn shop?
Same with the camera...
Without a way to recharge the battery or download the photos, what's that worth to anyone other than me?
And the worst part of it is the reminder that the country is NOT a place where you can trust your neighbors.
You have stuff? There are people willing to risk serious trouble who will take it from you, even if you just leave it for a few seconds.
How terribly sad.
21 July 2013
Catching Up
If you don't feel you have a personal relationship with me, skip this post...
I'm just catching friends up with my news.
It's been a tough Spring/Summer so far.
Stressful.
My Mother had not been well for several months. Twelve hours drive away in Pensacola, we spent as much time with her as possible while we were in Destin, then drove down a couple times to actually spend a weekend with her in her apartment, which was a cramped, one-bedroom place with too much furniture, made MUCH worse with the addition of our Queen-size inflatable airbed on the floor between recliners and TV cabinet.
Cramped quarters made things difficult. Helpers coming in the door at an unworldly hour of the morning to insure she was properly medicated made us feel like Zombies after a couple days.
Obviously, visiting Mom was not a peaceful sojourn to the countryside.
I've had a little side business I started with an old friend in 1988, mostly teaching others to fly helicopters, doing aerial photography, and other little odd jobs requiring the use of a helicopter.
The two of us fit together well... he did the administrative stuff;
I watched over the helicopter and insured the operations side worked as advertised.
A long-time smoker, he's also been in ill health for the last couple years. A year ago his health really started downhill. He's been in and out of the hospital several times.
Two months ago he died.
His wife wants no part of staying in the business of herding helicopters.
Twenty-five years of plugging along, dreaming of what we could do after we both could retire from other work and devote full-time to our business went out the door. Our little business will wither and disappear.
Mother's health worsened.
She was always someone fun to be around... sharp as a tack with a great sense of humor, she was intelligent and curious, and could participate in conversations about anything.
But we noticed her hearing failing. Then her memory started frustrating her.
She no longer participated in conversations because she couldn't hear what was being discussed and couldn't remember things to add.
She sat silently, smiled and nodded, just to show she was glad simply to be around others.
Three weeks ago my sister called to indicate she was failing.
In three days she was gone.
We buried her a week ago.
I've lost my strongest supporter.
BUT...
I take comfort in having had her in my life MUCH longer than anyone would have predicted.
Her weak heart needed help, and to that she had a pacemaker installed in 1983.
At that point NO ONE would have imagined she'd outlive my Dad.
She did.
Like a Timex watch, she just kept on ticking.
Her "metronome" pacemaker was replaced with one that measured O2 content in her bloodstream and increased her heart rate as necessary.
The battery in that device failed one morning and her poor weak heart kept plugging until they could install a new battery.
She survived hurricane Ivan and three weeks of no air-conditioning in her new Pensacola apartment, just days after we moved her there.
She was a tough, wonderful creature. Obviously, I'll miss her terribly.
I've kinda had a "one-two punch" delivered to my midsection and I'm still not recovered...
May never fully recover.
Add to my emotional stress the fact I still think my beloved country is circling the drain, and you may understand my reluctance to write here.
I HOPE things CHANGE.
It'd be nice to have some good news cheer us all up, wouldn't it?
(If you have any, share in the comments PLEASE.)
I'm just catching friends up with my news.
It's been a tough Spring/Summer so far.
Stressful.
My Mother had not been well for several months. Twelve hours drive away in Pensacola, we spent as much time with her as possible while we were in Destin, then drove down a couple times to actually spend a weekend with her in her apartment, which was a cramped, one-bedroom place with too much furniture, made MUCH worse with the addition of our Queen-size inflatable airbed on the floor between recliners and TV cabinet.
Cramped quarters made things difficult. Helpers coming in the door at an unworldly hour of the morning to insure she was properly medicated made us feel like Zombies after a couple days.
Obviously, visiting Mom was not a peaceful sojourn to the countryside.
I've had a little side business I started with an old friend in 1988, mostly teaching others to fly helicopters, doing aerial photography, and other little odd jobs requiring the use of a helicopter.
The two of us fit together well... he did the administrative stuff;
I watched over the helicopter and insured the operations side worked as advertised.
A long-time smoker, he's also been in ill health for the last couple years. A year ago his health really started downhill. He's been in and out of the hospital several times.
Two months ago he died.
His wife wants no part of staying in the business of herding helicopters.
Twenty-five years of plugging along, dreaming of what we could do after we both could retire from other work and devote full-time to our business went out the door. Our little business will wither and disappear.
Mother's health worsened.
She was always someone fun to be around... sharp as a tack with a great sense of humor, she was intelligent and curious, and could participate in conversations about anything.
But we noticed her hearing failing. Then her memory started frustrating her.
She no longer participated in conversations because she couldn't hear what was being discussed and couldn't remember things to add.
She sat silently, smiled and nodded, just to show she was glad simply to be around others.
Three weeks ago my sister called to indicate she was failing.
In three days she was gone.
We buried her a week ago.
I've lost my strongest supporter.
BUT...
I take comfort in having had her in my life MUCH longer than anyone would have predicted.
Her weak heart needed help, and to that she had a pacemaker installed in 1983.
At that point NO ONE would have imagined she'd outlive my Dad.
She did.
Like a Timex watch, she just kept on ticking.
Her "metronome" pacemaker was replaced with one that measured O2 content in her bloodstream and increased her heart rate as necessary.
The battery in that device failed one morning and her poor weak heart kept plugging until they could install a new battery.
She survived hurricane Ivan and three weeks of no air-conditioning in her new Pensacola apartment, just days after we moved her there.
She was a tough, wonderful creature. Obviously, I'll miss her terribly.
I've kinda had a "one-two punch" delivered to my midsection and I'm still not recovered...
May never fully recover.
Add to my emotional stress the fact I still think my beloved country is circling the drain, and you may understand my reluctance to write here.
I HOPE things CHANGE.
It'd be nice to have some good news cheer us all up, wouldn't it?
(If you have any, share in the comments PLEASE.)
03 July 2013
The Procession
Birth. Life. Death.
And if it proceeds as it should, that "life" part should be reasonably long.
It also helps, when the "death" part happens, if the life part also makes living better for others.
Obviously, it doesn't always unfold the way we hope. Some of the saddest days of my career were those when I'd carry a very sick or injured youngster in the helicopter, then observe parents as they watch life slowly slip away from their child.
We naturally grieve when we lose loved ones, but if those departed family members or friends have "run a good race" and frequently put smiles on the faces of others, that grieving is mostly for ourselves, knowing we'll not have the pleasure of their company any more.
When a young person dies we not only lose that personal contact, we lose the promise of what might have been.
I'm headed back to Indianapolis this weekend to reunite my Mother with my Dad.
I'm grieving because I'm selfish and will miss our conversations, the ability to say "Hey Mom, what was that guy's name?"; the LOVE.
But I'm comforted by the fact that Mom's life-parade proceeded as it should have...indeed, lasted longer than anyone could have expected.
Butterfly kisses Mom...
You put smiles on lots of faces.
You ran a great race.
And if it proceeds as it should, that "life" part should be reasonably long.
It also helps, when the "death" part happens, if the life part also makes living better for others.
Obviously, it doesn't always unfold the way we hope. Some of the saddest days of my career were those when I'd carry a very sick or injured youngster in the helicopter, then observe parents as they watch life slowly slip away from their child.
We naturally grieve when we lose loved ones, but if those departed family members or friends have "run a good race" and frequently put smiles on the faces of others, that grieving is mostly for ourselves, knowing we'll not have the pleasure of their company any more.
When a young person dies we not only lose that personal contact, we lose the promise of what might have been.
I'm headed back to Indianapolis this weekend to reunite my Mother with my Dad.
I'm grieving because I'm selfish and will miss our conversations, the ability to say "Hey Mom, what was that guy's name?"; the LOVE.
But I'm comforted by the fact that Mom's life-parade proceeded as it should have...indeed, lasted longer than anyone could have expected.
Butterfly kisses Mom...
You put smiles on lots of faces.
You ran a great race.
25 June 2013
I Am Jimmy Buffett
"So, how's retirement going?"
Thank you for asking. It's a difficult adjustment, and I ain't adjusted yet.
I miss the satisfaction, knowing my work was helping others.
I miss working with others willing to take the risk of doing what has turned out to be one of the more dangerous jobs in the world in order to save lives and help the sick.
And then there's the pain and shame of knowing I have become Jimmy Buffett.
We spent half of November, December, and January in Destin, FL, then, upon my retirment spent ALL of February and March there. Destin is wonderful...
Arguably the most beautiful beaches in the world. Seafood served in restaurants was swimming in salt water the day before being served. Cool nights, warm days... it's all too easy to sit in the sun on the balcony overlooking the Gulf while reading something interesting.
And since the refrigerator is only a few steps away, a cold beverage can be had on a whim.
But what cold beverage? Iced tea? Iced coffee? Soda pop?
We all-too-quickly got into "Jimmy Buffett" mode...
"It's five O'Clock somewhere!"
And that five-liter box of wine is just sitting there begging for attention.
"Want some grape juice?"
"Why yes dear, I'd LOVE some!"
Pretty quickly I noticed my waist band tighten, and the need to put my belt thingy into a hole closer to the end of the belt.
Both of us came back North wearing clothes that we struggled to get into. I knew drastic measures were in order, but didn't want to take on the struggle until life settled down so we could both diet.
We finished our annual Goose Round-up last week... a time of hard work and hard play, with lots of beer flowing. Saturday morning I got on the scale...
TWO HUNDRED TWENTY SIX POUNDS!
That is, BY FAR, the most I have EVER weighed.
I am 5'9" tall.
I'm MUCH too short to put that much mass on two feet.
So Sunday morning we got started doing something about it.
One of Sara Jean's friends had suggested the "Sacred Heart Soup Diet". Some years ago an acquaintance had mentioned his success with it, so we decided to give it a shot.
Monday morning I weighed in... 224 pounds.
Tuesday A.M.... 220.
So yeah, it's probably mostly water lost.
But I can already see a difference in my stomach bulk, and I've taken my belt up a notch.
Amazing.
Right now we're discussing staying on this diet two weeks, then switching to the "Atkins" diet for a couple weeks... we've had great success with it too.
I'll update ya later on what we do and the results we experience.
But one thing is sure-
When I reach my target weight I'll be on the scale EVERY MORNING, and if I've gained a pound, the pie-hole will be shut until that pound is gone. That'll take discipline, and although I've enjoyed being Jimmy for these past few months, he's killing me.
It's time to start "Wasting away..." so I don't feel like a beached whale when we return to Destin.
Thank you for asking. It's a difficult adjustment, and I ain't adjusted yet.
I miss the satisfaction, knowing my work was helping others.
I miss working with others willing to take the risk of doing what has turned out to be one of the more dangerous jobs in the world in order to save lives and help the sick.
And then there's the pain and shame of knowing I have become Jimmy Buffett.
We spent half of November, December, and January in Destin, FL, then, upon my retirment spent ALL of February and March there. Destin is wonderful...
Arguably the most beautiful beaches in the world. Seafood served in restaurants was swimming in salt water the day before being served. Cool nights, warm days... it's all too easy to sit in the sun on the balcony overlooking the Gulf while reading something interesting.
