A thought from an old guy while having my morning coffee...When an old man dies, it is a whole library which burns.
(P.S...If you like an entry, feel free to leave a comment at the end of the article. If you don't like the entry, well, have a nice day.)
Back in Pam's and my days at Ohio University, there was a singing group out called The Fifth Dimension. This group was really popular, singing around the fringe of the hippie movement and the love culture, but not casting their lot with the drugs, sex and unrest that accompanied/plagued the others. They had a good sound and made lots of money, but they went by the wayside because they were probably too good a group that wasn't flashy enough or controversial enough for the emergence of rockers that were taking over the business.
The reason I go into all of that is because one of their best songs was titled "Up, Up and Away." It was a light, happy song, with catchy lyrics which later became the theme song for a major airline. The song's lyrics got attached to the whole hot air balloon industry, becoming the instantly-recognizable image that surrounded that segment of flight.
My niece, Meredith, became a hot-air balloon pilot a few years back, and had gone in for the whole enchilada - a big, yellow balloon (they call them envelopes) that looks like a huge yellow light bulb when they do "glows," the basket, tanks, electronics, and a new Toyota Tundra truck(with a hydrolic lift on the back) with which she hauls all this stuff to rallies and county fairs.
Last weekend, she was over at the Maria Stein Country Fest, a small country festival near our home. If you have not been to one of these things before, they are really fun, with lots of food and local entertainment (Pam and I saw our first "Tractor Square Dance" at this year's event -- we were told that this is a Country Fest staple and it was quite a draw.)
I really enjoyed this particular night because Meredith asked me to help her with some of the balloon set-up. It really is quite a bit more strenuous than getting the old 172 ready for flight, and I was really impressed with how she glides around, handling things, getting the beast ready for fire (the burner that fills the envelope with hot air). You don't know how much of a temptation it is to rattle off a list of politicians who could have filled this balloon, some single-handedly, and kept it up at least through Massachusetts.
There were 6 or 7 balloons there that night, and they all participated in the glow. Only a few of them flew and only for a short flight since the day's winds had not died down early enough. You see, they are only allowed to fly in daylight (VFR rules only). The colors of these huge elephantine-envelopes highlighted an already spectacularly- blue sky. Pilots call this a "severe clear" sky.
Pam and I took a ride in one of these magnificent flying machines for an anniversary about 15 years ago. It was spectacular! In a way, I envy Meredith that peace and serenity. It's a lot of work to get it in the air, but she really knows her stuff and I can hardly wait to go "Up, Up and Away..."with her. You go, girl.
I have known today a magnificent intoxication...I have learned how it feels to be a bird. I have flown. The balloon seems to stand still in the air while the earth flies past underneath. Yes I have flown.
The other day, while driving home from a picnic in Troy, Pam and I came across this little nature scene -- a whole string of Canadian Geese, at least 30 or more, completely stretched across a four-lane road. It was a neat sight. They had been in a lake on the right side of the road and were in the process of crossing over to the left. I really can't tell why they wanted to go over there -- there wasn't anything over there for them. Maybe it was Chinese Fire Drill practice for the young ones, or maybe it was just the old "Why did the Canadian Goose cross the road?" drill.
What was the most interesting thing about all of this was how much like humans this parade seemed: a real big goose in front leading the parade, followed by a couple dozen very energetic young geese, followed by the other adults. It looked like one of those old Indian or pioneer trains heading out across the prairies. Their walking across the road had the same effect on traffic that a school bus does when it stops to let out little kids: traffic stops, little kids go running everywhere, and there is always one driver who seems to be in some all-fired hurry, blowing his horn, failing to see the beauty of the moment -- blue skies, sunshine, green trees, a gentle breeze, and a trail of goose poop across a highway. Some people need to get a life; they need to slow down and smell the roses (bet you thought I would say goose poop didn't you). Man must feel the earth to know himself and recognize his values.... God made life simple. It is man who complicates it.(Charles A. Lindbergh)
Chris, a good friend of mine ( Oh yeah, he's also Pam's boss and the lead minister at The Troy Christian Church) and another member of the church (Brandon) came up the other night and decided they wanted to pit their skills against some of the big catfish in our pond. Their goal was to have enough to have a fish fry for their two families. I thought to myself, what a great thing for a fisher of men to be doing on a fine summer evening.
