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.")

Drones

"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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

Headed South, (But It's STILL Gonna Be Cold!)

I had little chance...
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.

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! 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Escapism"

Escapism from barry munsterteiger on Vimeo.
Some videos come VERY close to conveying the feeling of riding!

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.

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.

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!

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.