And since the refrigerator is only a few steps away, a cold beverage can be had on a whim.
But what cold beverage? Iced tea? Iced coffee? Soda pop?
We all-too-quickly got into "Jimmy Buffett" mode...
"It's five O'Clock somewhere!"
And that five-liter box of wine is just sitting there begging for attention.
"Want some grape juice?"
"Why yes dear, I'd LOVE some!"
Pretty quickly I noticed my waist band tighten, and the need to put my belt thingy into a hole closer to the end of the belt.
Both of us came back North wearing clothes that we struggled to get into. I knew drastic measures were in order, but didn't want to take on the struggle until life settled down so we could both diet.
We finished our annual Goose Round-up last week... a time of hard work and hard play, with lots of beer flowing. Saturday morning I got on the scale...
TWO HUNDRED TWENTY SIX POUNDS!
That is, BY FAR, the most I have EVER weighed.
I am 5'9" tall.
I'm MUCH too short to put that much mass on two feet.
So Sunday morning we got started doing something about it.
One of Sara Jean's friends had suggested the "Sacred Heart Soup Diet". Some years ago an acquaintance had mentioned his success with it, so we decided to give it a shot.
Monday morning I weighed in... 224 pounds.
Tuesday A.M.... 220.
So yeah, it's probably mostly water lost.
But I can already see a difference in my stomach bulk, and I've taken my belt up a notch.
Amazing.
Right now we're discussing staying on this diet two weeks, then switching to the "Atkins" diet for a couple weeks... we've had great success with it too.
I'll update ya later on what we do and the results we experience.
But one thing is sure-
When I reach my target weight I'll be on the scale EVERY MORNING, and if I've gained a pound, the pie-hole will be shut until that pound is gone. That'll take discipline, and although I've enjoyed being Jimmy for these past few months, he's killing me.
It's time to start "Wasting away..." so I don't feel like a beached whale when we return to Destin.
07 June 2013
Big Brother, (No Holding Company).
"They've suspended my license for 90 days" he said.
A flight instructor and charter pilot, it meant his income would have a huge dent in it for three months.
"How did this happen?"
"The airplane had been involved in an accident. The FAA inspector claimed the engine had suffered a 'sudden stoppage', even though the engine never stopped running. He refused to allow me to fly the airplane home without a ferry permit. It was late Friday afternoon and waiting for the office to open Monday to get the permit was impossible. I waited until he was gone, started the airplane, and flew it home."
"How do they know it was YOU who flew the airplane?"
"They tracked me through my credit card fuel-charges... Knew every stop I made."
Folks, if you are not concerned about the information now available to our government, you aren't paying enough attention.
Ugly, UGLY times are coming.
Prepare.
A flight instructor and charter pilot, it meant his income would have a huge dent in it for three months.
"How did this happen?"
"The airplane had been involved in an accident. The FAA inspector claimed the engine had suffered a 'sudden stoppage', even though the engine never stopped running. He refused to allow me to fly the airplane home without a ferry permit. It was late Friday afternoon and waiting for the office to open Monday to get the permit was impossible. I waited until he was gone, started the airplane, and flew it home."
"How do they know it was YOU who flew the airplane?"
"They tracked me through my credit card fuel-charges... Knew every stop I made."
Folks, if you are not concerned about the information now available to our government, you aren't paying enough attention.
Ugly, UGLY times are coming.
Prepare.
20 May 2013
An Unfair Comparison-
With the explosion of scandals now causing the
president(?)'s associates to spin like whirling dervishes, we're seeing more and more Obama/Nixon comparisons. This is misguided and unfair. There are STRIKING differences between the two men, and I'd like to illustrate them.
Richard Nixon could not sing like the Reverend Al Green.
It was never public knowledge that he used illicit drugs. As a matter of fact, his administration had strong anti-drug policies.
Photos of Nixon's Mother were pretty boring.
Citizens never questioned his birthplace.
Major investigative agencies never declared his birth certificate "a forgery".
His Father was a U.S. citizen, so there was never any question of his eligibility to hold the office of PoTUS.
His record in Undergrad and Grad school was public knowledge, so we know he was an EXCELLENT student.
He was NEVER denied the ability to practice law.
Richard Nixon was a known anti-communist.
Commissioned an Ensign, he then served in the Navy and was a World War II Veteran.
He sought to REDUCE the size of the Federal government, transferring power to the individual States.
He strongly supported Israel.
But he wasn't cool.
How things have changed, huh?
13 May 2013
Fighting Soldiers From The Sky
After the last election I felt like I had lost a close family member.
It has become harder and harder to post here as I watch my country go down the toilet.
Are we already past the point of no return?
The next few weeks will tell.
But I want to relate this to you here...
Some time back I posted a video of a Marine that indicated our troops WOULD NOT follow any orders to attack citizens. Some commented that Marine's video did not indicate what would really happen if the order were given to take out groups applying their 1st Amendment rights.
I disagreed at the time, and I want to relate something that will comfort those of you who are committed to the Constitution now...
We have a neighbor who is a Green Beret... a member of our elite Special Forces.
I have had long conversations with this man over adult beverages.
He related that in his Group, the name of the Commander-in-chief is not permitted to be spoken aloud.
Anyone uttering the name suffers humililiation from the rest of the Group.
An order to ignore the Constitution by "He who shall remain unnamed and unspoken" will be ignored.
When hearing this, (over adult beverages), I cried.
The country is NOT LOST.
But we MUST dig our heels in NOW.
Get your head out of where it is dark, warm, and smelly.
If you already have, help others to do the same.
It has become harder and harder to post here as I watch my country go down the toilet.
Are we already past the point of no return?
The next few weeks will tell.
But I want to relate this to you here...
Some time back I posted a video of a Marine that indicated our troops WOULD NOT follow any orders to attack citizens. Some commented that Marine's video did not indicate what would really happen if the order were given to take out groups applying their 1st Amendment rights.
I disagreed at the time, and I want to relate something that will comfort those of you who are committed to the Constitution now...
We have a neighbor who is a Green Beret... a member of our elite Special Forces.
I have had long conversations with this man over adult beverages.
He related that in his Group, the name of the Commander-in-chief is not permitted to be spoken aloud.
Anyone uttering the name suffers humililiation from the rest of the Group.
An order to ignore the Constitution by "He who shall remain unnamed and unspoken" will be ignored.
When hearing this, (over adult beverages), I cried.
The country is NOT LOST.
But we MUST dig our heels in NOW.
Get your head out of where it is dark, warm, and smelly.
If you already have, help others to do the same.
29 April 2013
Anger
It's there, lurking.
Just behind that next corner.
Be careful how you approach, 'cause it might attack.
It's maybe my worst failing, and I know it. So why can't I quash it?
I watch others failing by using drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes and hold them in a sort of compassionate contempt, but know I don't want them inside my "circle of wagons".
So, recognizing how damaging this trait is, why can I not control it?
There are close relatives I no longer want to be part of my life.
In-laws are now "out-laws".
We watch the news and the anger boils up...
"If they hadn't voted for this S.O.B. we wouldn't be facing this problem."
And we've even expressed this to the out-laws. Their response?...
"I'm not really paying attention to the news, so I don't know anything about that."
Obviously.
And that's the problem you ignorant, CO2 producing poor excuse for intelligent life.
So why did you vote? You had NO idea what the candidate stood for!
There I go again.
I want to scream.
Trying to change minds, instead, I alienate.
No amount of rational argument, coming out of my angry, screwed-tight face, will change an ignorant mind that is already closed.
But how can they not see it?
Our country is being "fundamentally transformed" before our very eyes, and the only topic you can address with these people is, "Who was eliminated from 'Dancing With The Stars' last night?"
I signed that blank check...
Agreed to die fighting, if necessary, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. Now I'm watching the president, Congress, and bureacrats all along the way ignore that document, enforcing "the laws we want to enforce", ignoring those they don't.
How long can this go on?
And how do I control my anger so I can make others come to the realization we are "on the brink"?
I'm open to suggestion.
'Cause what I'm doin' ain't workin'.
("Doc, it hurts when I do THIS.")
Just behind that next corner.
Be careful how you approach, 'cause it might attack.
It's maybe my worst failing, and I know it. So why can't I quash it?
I watch others failing by using drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes and hold them in a sort of compassionate contempt, but know I don't want them inside my "circle of wagons".
So, recognizing how damaging this trait is, why can I not control it?
There are close relatives I no longer want to be part of my life.
In-laws are now "out-laws".
We watch the news and the anger boils up...
"If they hadn't voted for this S.O.B. we wouldn't be facing this problem."
And we've even expressed this to the out-laws. Their response?...
"I'm not really paying attention to the news, so I don't know anything about that."
Obviously.
And that's the problem you ignorant, CO2 producing poor excuse for intelligent life.
So why did you vote? You had NO idea what the candidate stood for!
There I go again.
I want to scream.
Trying to change minds, instead, I alienate.
No amount of rational argument, coming out of my angry, screwed-tight face, will change an ignorant mind that is already closed.
But how can they not see it?
Our country is being "fundamentally transformed" before our very eyes, and the only topic you can address with these people is, "Who was eliminated from 'Dancing With The Stars' last night?"
I signed that blank check...
Agreed to die fighting, if necessary, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. Now I'm watching the president, Congress, and bureacrats all along the way ignore that document, enforcing "the laws we want to enforce", ignoring those they don't.
How long can this go on?
And how do I control my anger so I can make others come to the realization we are "on the brink"?
I'm open to suggestion.
'Cause what I'm doin' ain't workin'.
("Doc, it hurts when I do THIS.")
27 April 2013
12 April 2013
"It's Five O'Clock Somewhere."
Yeah, it's been a while.
The wind is outta my sail. Like many of you, I'm dismayed at what is happening all around me and more dismayed by the fact that few folks around me seem to care. Why can they not see what is just around the corner? My son will be 30 in July and I'm furious that there's NO WAY he can experience the country I grew up in. It's gone. Forever.
Why aren't my neighbors with several kids in an uproar?
So for me, it's hard to pump up the motivation to write anything.
But much has happened and I need to chronicle it.
So let's catch up-
We spent most of the Winter in the condo in Destin. My EMS co-workers coordinated with me so I could work two weeks, then take two weeks off. Sara Jean and I headed South during the two week hiatus in November, December, and January.
I retired (really this time!) 26 January and we spent all of February and March overlooking the Gulf of Mexico from our balcony, coming home three or four days at the end of each month to grab the mail and insure that burst plumbing wasn't ruining our home here in the Great White North. With neighbors all around watching over the place, getting the mail actually was the main reason for the trip.
Did you know the U.S. Postal Service now charges a fee to forward your mail? I was surprised too.
Winter in Destin this year was wet and cool... kind of a surprise. We carried the GoldWing down our first trip hoping to get in some riding during the time that would either be impossible or uncomfortable in our Northern home.
But the damp, cool weather in Destin didn't much lend itself to two-wheeled therapy.
I did use the bike quite a bit to run short errands. But I was absolutely amazed at how quickly the salt air/spray ate up the chrome on the machine. All of the chrome now needs major elbow grease, or maybe rehab/replacing.