The pond has a good number of catfish in it so I wasn't worried about how many they would take, and I was glad to have them thin the ranks of the cats, especially at their spawning time.
When they arrived, I wasn't there to offer any advice, figuring that since Pam usually outfishes me in that particular area anyway, she could offer all the advice they needed. Instead, I was playing golf, subbing for my neighbor in his golf league. As well as I played, I probably could have done better fishing.
Anyway, when I got there, I saw Chris sitting on the far side of the pond, pole at the ready, but no action. I figured he must have just reloaded after pulling in a whopper and was settling in for the impending battle. Wrong-o!! Up to this point, the outcome I was seeing was the outcome he had encountered all night. Brandon, on the other hand, looked like this wasn't his first rodeo. He had one of those heavy, stout, river catfish-fishing poles, and what looked like about 15# test line with a serious-looking fishing hook that looked like something out of the Inquisition. He was ready for some serious fishing.
His stringer showed this to be the case as he already had three or four pretty good sized ones headed for the deep-fryer. One of the fish was 27" long, and pulled the scale at just under 8#. At that point, the two of them were now really into it. In fact, Chris had broken his line at least twice trying to set a hook on a strike, or get one in that he had hooked. He said he had 10# test on his pole, but the line was pretty old, so it was bound to keep breaking. Pam gave him her pole and he quickly got back into the hunt. Each of them pulled in a couple more big ones, and then the realization that it was getting dark and they still had to clean this rather impressive 7-fish bounty was overtaking them and they figured they had had enough. We decided to try to get a final figure on the catch and ended up with the total catch weighing in at just over 40# on the stringer. This was a pretty good night for them, and I'm sure the remaining fish in the pond appreciated the removal of that much competition for their food.
Chris told me they got them all cleaned by a little after midnight. Since his wife and kids were out of town, they decided to clean them at his house. He says the smell is pretty well gone now!I've been told these pictures were sent to some of Chris's fellow fishermen in the congregation.
Bragging may not bring happiness, but no man having caught a large fish goes home through an alley.(Author Unknown)
When I am out on the golf course, I sometimes think about what I could be doing at home with Pam, you know -- spending quality time together, like going fishing or riding bikes at the park. After all, golf is a time consuming game, usually taking a minimum of 2 hours for 9 holes, and up to 4 hours or more for 18. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy this "man time," but I sometimes envy the guys who play golf with their wives -- sometimes.
So, the other day, I went out and bought her a 3-wood and a Rescue club and gave them to her. She has always said she would like to learn to play golf, but would like to try it out in a low key environment (like a driving range) first to see if she could even swing a club. So, on Father's Day (of all times) she and I went to the driving range and she swung golf clubs for the first time in her life. I got her a bucket of balls and we had at it. I captured some short videos of her swinging, but right now I am not smart enough to figure out/remember how to post them, so this still will have to do for now -- until I can call my son and ask him how to get that done.
Pretty good set-up though. I thought she did pretty well for this being the first time she has ever had a club in her hand aside from a putt-putt course. And speaking of putting, we went to the putting green after the driving range and practiced there too. She has a pretty good touch with the putter and should do OK there.
I just hope Pam knows how serious of a game she is attempting to learn. It's been said that golf is a passion, an obsession, a romance, a nice acquaintanceship with trees, sand, and water. It's not until you understand this (see below) that you can understand why people are attracted to golf and take it so seriously.
In the meantime, we'll continue to practice and I'll keep you all posted. Till then, hit 'em straight and keep 'em in the short grass.
When I die, bury me on the golf course so my husband will visit.(Author Unknown)
I know I am really late in writing this, but better late than never. I thought I had better do this one before we go again next month for his first birthday.