I now question my plan to take a newer, more expensive machine down next year.
And this Winter, if we have a repeat of last year, I may not go to the (considerable) trouble of loading a bike in the back of the Ram Diesel at all.
We still have not adjusted to retirement. I'm told by some that it may take me more than a year.
In February, when we first got to Destin full-time, I found myself rising at 0530 or so, turning on the computer and listening to our radio station back home for news and weather. (We wanted to be able to justify to ourselves the expense of spending all the money we've spent to Winter on the Gulf.) We had to mostly content ourselves with the fact our temperatures in Destin were 20 or more degrees higher than they were at home, because the wet and rainy days mostly kept us inside, happy to have the fake fireplace space heater working its magic.
No matter the temperatures, there is something about looking out the balcony window and seeing the water lapping against the shore that is good for the soul.
I applied for Social Security benefits the evening of my 66th birthday. I did this online and was amazed at how easy it was. The process was so efficient, I (wrongly) expected the checks to start arriving quickly. My first check arrived almost two months after I applied, after we had used up virtually ALL ready cash, making me sweat just a little.
But now that income stream seems to be flowing efficiently. I'm now consolidating several Mutual Funds under one umbrella so that we can also start a "systematic withdrawal plan" from them.
It's hard to describe how this makes me feel...
I started contributing to a fund in 1972 with the hope of retiring rich.
Now, 41 years later, I find myself saddened by how little all that squirreling away is gonna buy... certainly MUCH less than I hoped, considering the self-denying we've had to do for YEARS to save that money. The recent hit taken by the stock market is responsible for part of that. The fact that I started being more conservative with my investments as we approached retirement is also responsible. Looking back, not being able to see how I could have handled it differently is small comfort. But here we are, and I DO take comfort in the fact we ARE rich in many ways...
We are in great health.
And we CAN retire.
That's sayin' a LOT.
But it IS an odd feeling planning to withdraw money, rather than saving more for some future date.
What else can I say about retirement?
Well, I'm still trying to sort out a routine. I was going buggy so I went to the Destin airport to chat with the guy flying helicopter tours down the beach and volunteered my services. They really don't have much work there until the Spring-Breakers descend upon the town, and I got the feeling the young Whipper-snapper flying the R44 there really didn't want some old fart coming in, stealing time that could be logged in his logbook.
So I got no return call. Maybe next year?
And SJ and I have both added about 10 pounds to our bulk.
Cold/wet/windy days lead to laughing at one another when the question "Do you want to go for a walk?" was asked. The next step, after the laughing had died down, was to head for the 'fridge to get an adult beverage.
We soon found ourselves in "Jimmy Buffett" mode...
"It's five O'Clock somewhere, right!?"
More laughter. Well, it IS grape juice, isn't it?
And grape juice is good for you!
The weather here in our Northern home is beautiful... cool, crisp nights. Warm, breezy/mostly sunny days. Buds on the trees look like they could explode.
And, ashamed of ourselves for our "Dunlap's disease", we've actually walked more here than we did all Winter in Destin.
I've already lost four pounds. SJ has lost more.
I think this retirement business is gonna be O.K..
We just have to continue to adjust to it.
And WE either have to dramatically increase our amount of exercise, or cut back on "Jimmy Buffett" mode.
I'll update you soon on how that turns out.
The wind is outta my sail. Like many of you, I'm dismayed at what is happening all around me and more dismayed by the fact that few folks around me seem to care. Why can they not see what is just around the corner? My son will be 30 in July and I'm furious that there's NO WAY he can experience the country I grew up in. It's gone. Forever.
Why aren't my neighbors with several kids in an uproar?
So for me, it's hard to pump up the motivation to write anything.
But much has happened and I need to chronicle it.
So let's catch up-
We spent most of the Winter in the condo in Destin. My EMS co-workers coordinated with me so I could work two weeks, then take two weeks off. Sara Jean and I headed South during the two week hiatus in November, December, and January.
I retired (really this time!) 26 January and we spent all of February and March overlooking the Gulf of Mexico from our balcony, coming home three or four days at the end of each month to grab the mail and insure that burst plumbing wasn't ruining our home here in the Great White North. With neighbors all around watching over the place, getting the mail actually was the main reason for the trip.
Did you know the U.S. Postal Service now charges a fee to forward your mail? I was surprised too.
Winter in Destin this year was wet and cool... kind of a surprise. We carried the GoldWing down our first trip hoping to get in some riding during the time that would either be impossible or uncomfortable in our Northern home.
But the damp, cool weather in Destin didn't much lend itself to two-wheeled therapy.
I did use the bike quite a bit to run short errands. But I was absolutely amazed at how quickly the salt air/spray ate up the chrome on the machine. All of the chrome now needs major elbow grease, or maybe rehab/replacing.
I now question my plan to take a newer, more expensive machine down next year.
And this Winter, if we have a repeat of last year, I may not go to the (considerable) trouble of loading a bike in the back of the Ram Diesel at all.
We still have not adjusted to retirement. I'm told by some that it may take me more than a year.
In February, when we first got to Destin full-time, I found myself rising at 0530 or so, turning on the computer and listening to our radio station back home for news and weather. (We wanted to be able to justify to ourselves the expense of spending all the money we've spent to Winter on the Gulf.) We had to mostly content ourselves with the fact our temperatures in Destin were 20 or more degrees higher than they were at home, because the wet and rainy days mostly kept us inside, happy to have the fake fireplace space heater working its magic.
No matter the temperatures, there is something about looking out the balcony window and seeing the water lapping against the shore that is good for the soul.
I applied for Social Security benefits the evening of my 66th birthday. I did this online and was amazed at how easy it was. The process was so efficient, I (wrongly) expected the checks to start arriving quickly. My first check arrived almost two months after I applied, after we had used up virtually ALL ready cash, making me sweat just a little.
But now that income stream seems to be flowing efficiently. I'm now consolidating several Mutual Funds under one umbrella so that we can also start a "systematic withdrawal plan" from them.
It's hard to describe how this makes me feel...
I started contributing to a fund in 1972 with the hope of retiring rich.
Now, 41 years later, I find myself saddened by how little all that squirreling away is gonna buy... certainly MUCH less than I hoped, considering the self-denying we've had to do for YEARS to save that money. The recent hit taken by the stock market is responsible for part of that. The fact that I started being more conservative with my investments as we approached retirement is also responsible. Looking back, not being able to see how I could have handled it differently is small comfort. But here we are, and I DO take comfort in the fact we ARE rich in many ways...
We are in great health.
And we CAN retire.
That's sayin' a LOT.
But it IS an odd feeling planning to withdraw money, rather than saving more for some future date.
What else can I say about retirement?
Well, I'm still trying to sort out a routine. I was going buggy so I went to the Destin airport to chat with the guy flying helicopter tours down the beach and volunteered my services. They really don't have much work there until the Spring-Breakers descend upon the town, and I got the feeling the young Whipper-snapper flying the R44 there really didn't want some old fart coming in, stealing time that could be logged in his logbook.
So I got no return call. Maybe next year?
And SJ and I have both added about 10 pounds to our bulk.
Cold/wet/windy days lead to laughing at one another when the question "Do you want to go for a walk?" was asked. The next step, after the laughing had died down, was to head for the 'fridge to get an adult beverage.
We soon found ourselves in "Jimmy Buffett" mode...
"It's five O'Clock somewhere, right!?"
More laughter. Well, it IS grape juice, isn't it?
And grape juice is good for you!
The weather here in our Northern home is beautiful... cool, crisp nights. Warm, breezy/mostly sunny days. Buds on the trees look like they could explode.
And, ashamed of ourselves for our "Dunlap's disease", we've actually walked more here than we did all Winter in Destin.
I've already lost four pounds. SJ has lost more.
I think this retirement business is gonna be O.K..
We just have to continue to adjust to it.
And WE either have to dramatically increase our amount of exercise, or cut back on "Jimmy Buffett" mode.
I'll update you soon on how that turns out.
16 March 2013
Paulette And Katy
Sara Jean and I play a game- "Brad Pitt is IN THE HOUSE!"
When we see someone who looks like a celebrity or a friend, one of us will announce it to the other. And we almost always see things similarly.
This morning, while searching one of my favorite sites, Imdb.com, I was searching for trivia and pics of an actress that always made my heart go "pitter-pat".
A "nagging" started in the back of my noggin.
Here's my heart-throb, Paulette:
My nagging thoughts continued until I figured out why.
See if you agree that "Paulette is IN THE HOUSE!":
That's Katy Perry.
I tried to find a good black and white photo of Katy for an "apples to apples" comparison, but failed.
Sara Jean and I agree on this one.
They could be sisters.
What do you think?
When we see someone who looks like a celebrity or a friend, one of us will announce it to the other. And we almost always see things similarly.
This morning, while searching one of my favorite sites, Imdb.com, I was searching for trivia and pics of an actress that always made my heart go "pitter-pat".
A "nagging" started in the back of my noggin.
Here's my heart-throb, Paulette:
My nagging thoughts continued until I figured out why.
See if you agree that "Paulette is IN THE HOUSE!":
That's Katy Perry.
I tried to find a good black and white photo of Katy for an "apples to apples" comparison, but failed.
Sara Jean and I agree on this one.
They could be sisters.
What do you think?
10 March 2013
Our Nation, Post-Racial
Conceited.
Arrogant.
Over-confident.
I've been called these, and worse.
I understand.
If we disagree, I'm a hard guy to like. I'll make you defend your position, and if you can't, you may find yourself wishing we hadn't met.
This attitude has cost me friendships. It has strained relationships with loved ones.
I used to think that was a bad thing.
Not any more.
Some time back a loved one said something to the effect, "I'm not gonna play that game." It wasn't intended to be profound at the time, but it had a dramatic effect on me.
I was, more and more, wondering how we could possibly be making the choices we were making as a nation. I started paying closer attention to what those around me were saying about the course they wanted to see the Nation taking.
I was amazed.
Some people are lazy.
Some people don't know history... it's harsh to call them stupid, but it's SO hard not to embarrass them when they get into Neville Chamberlain territory.
So I'm now into "I no longer play that game" territory.
Don't like me? That's okay.
Don't agree with me? That's okay too. I don't care.
I don't want you in my life.
I don't even want you dabbling around the edges of my life.
We're in trouble.
I'm pedalling as fast as I can to protect me and those I love.
If you give a flip about who fathered Kim Kardashian's baby,
I won't bother to discuss the time of day with you.
I no longer play that game.
Post-racial?
(Spit.)
Angry? You bet.
Why aren't you?
Arrogant.
Over-confident.
I've been called these, and worse.
I understand.
If we disagree, I'm a hard guy to like. I'll make you defend your position, and if you can't, you may find yourself wishing we hadn't met.
This attitude has cost me friendships. It has strained relationships with loved ones.
I used to think that was a bad thing.
Not any more.
Some time back a loved one said something to the effect, "I'm not gonna play that game." It wasn't intended to be profound at the time, but it had a dramatic effect on me.
I was, more and more, wondering how we could possibly be making the choices we were making as a nation. I started paying closer attention to what those around me were saying about the course they wanted to see the Nation taking.
I was amazed.
Some people are lazy.
Some people don't know history... it's harsh to call them stupid, but it's SO hard not to embarrass them when they get into Neville Chamberlain territory.
So I'm now into "I no longer play that game" territory.
Don't like me? That's okay.
Don't agree with me? That's okay too. I don't care.
I don't want you in my life.
I don't even want you dabbling around the edges of my life.
We're in trouble.
I'm pedalling as fast as I can to protect me and those I love.
If you give a flip about who fathered Kim Kardashian's baby,
I won't bother to discuss the time of day with you.
I no longer play that game.
Post-racial?
(Spit.)
Angry? You bet.
Why aren't you?
05 March 2013
Life Requires Responsibility
If you're paying "Attention to detail, candidate!", you already know some of my past.
If you haven't been curious enough to dig on your own, lemme tell ya-
I was once a Dog Catcher. (Became HEAD Dog Catcher of the fastest-growing county in the United States at the time with 28 Animal Control Officers working under my supervision.)
Ever watch Cesar Milan? He talks about "helping dogs and TRAINING OWNERS."
That's so true it hurts.
Lemme relate a story-
The gal came into the office and said she had a Momma and puppies she "needed us to find owners for."
I followed her back to her car to find the back seat completely covered by a Doberman bitch and eight pups. The female Dobie had found a way to expose her backside to a pureblooded Black Labrador retriever, and the pups were all black except for the tiny brown markings over their eyebrows.
Absolutely beautiful animals.
"You want us to find owners for these pups? Have you tried to find owners for them yourself?"
"Yes, Momma AND pups. But no one wants them."
"Well, sadly, let me tell you what will most likely happen here. We MUST keep them for five days. IF someone comes in looking for an adoption, they'll get to look at your Mom and pups.
BUT, we have VERY FEW folks coming by these days. So it is VERY likely that in five days I'll be putting your dogs into our nitrogen chamber to euthanize them."
It was like I had slapped her in the face. (And I was happy to see that reaction.)
We had a few more minutes of chat about how terrible the animal control situation was. She then got back into her car and drove home with Momma Dobie and her pups in the back seat.
A week or so later I was dismayed when I recognized her car as it pulled into our drive.
She got out of the car crying. I walked out and met her wordlessly.
I got a box for the puppies. She lead Mom to the kennel on a leash.
Momma Doberman and her beautiful pups were our guests in the same cage...
For five days.
When times get tough, money gets tight.
When money gets tight, that 50-pound bag of dog food begins to look expensive; like a spot where you could be saving a few $$$$. And a BIG dog can go through 50 pounds of expensive food in a hurry.
It's one thing to have one big dog.
It's another altogether to have NINE of 'em.
(And they make human-sized Poo-Poo too!)
Another of those jobs we need to be thinking about when we thank those who do jobs we don't want to do/CANNOT do, is animal control.
Putting those beautiful animals down was another thing that "brought on the rain".
But turning them loose to be hit on the road or otherwise neglected/mistreated was unthinkable.
Another celebrity, Bob Barker, had it right...
This was, and IS, a much bigger problem than most realize:
"Spay or neuter".
It minimizes the tears that are shed by owners,
AND by animal control officers.
If you haven't been curious enough to dig on your own, lemme tell ya-
I was once a Dog Catcher. (Became HEAD Dog Catcher of the fastest-growing county in the United States at the time with 28 Animal Control Officers working under my supervision.)
Ever watch Cesar Milan? He talks about "helping dogs and TRAINING OWNERS."
That's so true it hurts.
Lemme relate a story-
The gal came into the office and said she had a Momma and puppies she "needed us to find owners for."
I followed her back to her car to find the back seat completely covered by a Doberman bitch and eight pups. The female Dobie had found a way to expose her backside to a pureblooded Black Labrador retriever, and the pups were all black except for the tiny brown markings over their eyebrows.
Absolutely beautiful animals.
"You want us to find owners for these pups? Have you tried to find owners for them yourself?"
"Yes, Momma AND pups. But no one wants them."
"Well, sadly, let me tell you what will most likely happen here. We MUST keep them for five days. IF someone comes in looking for an adoption, they'll get to look at your Mom and pups.
BUT, we have VERY FEW folks coming by these days. So it is VERY likely that in five days I'll be putting your dogs into our nitrogen chamber to euthanize them."
It was like I had slapped her in the face. (And I was happy to see that reaction.)
We had a few more minutes of chat about how terrible the animal control situation was. She then got back into her car and drove home with Momma Dobie and her pups in the back seat.
A week or so later I was dismayed when I recognized her car as it pulled into our drive.
She got out of the car crying. I walked out and met her wordlessly.
I got a box for the puppies. She lead Mom to the kennel on a leash.
Momma Doberman and her beautiful pups were our guests in the same cage...
For five days.
When times get tough, money gets tight.
When money gets tight, that 50-pound bag of dog food begins to look expensive; like a spot where you could be saving a few $$$$. And a BIG dog can go through 50 pounds of expensive food in a hurry.
It's one thing to have one big dog.
It's another altogether to have NINE of 'em.
(And they make human-sized Poo-Poo too!)
Another of those jobs we need to be thinking about when we thank those who do jobs we don't want to do/CANNOT do, is animal control.
Putting those beautiful animals down was another thing that "brought on the rain".
But turning them loose to be hit on the road or otherwise neglected/mistreated was unthinkable.
Another celebrity, Bob Barker, had it right...
This was, and IS, a much bigger problem than most realize:
"Spay or neuter".
It minimizes the tears that are shed by owners,
AND by animal control officers.
01 March 2013
How Do Da Weather Know?
It takes all kinds of fruits and nuts to make a good salad, right?
Some like cold weather. (I think they're NUTS, but tolerate them for the sake of entertainment.)
Our decision to Winter in Destin came because the Florida panhandle DOES experience a change of seasons. Last night for instance, the temperature there dropped into the mid-30's. If the wind is blowing as it normally does when temps drop that low, you had better have a warm jacket handy.
And then there's the rain. It has rained a LOT the past month. The poor GoldWing has been sitting in the parking lot like some poor critter trying to find shelter, and there ain't none to be found. Mist off the Gulf is full of salt, which is taking its toll on all the chrome pieces. I haven't had much ability to knock the chrome monster down because of all the rain. I'm resigned to the fact that the poor bike will maybe need some "Kentucky chrome" added to those parts that are now brownish-orange.
Of course we watch the weather a lot, both to see IF tomorrow will be good for riding, and to see what the weather is doing elsewhere.
We've been surprised at how mild the Winter has been so far back home in the Midwest. But "mild" still means it normally is at least 20 degrees colder at home than in Destin. Cold is what I wanted to avoid.
I'll take the rain, providing it stays warmer than back home.
We came home last week to check on our house, grab the mail, renew license tags, and run errands.
We're headed back South tomorrow, provided I get the oil and filter changed in the Ram/Cummins Diesel. We've been watching the Destin weather since we got here... It's been sunny and mid 60's there every day.
Here at home? Clouds. Rain. SNOW! Down to 32 or less most every evening.
How do it know?
The panhandle forecast for our return looks like two-wheeling weather so far.
Let's see if that changes once we are back in residence overlooking the emerald waters.
Some like cold weather. (I think they're NUTS, but tolerate them for the sake of entertainment.)
Our decision to Winter in Destin came because the Florida panhandle DOES experience a change of seasons. Last night for instance, the temperature there dropped into the mid-30's. If the wind is blowing as it normally does when temps drop that low, you had better have a warm jacket handy.
And then there's the rain. It has rained a LOT the past month. The poor GoldWing has been sitting in the parking lot like some poor critter trying to find shelter, and there ain't none to be found. Mist off the Gulf is full of salt, which is taking its toll on all the chrome pieces. I haven't had much ability to knock the chrome monster down because of all the rain. I'm resigned to the fact that the poor bike will maybe need some "Kentucky chrome" added to those parts that are now brownish-orange.
Of course we watch the weather a lot, both to see IF tomorrow will be good for riding, and to see what the weather is doing elsewhere.
We've been surprised at how mild the Winter has been so far back home in the Midwest. But "mild" still means it normally is at least 20 degrees colder at home than in Destin. Cold is what I wanted to avoid.
I'll take the rain, providing it stays warmer than back home.
We came home last week to check on our house, grab the mail, renew license tags, and run errands.
We're headed back South tomorrow, provided I get the oil and filter changed in the Ram/Cummins Diesel. We've been watching the Destin weather since we got here... It's been sunny and mid 60's there every day.
Here at home? Clouds. Rain. SNOW! Down to 32 or less most every evening.
How do it know?
The panhandle forecast for our return looks like two-wheeling weather so far.
Let's see if that changes once we are back in residence overlooking the emerald waters.
18 February 2013
Tuber Shooter
It was one of those "Hey, watch this!" moments.
He shoved a potato(e?) into the end of the barrel and rammed it home with a stick.
He then unscrewed a cap beneath the barrel, sprayed a three-second spritz of hair spray into that compartment, then replaced the cap.
He shouldered the contraption, pulled the trigger, and sent the spud hurtling more than a football field's distance.
I was stunned.
I couldn't help myself... uncontrolled laughing followed.
We then proceeded to use up a $2 can of hairspray and send a $5 bag of potato(e?)s downrange in less than 10 minutes, giggling all the while.
Not really a toy, the potato slug leaves the barrel at a rate that would probably kill a nearby person struck in the chest by the projectile.
Ever fire one? It's a hoot. I recommend it.
I bet it puts a smile on your face.
But as with most anything that fires a projectile, be careful!
Detailed construction plans for one type here.
He shoved a potato(e?) into the end of the barrel and rammed it home with a stick.
He then unscrewed a cap beneath the barrel, sprayed a three-second spritz of hair spray into that compartment, then replaced the cap.
He shouldered the contraption, pulled the trigger, and sent the spud hurtling more than a football field's distance.
I was stunned.
I couldn't help myself... uncontrolled laughing followed.
We then proceeded to use up a $2 can of hairspray and send a $5 bag of potato(e?)s downrange in less than 10 minutes, giggling all the while.
Not really a toy, the potato slug leaves the barrel at a rate that would probably kill a nearby person struck in the chest by the projectile.
Ever fire one? It's a hoot. I recommend it.
I bet it puts a smile on your face.
But as with most anything that fires a projectile, be careful!
Detailed construction plans for one type here.
15 February 2013
Headed South, (But It's STILL Gonna Be Cold!)
My Dad was a pilot.
Virtually all my (paternal-side, three of 'em) Uncles were pilots.
When I applied for flight school I asked to become a fixed-wing pilot.
The ARMY ignored that request, thank GOD. (BOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRIINNNNG!)
Today we depart Destin for Hernando Florida.
The reason for our travel is to attend a fly-in Memorial for my Dad's brother. VERY active in the Experimental Aircraft Association, he built an airplane similar to the one shown above. (Many other airplanes too.)
God willing, we'll be meeting Little Lotta, Joe, (and maybe Beau!) tonight for dinner.
Pray that we DO NOT catch whatever gallopin' gump she's carrying!