Our last trip to see Doug, Danika and Quinn (D,D & Q) was clear back in April. It was a pretty good trip and we really had a good time. We got to their apartment early Friday afternoon and since it was a beautiful afternoon, we decided to take a walk. We loaded Quinn up in the stroller and headed out to Prospect Park. We got to the first park to let Quinn swing. He had been there before and really liked it. Unfortunately, they were doing maintenance work on the swings and the rubber matting underneath. So, we decided to head out to the large open area and eat our sandwiches and chill out for a while. There were lots of people out enjoying the sunshine and it was really pretty nice for April. After eating, we decided it was time to head out to the gardens and petting zoo located on the other side of the park.
The zoo and gardens were pretty nice. I guess I never thought of these sorts of things in the middle of Brooklyn. Right in the middle of it all, there was a carousel. I'll bet there aren't a lot of these left in the country. I remember the one on the Mall in DC in front of the Smithsonian, but that's the only other one I've seen for quite a long time. Quinn thought it was pretty cool and really liked watching the colorful horses go round and round. We also saw lots of animals at the small zoo. I'm not sure Quinn liked them all or knew what all of this was, but he really liked the monkeys he saw at one of the buildings.
On Saturday, we spent time outdoors too. We started out going to the open market, but on the way, we stopped and got Quinn a cool pair of blue shades. He really liked them and they looked good on him. The market was at the entrance to Prospect Park and was pretty big. There were lots of things there and the smells kind of blended together to make it seem like some of the food bazaars I used to visit overseas. It sure was busy, but I guess that's how they do things there -- since the apartments are small, they buy fresh foods a little at a time. Not at all like here in the midwest where you go to the store and buy 15 to 20 bags of groceries and store them for weeks until they are eaten. Also, I'm not sure if that's what they call them in NY, but it was like our Farmer's Markets, except that most everything I saw was labeled "organic."
Then we ended up back at Prospect Park. This really is a nice place, a big island of green space in the middle of the city -- lots of people there playing frisbee and soccer, walking their dogs, flying kites and just lying out on blankets. I saw one guy practicing his T'ai Chi and some people playing softball. This day started off a little on the cool side, but when we got to the park, it was very pleasant. The sun must have brought out lots and lots of people because there was not much room for people to lie around, with all the other things going on. In fact, when we got up to leave, two different groups of people came running over to take our little space.
Pam and I really enjoy being there with Doug and Danika, watching Quinn grow up. He is such a happy little boy and they are really doing a great job of raising him. I know I'm sounding like a grandpa, but I'm allowed. And I'm sure he won't always be Mr. Happy, or as Randy (his other grandpa) calls him "a Little Grin-box," but he's off to a great start.
He turns 1-year-old in July. It hardly seems possible, and he's changed so much. All of us will be together for his birthday. What a time that will be. Look out, New York -- the Quinnster is on his way!! What children need most in life are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance: unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life, and most importantly, oatmeal-raisin cookies.
On another website there is a place called "Together We Served" which is for members of the US Army (current, retired and passed). Soldiers can list their bio on there and it is a place where others who served with them can make contacts, swap stories and generally get reconnected. One of the first things listed on the site is the Soldier's name along with his/her nickname. Most are personal, some reflect the macho nature of soldiering, some are comical and some just state simple facts (like the guy nicknamed "Goofy Dude").
Well, my nickname is "Lightning-6." Now I didn't get that name because I was the fastest commander in the Army, and it didn't have anything to do with being a super hero either. This was a name given to me by an officer in another MP battalion, MAJ Jim Platt.
It seems our MP brigade was on an exercise and we got caught out in the field during a severe, pop-up thunder storm. Most of the battalion commanders had been briefed on safety during storms prior to the initial move to the field. However, that was four days ago and this storm came up so fast, it literally raced across one open field and was on us before anyone could really react. Now normally Range Control would send radio warnings to field troops of such storms, however, we were so far out and there were two mountain ranges between us and them, their message never got to us. Anyhow, when the winds that preceded the lightning and rain hit our tents (somewhere around 30 m.p.h. full gust) we tried to save them as best we could. About a minute into the first blast, I remember holding onto the center pole, trying to add weight to it, and being lifted off the ground as the tent attempted to take flight.
My radio man was on our net contacting the battalions of the approaching winds. Most of them were at the two POW camps in which we were training just on the other side of the mountains. The commanders managed to get everyone out of the camp and onto the trucks before the storm hit. So now there was nothing else to do but hunker down and wait it out, envisioning a long night of putting tents (mostly GP Mediums and GP Larges) up in the dark (the storm blew over many of the generator light sets and broke cables or bulbs). Good training, right!!