Stay tuned.
And watch the Police blotter.
14 February 2013
Perceiving The World
She goes with us nearly everywhere.
When we're driving home there is a point where we say nothing, but knowingly look at one another.
Lucy sleeps on Sara Jean's lap when we're in the car. She's a great traveller, sleeps continually until we stop for a potty break. At those stops I don't even have to leash her; she prances behind me to the designated spot, squats, does the typical useless scratching at the ground to "cover up" what she's done, then follows me back to the car.
No dog is more efficient.
So after Sara Jean and I glance at one another we start watching her.
There is a point about two blocks from home where Lucy will awaken, sniff the air, and cross over to my lap to look out the driver's-side window.
She knows we're home. And it happens at almost exactly the same spot EVERY TIME.
Now we've been in Destin off and on for a little over two months. Lucy goes with us nearly everywhere here too... she waits in the car when we go out to eat, go grocery shopping, etc..
And SJ and I now have a new place where we quietly glance at one another, then start watching her out of the corner of our eye.
How do they know?
It's GOT to be sense of smell, to awaken her from sleep.
I would love to know what goes through her mind,
but I'm not at all sure I'd like my sense of smell to be that acute!
13 February 2013
Reality Show
From our balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico we can see all the traffic entering and exiting the condo complex.
Our interest is piqued anytime the vehicle entering the complex has a light bar on top. Two days ago we raced from the front balcony to the rear when a Sheriff's Deputy pulled into the drive. The female officer parked across the lot from our unit and a female neighbor I recognized but have not had close contact with, got out of her car and met the Officer.
The neighbor is a tall, slight, tired and gaunt looking individual. She is civil anytime I greet her, but obviously wants no further conversation; sort of "Hi. Now leave me alone, thank you."
It's a cool, breezy night and she is dressed in pants and a blouse with an afghan draped around her shoulders.
Our own personal episode of "COPS" is unfolding before our eyes.
Not wanting to appear obvious in our curiosity (and because of the temperature), we stood inside our sliding-glass door and watched gestures and demeanor. The neighbor wasn't crying. She talked with the deputy several minutes, then the deputy turned her head to talk into the speaker-microphone attached to her left epaulet.
Soon another deputy quietly arrived, male this time. He chatted with the lady officer, then walked to the corner of the line of condos to our rear, carefully peaked around the corner down the line, then walked all the way down the line of condos, emerging at the other end and returning.
More talk all around.
Another deputy arrives.
The maintenance man arrives carrying passkeys. More talk.
A Fire Truck goes by and parks in the lot of a nearby restaurant about two blocks away. (We have "Public Service Officers" here, so these guys are all paramedics.)
Two Sheriff's Department pickup trucks arrive, adding two more uniformed deputies to the mix.
"What do you think is going on?" Sara Jean asks.
"I think it's a domestic dispute" I respond. "These things can turn really ugly in a flash and it's one of the jobs our Law Enforcement Officers hate most."
Everyone huddles. One of the deputies is on a cell phone... talking with the guy inside the condo?
He hangs up. More huddling. The female neighbor gestures in a way that I decipher as "Up the stairs and to the right"...
That's where the bedrooms are in those units. She then gestures with two fingers and an upward movement, then one finger down...
Two bathrooms upstairs, one down?
One of the Deputies gets the keys from our maintenance guy, walks to the front door and enters.
I pray I don't hear gunfire.
I don't.
He soon emerges with our male neighbor with hands behind his back, handcuffed. He's barefoot, dressed in a bathrobe. He shouts something at her. She responds, but her level of response carries about half the emotion. He's loaded in the back of squad car number two and transported away.
Some talk with the female neighbor follows to insure she is well, then our public servants all vacate the premises.
"Handcuff's" significant other enters the condo, comes out with a box of stuff, and drives away.
Next morning dawns with more of the same... cool, rainy, breezy. I'm surfing the 'net when I notice her drive up and get out of her (their?) car. She goes back into the condo and comes out with an armload of clothing on hangers. She returns to the condo and comes out with two boxes filled with the stuff of life. One more trip yields another box full.
She then drives away.
Late in the afternoon I notice a taxi pull into the lot. From it emerges the male neighbor, sans handcuffs.
He enters the condo, spends about an hour there, then leaves.
We've seen neither of them since.
When I'm safe, warm, belly full, sharing time with a woman I love, I force myself to remember...
Others are not so lucky.
For whatever reason, many are living day-to-day, surviving one difficult event after another.
Most of us are blessed.
If that describes you, say a prayer of thanks.
And remind yourself to commit an act of kindness next time you can. It may mean more than you imagine to someone you don't even know.
Our interest is piqued anytime the vehicle entering the complex has a light bar on top. Two days ago we raced from the front balcony to the rear when a Sheriff's Deputy pulled into the drive. The female officer parked across the lot from our unit and a female neighbor I recognized but have not had close contact with, got out of her car and met the Officer.
The neighbor is a tall, slight, tired and gaunt looking individual. She is civil anytime I greet her, but obviously wants no further conversation; sort of "Hi. Now leave me alone, thank you."
It's a cool, breezy night and she is dressed in pants and a blouse with an afghan draped around her shoulders.
Our own personal episode of "COPS" is unfolding before our eyes.
Not wanting to appear obvious in our curiosity (and because of the temperature), we stood inside our sliding-glass door and watched gestures and demeanor. The neighbor wasn't crying. She talked with the deputy several minutes, then the deputy turned her head to talk into the speaker-microphone attached to her left epaulet.
Soon another deputy quietly arrived, male this time. He chatted with the lady officer, then walked to the corner of the line of condos to our rear, carefully peaked around the corner down the line, then walked all the way down the line of condos, emerging at the other end and returning.
More talk all around.
Another deputy arrives.
The maintenance man arrives carrying passkeys. More talk.
A Fire Truck goes by and parks in the lot of a nearby restaurant about two blocks away. (We have "Public Service Officers" here, so these guys are all paramedics.)
Two Sheriff's Department pickup trucks arrive, adding two more uniformed deputies to the mix.
"What do you think is going on?" Sara Jean asks.
"I think it's a domestic dispute" I respond. "These things can turn really ugly in a flash and it's one of the jobs our Law Enforcement Officers hate most."
Everyone huddles. One of the deputies is on a cell phone... talking with the guy inside the condo?
He hangs up. More huddling. The female neighbor gestures in a way that I decipher as "Up the stairs and to the right"...
That's where the bedrooms are in those units. She then gestures with two fingers and an upward movement, then one finger down...
Two bathrooms upstairs, one down?
One of the Deputies gets the keys from our maintenance guy, walks to the front door and enters.
I pray I don't hear gunfire.
I don't.
He soon emerges with our male neighbor with hands behind his back, handcuffed. He's barefoot, dressed in a bathrobe. He shouts something at her. She responds, but her level of response carries about half the emotion. He's loaded in the back of squad car number two and transported away.
Some talk with the female neighbor follows to insure she is well, then our public servants all vacate the premises.
"Handcuff's" significant other enters the condo, comes out with a box of stuff, and drives away.
Next morning dawns with more of the same... cool, rainy, breezy. I'm surfing the 'net when I notice her drive up and get out of her (their?) car. She goes back into the condo and comes out with an armload of clothing on hangers. She returns to the condo and comes out with two boxes filled with the stuff of life. One more trip yields another box full.
She then drives away.
Late in the afternoon I notice a taxi pull into the lot. From it emerges the male neighbor, sans handcuffs.
He enters the condo, spends about an hour there, then leaves.
We've seen neither of them since.
When I'm safe, warm, belly full, sharing time with a woman I love, I force myself to remember...
Others are not so lucky.
For whatever reason, many are living day-to-day, surviving one difficult event after another.
Most of us are blessed.
If that describes you, say a prayer of thanks.
And remind yourself to commit an act of kindness next time you can. It may mean more than you imagine to someone you don't even know.
09 February 2013
Re-Tired
Is it necessary to have been tired in order to be "re"tired?
Well I wasn't, so I guess technically I ain't.
My folks used to Winter in Key West. Back in those days I'd start my shift at work by doing a thorough check of the weather I'd be dealing with, then I'd check the weather they were experiencing.
It always put a smile on my face, knowing they'd be walking around in T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of sandals in mid-70 degree weather while I was dealing with cold, (sometimes below zero), freezing precip, frozen precip, and often cloudy and depressing weather.
So now our lives have CHANGED and we're at the other end.
How odd to be here in Destin looking at a clear blue sky, turquoise water lapping at snow white sand, while wearing a pair of shorts and (today) a sweatshirt in 65 degree temps, while watching video of the Northeast getting blown away with two feet of snow piled wall-high by near-hurricane force winds.
Now I'm smiling for us!
It's been three weeks since we said goodbye to beloved co-workers.
Back in the great white North we shut down our mail, coordinated with our neighbors to keep an eye on our home and do a now-and-then walk through to insure pipes hadn't burst, pointed the car South, and waved bye-bye.
We've actually been in residence in the condo two weeks.
And we're both beginning to get a little itchy.
We walk at least two miles a day. Sara Jean sunbathes. We watch as the sun sinks into the Gulf when clouds permit. I drove to Pensacola last week and brought Mother to visit with us four days.
All that is wonderful.
But I've always thought that maybe I'd get tired of being retired, and those thoughts are now being realized...
For both of us, hangin' around watching movies, eating popcorn, and sucking down adult beverages is only cool when we're doing it to relax after having done something fulfilling.
And just cleaning and doing touchup work in the condo ain't fulfilling. A trip to WalMart for necessities isn't enough stimulation. There's gotta be something else added to our lives to keep us happy.
There's a guy down here flying an R44 up and down the beach, obviously doin' tours.
I went to the airport last week and asked if they needed a backup pilot. The pilot on duty gave me a phone number to call to inquire, and when I called the guy he asked the obvious question...
"What kind of experience do you have?"
I think he was stunned by my response. (And if I was him, my "B.S." meter would have pegged.)
But we have an acquaintance in common, and I suggested he should call him to verify my credentials.
I hope he does.
I hope by next month it will be me flying tours up and down the beach, part-time.
I need to be busy, and the idea of watching for sharks and getting a different perspective of my neighborhood is kinda exciting.
I'll let ya know if this poor unemployed soul gets work.
Stay tuned.
Well I wasn't, so I guess technically I ain't.
My folks used to Winter in Key West. Back in those days I'd start my shift at work by doing a thorough check of the weather I'd be dealing with, then I'd check the weather they were experiencing.
It always put a smile on my face, knowing they'd be walking around in T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of sandals in mid-70 degree weather while I was dealing with cold, (sometimes below zero), freezing precip, frozen precip, and often cloudy and depressing weather.
So now our lives have CHANGED and we're at the other end.
How odd to be here in Destin looking at a clear blue sky, turquoise water lapping at snow white sand, while wearing a pair of shorts and (today) a sweatshirt in 65 degree temps, while watching video of the Northeast getting blown away with two feet of snow piled wall-high by near-hurricane force winds.
Now I'm smiling for us!
It's been three weeks since we said goodbye to beloved co-workers.
Back in the great white North we shut down our mail, coordinated with our neighbors to keep an eye on our home and do a now-and-then walk through to insure pipes hadn't burst, pointed the car South, and waved bye-bye.
We've actually been in residence in the condo two weeks.
And we're both beginning to get a little itchy.
We walk at least two miles a day. Sara Jean sunbathes. We watch as the sun sinks into the Gulf when clouds permit. I drove to Pensacola last week and brought Mother to visit with us four days.
All that is wonderful.
But I've always thought that maybe I'd get tired of being retired, and those thoughts are now being realized...
For both of us, hangin' around watching movies, eating popcorn, and sucking down adult beverages is only cool when we're doing it to relax after having done something fulfilling.
And just cleaning and doing touchup work in the condo ain't fulfilling. A trip to WalMart for necessities isn't enough stimulation. There's gotta be something else added to our lives to keep us happy.
There's a guy down here flying an R44 up and down the beach, obviously doin' tours.
I went to the airport last week and asked if they needed a backup pilot. The pilot on duty gave me a phone number to call to inquire, and when I called the guy he asked the obvious question...
"What kind of experience do you have?"
I think he was stunned by my response. (And if I was him, my "B.S." meter would have pegged.)
But we have an acquaintance in common, and I suggested he should call him to verify my credentials.
I hope he does.
I hope by next month it will be me flying tours up and down the beach, part-time.
I need to be busy, and the idea of watching for sharks and getting a different perspective of my neighborhood is kinda exciting.
I'll let ya know if this poor unemployed soul gets work.
Stay tuned.
06 February 2013
Meet The Blogger!
Ya start reading blogs, and from the words, try to imagine what the authors would be like.
Read the words long enough and you can't help but have a good idea whether or not you'd like to have a personal relationship with the writer.
But is it wise to actually meet?
Or is it better to continue imagining?
I have pulled the trigger on meeting several of the folks who stop by and leave comments here.
Cary, Larry, Helen, Rita, Mark... others I may be disremembering. (Not intentionally).
So far, "Meet the Blogger(s)" has been quite the pleasant experience. And I also think meeting someone and having the ability to put a face to the words has enhanced the experience of reading those blogs.
This month (fingers crossed) I'll be adding another face to my reading experience, providing she doesn't die beforehand. We're going to a memorial fly-in for an uncle, and that event just happens to be unfolding in a town where a favorite blogger lives. When she found we'd be in her neighborhood she suggested dinner one evening.
I think the meeting will be a hoot, provided she has recovered from what she is calling "New Moan-ya".
And if she's fully healthy, we may even start planning something nefarious.
I'll let ya know.
Read the words long enough and you can't help but have a good idea whether or not you'd like to have a personal relationship with the writer.
But is it wise to actually meet?
Or is it better to continue imagining?
I have pulled the trigger on meeting several of the folks who stop by and leave comments here.
Cary, Larry, Helen, Rita, Mark... others I may be disremembering. (Not intentionally).
So far, "Meet the Blogger(s)" has been quite the pleasant experience. And I also think meeting someone and having the ability to put a face to the words has enhanced the experience of reading those blogs.
This month (fingers crossed) I'll be adding another face to my reading experience, providing she doesn't die beforehand. We're going to a memorial fly-in for an uncle, and that event just happens to be unfolding in a town where a favorite blogger lives. When she found we'd be in her neighborhood she suggested dinner one evening.
I think the meeting will be a hoot, provided she has recovered from what she is calling "New Moan-ya".
And if she's fully healthy, we may even start planning something nefarious.
I'll let ya know.
30 January 2013
House of Cards
An economist I trust is now saying our "actual" deficit for the last fiscal year will turn out to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 6.9 TRILLION dollars. And, as if that wasn't extraordinary enough, our national "leaders" are doing nothing to get the situation under control...
On the contrary, they're pouring gasoline on the fire.
People, it's just a question of time until this untenable situation becomes obvious even to the most ardent Obama supporter. And I fear that time is just around the corner.
Do what you can to protect yourself and your family.
Or don't.
On the contrary, they're pouring gasoline on the fire.
People, it's just a question of time until this untenable situation becomes obvious even to the most ardent Obama supporter. And I fear that time is just around the corner.
Do what you can to protect yourself and your family.
Or don't.
25 January 2013
And Then There Was One.
It's my birthday.
I am 66 years of age today, and eligible for full Social Security benefits.
Coincidentally, tonight happens to be my last night at a job I have been doing for over 26 years.
I have always loved this job because I feel God has used my talents to help others.
I love the flying.
I love the professionals I work with.
But the entire medicine-related industry is changing, and I fear it will change dramatically over the next months. And on the "pluses and minuses scale", those changes are making the job less and less satisfying.
And then there is that undeniable "66 years old" detail, (and the 45 years of being subjected to a VERY noisy environment thing)...
Two years ago I got tired of not being able to read tower frequencies off my charts at night and succumbed to wearing glasses all the time.
I drive my fellow employees nuts with the volume on the aircraft's radios and the community TV because I'm more and more deaf.
So it's time to hang it up.
I have LOVED THIS JOB so, and walking out the door Saturday morning will be one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I want to leave while my med-crews are sad to see me go.
It's time.
Turn the page.
I am 66 years of age today, and eligible for full Social Security benefits.
Coincidentally, tonight happens to be my last night at a job I have been doing for over 26 years.
I have always loved this job because I feel God has used my talents to help others.
I love the flying.
I love the professionals I work with.
But the entire medicine-related industry is changing, and I fear it will change dramatically over the next months. And on the "pluses and minuses scale", those changes are making the job less and less satisfying.
And then there is that undeniable "66 years old" detail, (and the 45 years of being subjected to a VERY noisy environment thing)...
Two years ago I got tired of not being able to read tower frequencies off my charts at night and succumbed to wearing glasses all the time.
I drive my fellow employees nuts with the volume on the aircraft's radios and the community TV because I'm more and more deaf.
So it's time to hang it up.
I have LOVED THIS JOB so, and walking out the door Saturday morning will be one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I want to leave while my med-crews are sad to see me go.
It's time.
Turn the page.
20 January 2013
"Escapism"
Escapism from barry munsterteiger on Vimeo.
Some videos come VERY close to conveying the feeling of riding!
19 January 2013
Inger
Pretty?
Undeniably.
But not "Drop dead gorgeous"... just "girl-next-door" pretty.
For me there was something about her. A good actress,
I "believed" her in all her roles.
There was something else though...
I fell in love with her.
We often hear others say similar things describing Norma Jeane... a vulnerability that motivates men to protect a frightened gal. But Marilyn had blockbuster relationships with Joe DiMaggio, then Arthur Miller.
I knew NOTHING of Inger Stevens personal life. But there was something about her that gave off the "prey animal" vibe.
Maybe it was the fact that she was sick during much of her early years. Maybe her parents' divorce when she was nine tore a hole in her heart.
When I learned of her death in 1970, I was surprised how sad I felt.
Do we all go through the "If only I could have known her personally and shown her how much others really care about her" feelings?
Well, I did.
And when I look at her images or see her onscreen, large or small, my "protect" instincts are still stirred.
Inger...
I wish I could have known you.
But I was just a kid.
11 January 2013
Surviving?
If you've not already read the post below, read it now to understand my comments here.
Some time ago a female blogger started coming by here, leaving an intelligent comment now and then. I started reading her blog and we became "blogfriends". But it quickly became obvious there was a huge difference in our attitudes and outlook on life, particularly when the subject came to guns, and defending our families.
I tried to play the "Mama Grizzly" game with her...
"If your family was threatened, you'd come out with nails and fangs bared!"
But her response was that if the world sank to that level, she'd sooner be dead than use a firearm to kill another person, even a murderer.
I think most can imagine, IF we have a national emergency, society will break down. If there is no money to pay or otherwise reward them, I would think most Law Enforcement Officers would walk away from their posts to go home to protect their own families. (And if our machines break down or fuel is not available for them, those farther from work than walking distance will not make it to their jobs no matter what.)
But what about prisons?
What happens to the Jeffrey Dahmers, the Hannibal Lecters, the John Wayne Gacys of the world? Will prison officials summarily execute these people rather than turn them loose on the populace?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But some of them will be amongst us, preying on the weak and infirm.
And some of them will group together for mutual support.
Food and water, for those who have not prepared, will be a problem.
Food and water, for those of us who HAVE prepared, will be a problem.
To keep it, we'll have to defend it. We may THINK we can do that...
But what if we are faced with overwhelming numbers?
Then we might all feel my blogfriend had the right idea... we'd be better off just putting our own gun to our head.
And then there is the long-term scenario...
When there is NO food left, what happens then?
Donner Pass? The Andes Survivors?
Does desperation stoop to the level of hunting others simply for their caloric value?
We shudder.
But is it better to have thought about such things, to at least try to figure a way to surmount them?
Or do we just say, "I'd rather be dead"?
I still want to fight 'til my last breath.
But my last breath might come in a different way than I had originally thought.
Some time ago a female blogger started coming by here, leaving an intelligent comment now and then. I started reading her blog and we became "blogfriends". But it quickly became obvious there was a huge difference in our attitudes and outlook on life, particularly when the subject came to guns, and defending our families.
I tried to play the "Mama Grizzly" game with her...
"If your family was threatened, you'd come out with nails and fangs bared!"
But her response was that if the world sank to that level, she'd sooner be dead than use a firearm to kill another person, even a murderer.
I think most can imagine, IF we have a national emergency, society will break down. If there is no money to pay or otherwise reward them, I would think most Law Enforcement Officers would walk away from their posts to go home to protect their own families. (And if our machines break down or fuel is not available for them, those farther from work than walking distance will not make it to their jobs no matter what.)
But what about prisons?
What happens to the Jeffrey Dahmers, the Hannibal Lecters, the John Wayne Gacys of the world? Will prison officials summarily execute these people rather than turn them loose on the populace?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But some of them will be amongst us, preying on the weak and infirm.
And some of them will group together for mutual support.
Food and water, for those who have not prepared, will be a problem.
Food and water, for those of us who HAVE prepared, will be a problem.
To keep it, we'll have to defend it. We may THINK we can do that...
But what if we are faced with overwhelming numbers?
Then we might all feel my blogfriend had the right idea... we'd be better off just putting our own gun to our head.
And then there is the long-term scenario...
When there is NO food left, what happens then?
Donner Pass? The Andes Survivors?
Does desperation stoop to the level of hunting others simply for their caloric value?
We shudder.
But is it better to have thought about such things, to at least try to figure a way to surmount them?
Or do we just say, "I'd rather be dead"?
I still want to fight 'til my last breath.
But my last breath might come in a different way than I had originally thought.
10 January 2013
Kooks Like Me
I'm about halfway through reading it.
The idea that all our machines will be rendered inoperative by an Electromagnetic Pulse set me to wondering...
What would I have to do to my Dodge/Cummins diesel truck to make it EMP-proof?
Researching that lead me to a couple sites that think the possibility of our cars and trucks being disabled is a bunch of hooey. I'm gonna do further research... maybe one of you has good advice?
But the book is an interesting read. EMP, massive Hurricane, New Madrid fault shake, major epidemic, or economic collapse, the book helped me think of things I want to stock up on that I hadn't considered...
Soap, both bath and laundry.
Bleach.
Alcohol, rubbing and drinking. (I DID already know that booze and cigarettes will be in high demand and will be great for barter, as will surplus ammo, but hadn't considered rubbing alcohol for wound cleaning and other uses.)
Aspirin, Ibuprofen, Neosporin.
I'm sure there will be other revelations, and I'll share them when I'm finished with it.
In the meantime, if you, like me, are a Prepper-kook, grab yourself a copy...
At the very least it will remind you how wonderful it is to flip a light switch or push "start" on a microwave!
09 January 2013
Camp Enari
My first post in Viet Nam was with the 4th Infantry Division's general support aviation battalion at "Camp Enari", Pleiku. I've often wondered how the camp got its name, and was never in a position to research it when the question came to mind.
This afternoon, on my two-mile walk, I determined I would find the answer when I returned to the computer.
The answer to my question is interesting enough to share with you, my blog-friends.
Heroes, ALL.
This afternoon, on my two-mile walk, I determined I would find the answer when I returned to the computer.
The answer to my question is interesting enough to share with you, my blog-friends.
04 January 2013
Forest/Trees
The wind was VERY high when I landed to refuel at our base...
So high I didn't want to try to turn my tail into it in order to position the aircraft on the pad normally.
Nose pointed into the wind I landed, secured the aircraft, got out to see how much room I still had between hangar and tail-feathers, then buckled myself back into the aircraft to move it backwards another three feet so the fuel hose would be able to reach my fuel tank.
I then got out of the helicopter again and started to take the shortest route to the fuel pump...
Through the (nearly invisible) tail rotor.
Encounters with a helicopter tail rotor are violent, bloody, and almost universally fatal.
I was within two feet of being sliced and diced when I stopped short and realized my familiarity with this complex machine had almost ended in disaster.
Virtually everyone I know is fascinated by helicopters. I've now been flying them for 45 years, yet when I hear the sound of one approaching I will, if possible, drop what I'm doing and race outside to identify the machine and watch it pass... fascinated.
Just doing what they normally do, they are amazing.
And we who use them all the time are as familiar and comfortable with them as you are with your car.
Forty-five years of flying helicopters...
More than 26 of those years have been spent flying in the EMS role.
I spend more time with a cyclic in my right hand than I do with a steering wheel in both.
So you may understand how easy it is for me to say I've never considered my job really dangerous.
I've done it almost half my life now.
I do it well.
I take the inherent dangers in stride and accept them as part of the job.
And then LIFE slaps you in the face, and you get reminded that being more than a few feet off the ground isn't normal.
Moving across that firmament at 150 miles per hour isn't something humans were designed to do.
Flying high above the ground at 150 miles per hour, in the dark of night, with uncertain weather outside that complex aircraft can begin to be overwhelming.
So, now and then, aircraft and terra-firma come together violently.
And the rest of us in aviation take note, try to learn why, and continue to do the job.
But...
When it hits close to home, it's SO HARD.
When you hear they are all gone and realize you have shaken that hand, seen that smile, shared a story or two about mutual acquaintances, it's SO HARD.
We lost two aircraft this week.
Thankfully one of the accidents, although serious, wasn't fatal.
But the other took the lives of three good people... three folks taking what they felt were acceptable risks necessary to help others.
And they're all gone.
One of 'em, the pilot, was someone I had smiled with, shared stories with, knew to be a good guy.
Losing anyone in one of these accidents is tragic.
But knowing you will never again see that smile is an emotional blow that's like losing family.
They died trying to help others.
They knew being high above the ground going 150 miles per hour entailed risk.
And one of my hopes is, when we learn what happened here, the rest of us will be able to walk out, start the helicopter, and do the job more safely, remembering these wonderful, caring people.
Rest in peace, Med-Trans.
I'm glad I can remember the smiles.
So high I didn't want to try to turn my tail into it in order to position the aircraft on the pad normally.
Nose pointed into the wind I landed, secured the aircraft, got out to see how much room I still had between hangar and tail-feathers, then buckled myself back into the aircraft to move it backwards another three feet so the fuel hose would be able to reach my fuel tank.
I then got out of the helicopter again and started to take the shortest route to the fuel pump...
Through the (nearly invisible) tail rotor.
Encounters with a helicopter tail rotor are violent, bloody, and almost universally fatal.
I was within two feet of being sliced and diced when I stopped short and realized my familiarity with this complex machine had almost ended in disaster.
Virtually everyone I know is fascinated by helicopters. I've now been flying them for 45 years, yet when I hear the sound of one approaching I will, if possible, drop what I'm doing and race outside to identify the machine and watch it pass... fascinated.
Just doing what they normally do, they are amazing.
And we who use them all the time are as familiar and comfortable with them as you are with your car.
Forty-five years of flying helicopters...
More than 26 of those years have been spent flying in the EMS role.
I spend more time with a cyclic in my right hand than I do with a steering wheel in both.
So you may understand how easy it is for me to say I've never considered my job really dangerous.
I've done it almost half my life now.
I do it well.
I take the inherent dangers in stride and accept them as part of the job.
And then LIFE slaps you in the face, and you get reminded that being more than a few feet off the ground isn't normal.
Moving across that firmament at 150 miles per hour isn't something humans were designed to do.
Flying high above the ground at 150 miles per hour, in the dark of night, with uncertain weather outside that complex aircraft can begin to be overwhelming.
So, now and then, aircraft and terra-firma come together violently.
And the rest of us in aviation take note, try to learn why, and continue to do the job.
But...
When it hits close to home, it's SO HARD.
When you hear they are all gone and realize you have shaken that hand, seen that smile, shared a story or two about mutual acquaintances, it's SO HARD.
We lost two aircraft this week.
Thankfully one of the accidents, although serious, wasn't fatal.
But the other took the lives of three good people... three folks taking what they felt were acceptable risks necessary to help others.
And they're all gone.
One of 'em, the pilot, was someone I had smiled with, shared stories with, knew to be a good guy.
Losing anyone in one of these accidents is tragic.
But knowing you will never again see that smile is an emotional blow that's like losing family.
They died trying to help others.
They knew being high above the ground going 150 miles per hour entailed risk.
And one of my hopes is, when we learn what happened here, the rest of us will be able to walk out, start the helicopter, and do the job more safely, remembering these wonderful, caring people.
Rest in peace, Med-Trans.
I'm glad I can remember the smiles.
23 December 2012
Video Killed The Radio Star
The election took the wind outta my sails.
Up until the results were compiled, I still had hope that my fears were just that...
Unnecessary worrying on my part.
But it is now obvious to anyone watching that the country truly has been "fundamentally transformed"...
There is a very large contingent of our brethren who think "sticking it to the man" is exactly what is needed to level the playing field and make our country a better place, conveniently ignoring the BILLIONS of dollars this administration has funneled to "the man"...
Failed and failing business like Solyndra and General Motors.
We're in huge trouble.
Prepare.
It takes time to blog. It also takes a little thought to do it and not make a fool of myself.
The time, inclination, and inspiration all have to meet at the same place for it to happen. On the other hand, you can throw a quick comment or rant up on your Facebook page in seconds. If you decide it was the wrong thing to do, you can delete the comment in an instant.
Two or three people who stop by here and comment are also FB friends. They also seem to have blogging doldrums, for whatever reason. I haven't discussed the phenomenon with them...
It'll be interesting to see if they agree or disagree with my thoughts.
No one seems to care.
Our country's finances are a mess.
The rule of law and our Constitution no longer matter.
The Senate is supposed to pass an annual budget and hasn't done it since Bozo took office.
We're supplying weapons to our enemies, local, and far away.
The whole world seems to be going berzerko.
But no one cares.
We're in "Don't let a good crisis go to waste" mode. We certainly don't want to let a crisis get by without doing SOMETHING to make us feel good...
Decisions made while we're in a highly emotional state are always the best, well-thought out decisions aren't they? And we've certainly had more than our fair share of emotional, chaotic crises lately.
But I've been shouting from the rooftops at Facebook, trying to get someone into a discussion that would convince me I'm way out in left field, thinking as I do.
And no one, (except many that also comment here and are an echo chamber) will respond.
No one cares.
One of my last FB comments followed the old "All that is necessary for evil to succeed..." quote.
Few responded. NO ONE argued the point. It's my impression that LOTS of folks feel they are helpless to make changes in the chaos happening around them, even though many don't like what they see.
So they do nothing.
And EVIL will succeed.
So start getting ready for it.
And for FB "friends" that keep bugging me...
I have NO INTEREST in playing "Bubble Safari", "Mafia Wars", "Farmville", or "Zynga Bingo".
I'm now spending more time trying to come up with worthwhile blogs.
Up until the results were compiled, I still had hope that my fears were just that...
Unnecessary worrying on my part.
But it is now obvious to anyone watching that the country truly has been "fundamentally transformed"...
There is a very large contingent of our brethren who think "sticking it to the man" is exactly what is needed to level the playing field and make our country a better place, conveniently ignoring the BILLIONS of dollars this administration has funneled to "the man"...
Failed and failing business like Solyndra and General Motors.
We're in huge trouble.
Prepare.
It takes time to blog. It also takes a little thought to do it and not make a fool of myself.
The time, inclination, and inspiration all have to meet at the same place for it to happen. On the other hand, you can throw a quick comment or rant up on your Facebook page in seconds. If you decide it was the wrong thing to do, you can delete the comment in an instant.
Two or three people who stop by here and comment are also FB friends. They also seem to have blogging doldrums, for whatever reason. I haven't discussed the phenomenon with them...
It'll be interesting to see if they agree or disagree with my thoughts.
No one seems to care.
Our country's finances are a mess.
The rule of law and our Constitution no longer matter.
The Senate is supposed to pass an annual budget and hasn't done it since Bozo took office.
We're supplying weapons to our enemies, local, and far away.
The whole world seems to be going berzerko.
But no one cares.
We're in "Don't let a good crisis go to waste" mode. We certainly don't want to let a crisis get by without doing SOMETHING to make us feel good...
Decisions made while we're in a highly emotional state are always the best, well-thought out decisions aren't they? And we've certainly had more than our fair share of emotional, chaotic crises lately.
But I've been shouting from the rooftops at Facebook, trying to get someone into a discussion that would convince me I'm way out in left field, thinking as I do.
And no one, (except many that also comment here and are an echo chamber) will respond.
No one cares.
One of my last FB comments followed the old "All that is necessary for evil to succeed..." quote.
Few responded. NO ONE argued the point. It's my impression that LOTS of folks feel they are helpless to make changes in the chaos happening around them, even though many don't like what they see.
So they do nothing.
And EVIL will succeed.
So start getting ready for it.
And for FB "friends" that keep bugging me...
I have NO INTEREST in playing "Bubble Safari", "Mafia Wars", "Farmville", or "Zynga Bingo".
I'm now spending more time trying to come up with worthwhile blogs.
12 December 2012
On Two Wheels, Part 5+
It would be nearly impossible now...
If you wanted the "fastest" motorcycle made, you'd be buying a different bike every few months.
But for a few years, when I first got home from Viet Nam, that was my goal. In 1970, that meant buying a Kawasaki triple.
There really wasn't anything faster than those two-stroke Kaws for several years. They were noisy, smoky, inefficient, and evil handling when you tried to persuade them to do anything but go straight.
But they were WICKED fast, and I loved the "light switch" way in which the engines produced power...
Twist the throttle and that Kawasaki would accelerate, sorta, until you got to 4,000 RPM.
Then ZOWIE...
At 4K the engine would shriek and all the horsepower it could produce would be transmitted to the rear wheel, causing the front tire to try to reach for the sun.
I loved mine. I now wish I had kept it, 'cause like everything else from "back in the day", decent versions of those bikes are now selling for ten times what they brought when new.
But I didn't keep it.
And the reason I didn't keep it is shown here:
That's a Yamaha "XS1100SF".
And reviews said it was faster than my Kaw.
It also had some things I had come to realize would improve my life on two wheels:
Two disc brakes up front. A disc brake at the rear wheel. Alloy wheels (so I wouldn't have to continually polish individual spokes.)
And it was shaft driven... no chain.
If you don't remember why "no chain" is important on a bike you intend to use to cover MANY miles with, you need to refresh your memory here.
The switch from the 750 Kaw to the big Yamaha was a learning experience.
The 1100 WAS fast.
But it was also quiet. It didn't smoke like a mosquito sprayer. The engine produced usable power at almost any RPM, so I didn't constantly have to downshift to pass. It didn't vibrate.
I bought a "Windjammer" full-fairing and a backrest/luggage rack for it, and proceeded to ride the thing 19,000 miles in three years.
But I missed the quirkiness of the two-stroke.
For years I had heard others sing the praises of the little Yamaha RD350/400.
Reviews said they had many of the characteristics I loved in my Kawasakis, but also handled well in the twisties.
So I added another bike to my stable. It looked like this:
And I was disappointed in it. Yeah, it handled well.
But it didn't have the characteristics I loved about the "evil" Kawasakis.
I lent it to a buddy, who promptly seized the engine.
He then started to do the right thing and dismantled the engine, but then moved away and left me with a "basket case".
Some friend, huh?
I gave the pile of parts to another friend.
Sometime around 1984 Spring came, and I had no desire to ride.
That was weird because up to that time, every year the temperature would rise above 40 degrees, I'd bundle up and get on two wheels (and be miserable due to lack of proper cold-weather gear).
I sold the 1100.
And went without a motorcycle for over twenty years.
And then, for some reason, Spring came and I wanted to ride.
Bikes today are faster. Actually, "faster" doesn't begin to describe the power of today's motorcycles...
They truly are "stupid fast".
And I have no desire to scare myself anymore.
I want to be comfortable. I want to get great fuel mileage. I want my wife to ride along and enjoy the experience as much as I do.
So that brings us to why I've bought six very different motorcycles in three years.
More on all this later.
If you wanted the "fastest" motorcycle made, you'd be buying a different bike every few months.
But for a few years, when I first got home from Viet Nam, that was my goal. In 1970, that meant buying a Kawasaki triple.
There really wasn't anything faster than those two-stroke Kaws for several years. They were noisy, smoky, inefficient, and evil handling when you tried to persuade them to do anything but go straight.
But they were WICKED fast, and I loved the "light switch" way in which the engines produced power...
Twist the throttle and that Kawasaki would accelerate, sorta, until you got to 4,000 RPM.
Then ZOWIE...
At 4K the engine would shriek and all the horsepower it could produce would be transmitted to the rear wheel, causing the front tire to try to reach for the sun.
I loved mine. I now wish I had kept it, 'cause like everything else from "back in the day", decent versions of those bikes are now selling for ten times what they brought when new.
But I didn't keep it.
And the reason I didn't keep it is shown here:
That's a Yamaha "XS1100SF".
And reviews said it was faster than my Kaw.
It also had some things I had come to realize would improve my life on two wheels:
Two disc brakes up front. A disc brake at the rear wheel. Alloy wheels (so I wouldn't have to continually polish individual spokes.)
And it was shaft driven... no chain.
If you don't remember why "no chain" is important on a bike you intend to use to cover MANY miles with, you need to refresh your memory here.
The switch from the 750 Kaw to the big Yamaha was a learning experience.
The 1100 WAS fast.
But it was also quiet. It didn't smoke like a mosquito sprayer. The engine produced usable power at almost any RPM, so I didn't constantly have to downshift to pass. It didn't vibrate.
I bought a "Windjammer" full-fairing and a backrest/luggage rack for it, and proceeded to ride the thing 19,000 miles in three years.
But I missed the quirkiness of the two-stroke.
For years I had heard others sing the praises of the little Yamaha RD350/400.
Reviews said they had many of the characteristics I loved in my Kawasakis, but also handled well in the twisties.
So I added another bike to my stable. It looked like this:
And I was disappointed in it. Yeah, it handled well.
But it didn't have the characteristics I loved about the "evil" Kawasakis.
I lent it to a buddy, who promptly seized the engine.
He then started to do the right thing and dismantled the engine, but then moved away and left me with a "basket case".
Some friend, huh?
I gave the pile of parts to another friend.
Sometime around 1984 Spring came, and I had no desire to ride.
That was weird because up to that time, every year the temperature would rise above 40 degrees, I'd bundle up and get on two wheels (and be miserable due to lack of proper cold-weather gear).
I sold the 1100.
And went without a motorcycle for over twenty years.
And then, for some reason, Spring came and I wanted to ride.
Bikes today are faster. Actually, "faster" doesn't begin to describe the power of today's motorcycles...
They truly are "stupid fast".
And I have no desire to scare myself anymore.
I want to be comfortable. I want to get great fuel mileage. I want my wife to ride along and enjoy the experience as much as I do.
So that brings us to why I've bought six very different motorcycles in three years.
More on all this later.
07 December 2012
We Didn't/Don't See Eye-To-Eye.
Dads see things through older eyes and through the lens of experience.
Sons MAY know things have changed, and need to help Dads to understand.
Some can do it... some can't.
I'm glad my Dad knew how much I loved and respected him BEFORE he died.
I hope my (already good) relationship with my son gets better and better through the years.
How's your relationship with Dad?
If it ain't good, FIX IT.
04 December 2012
Where Do We Find Such Men?
When this song first hit the airwaves I was in flight school and thought "Well, that's kinda schlocky."
Listen to the words.
Attitude adjustment time...
Ask me how I feel now.
01 December 2012
"It's Shaping Up Like Treason..."
I heard the man on the radio, said, "My son is gone and what's to show?"
Defending who knows what for who knows why.
Half a world away they watched for real, they saw the soul of a Navy Seal
"Who gave the order to let my son die?"
Evil men telling evil lies Just to win a vote you let them die
While that drone would only hover.
Finger pointing. They're on the run. Investigations have all begun.
How much more will they uncover?
I'm goin' High on a mountaintop. That's the only place where I can stop this crying
Goin' High on a mountaintop. Closer to God and farther from this lying.
You know it stands to reason, and it's shaping up like treason, this we know.
He didn't even have to venture in, but when his brothers, they all needed him, He was on the spot...
Not flying to Vegas.
Real leaders lead when they are called, Never thinking that they'll drop the ball
But drop to their knees for Him who has made us
9-11, baby, you should have known Al Qaeda coming and they're all alone
Where is the outrage for THIS story?
Laser target, in his sight 60 to one, yea the odds looked right.
You'll never understand their glory
We're goin' HOAM. That's the only place I can go to stop this hurting.
HOAM Justice will come one day, I know for certain.
I know I cannot runaway, but give us just a single day.
These heroes live forever but a coward dies a thousand times.
Yeah you know it stands to reason but it's shaping up like treason, this I know.
Half a world away they watched for real, they saw the soul of a Navy Seal
"Who gave the order to let his son die?"
26 November 2012
Believing In Our Own Message !
I have nothing to add to this.
Bill Whittle says it all. My only question?
Will the country still exist in four years so we can begin to repair the damage?
Bill Whittle says it all. My only question?
Will the country still exist in four years so we can begin to repair the damage?
23 November 2012
We Can Fly!
I worried about Fats Domino for a while.
I was a little angry with him too. Folks in New Orleans had plenty of warning and plenty of time to evacuate. The thought of older folks like Fats staying behind was cause for wonder and concern...
Did he have no family? Was no one looking out for the old man?
Eventually the news broke that he had been found. He was safe. Still, there were some thousands of folks dead down there...
People who chose to ignore the warnings and paid the price for their stupidity.
But I didn't know any of 'em...
Until tonight.
Oh, I didn't know him personally. But he's another of those that made my life better. He's another of those I would have liked to meet and thank for sharing his hard work and talent.
I bought the record album. I bet I played it several hundred times. I still have it.
His whole family was talented. They could ALL sing, and many played some sort of musical instrument. The bunch of 'em were the basis for the hit TV show "The Partridge Family". As a matter of fact, the family had actually been approached to star in the show themselves, but the deal fell apart when Hollywood insisted Shirley Jones would play the Mother instead of the real Mom, Barbara.
Digging tonight to find what had happened to this talented bunch I learned that one of 'em, Barry, had apparently drowned during Hurricane Katrina. It's odd how sad that makes me.
He and sister Susan both lived in New Orleans. She had the good sense to get while the getting was good, (although she lost her home and everything in it.)
He, for whatever reason, didn't evacuate. He had drug issues. (Why do so many of these performers have drug issues?) Maybe that was part of the reason he didn't leave when he should have.
But now he's gone.
Mom Barb is gone too, as is another brother, Bill, who also had drug problems.
But they were wonderful while they were all together making music.
They could FLY!
I was a little angry with him too. Folks in New Orleans had plenty of warning and plenty of time to evacuate. The thought of older folks like Fats staying behind was cause for wonder and concern...
Did he have no family? Was no one looking out for the old man?
Eventually the news broke that he had been found. He was safe. Still, there were some thousands of folks dead down there...
People who chose to ignore the warnings and paid the price for their stupidity.
But I didn't know any of 'em...
Until tonight.
Oh, I didn't know him personally. But he's another of those that made my life better. He's another of those I would have liked to meet and thank for sharing his hard work and talent.
I bought the record album. I bet I played it several hundred times. I still have it.
His whole family was talented. They could ALL sing, and many played some sort of musical instrument. The bunch of 'em were the basis for the hit TV show "The Partridge Family". As a matter of fact, the family had actually been approached to star in the show themselves, but the deal fell apart when Hollywood insisted Shirley Jones would play the Mother instead of the real Mom, Barbara.
Digging tonight to find what had happened to this talented bunch I learned that one of 'em, Barry, had apparently drowned during Hurricane Katrina. It's odd how sad that makes me.
He and sister Susan both lived in New Orleans. She had the good sense to get while the getting was good, (although she lost her home and everything in it.)
He, for whatever reason, didn't evacuate. He had drug issues. (Why do so many of these performers have drug issues?) Maybe that was part of the reason he didn't leave when he should have.
But now he's gone.
Mom Barb is gone too, as is another brother, Bill, who also had drug problems.
But they were wonderful while they were all together making music.
They could FLY!
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