As we sat there in the T.O.C. (Tactical Operations Center), a bolt of lightning struck the ground out by the road, about a half-mile away, and must have hit the underground mag drop line (Army talk for buried phone line). It then carried downline to our switchboard and blew it up like it had been hit by a rocket. Shrapnel flew everywhere and now we had a tent with holes in it!! The the radio man who was not operating the switch but still had a headphone in his hand got knocked about three feet. The Opns. Officer who was sitting next to him in one of those field chairs got knocked down as the lightning must have jumped from the switch to the metal frame in his chair and shot a hole in his uniform sleeve. What a night!! Fortunately, no one got seriously hurt.
Being the good Brigade G-3 that I was (the BDE Commander and Deputy were not in the AO so I was in charge), I thought I had better go out and check on my units. With all our commo shot, I jumped in the HUMMER with the CSM and off we went. Just as I was walking up to the CP of one of the other battalions, wouldn't you know lightning struck close by and the thunder rattled everyone's teeth in that tent. OK -- two strikes for the night. I figured that was just a coincidence and after being assured everyone was OK there, we went out for the second battalion which was kinda co-located with this one. Yep, they had lost some tents and a couple of them said they had a lightning strike a few minutes ago and a big tree limb fell just missing one of their generators. I had one more battalion to check so the CSM and I headed out. By now the storm had pretty much passed and we were in a bit of a calm period.
There is a time-honored tradition with commanders in the military that says when the boss leaves one area and is headed for yours, you call that unit and let them know he is on the way. So the last unit did that and when I got to the next battalion's CP, MAJ Platt came out and welcomed us, and informed me that my new nickname was now "Lightning-6" and if I was bringing any lightning with me I was not welcome in their area!! The name stuck and from that point on, that has been my name.
The story doesn't end there, however. Everything was a mess -- tents were full of holes and almost all of them were blown down, some of them entangled in the barbed wire and concertina wire of the POW camps, mess tents were down, and troops were soaked as was their gear. I called all the commanders and told them to leave a small volunteer guard detail at their sites and get the rest of the troops back to the base to dry out, and get a good night's sleep. I told them to have their mess fixed in the mess hall and ready for an "Oh-dark-thirty" departure. Again, we had been out about four nights by this time and they had done a good job so far. So as the troops were pulling out of the south camp, MAJ Platt must have remembered something in his TOC and ran back into the tent in pitch dark. He ran full tilt into a tent pole and knocked himself out cold. The Battalion Commander got annoyed waiting for him and decided to go see what was holding him up. As he entered the tent, he tripped over Platt lying there on the ground. What a comedy!! Of course, Jim didn't remember anything and fortunately I didn't get blamed for that one. I don't know which is the better nickname -- "Lightning-6" or "Stone Cold."
Jim and I served together again when we were both assigned to the Pentagon. It's memories like these and all the friendships that I have made over the years that make me glad I stayed in for all those years. They weren't all good times and everything didn't always turn out OK, but I don't think I would have traded it for anything.
All the truely great things in the world are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honor; peace; friendships; mercy; hope; duty... and faith.
Summer evenings on McCartyville Road are usually laid back, sometimes we fish (and Pam usually outfishes me -- ouch!!), sometimes we ride our bikes around the block (3 mile blocks -- whew!!) or we take them over to Lake Loramie and tool around, or sometimes we take the boat over to the lake.
Tonight, however, we took advantage of one of the other nice things -- the hammocks. We have one on the deck, and one out by the fire ring by the barn. There's just something about lying out there in the gentle breezes, watching the birds and the setting sun. If it's a non-working night for Pam, I'll put a fire in the fire ring and we'll lie out there with the dog, enjoying the crackling fire, watching the stars, and listening to some of the night critters who will also come down for a drink. It's also fun trying to watch the flight of the two bats that hang out in the neighbor's barn as they come over to get a drink and some mosquitoes or other bugs for dinner. If the bugs are on the pond, we also like to hear the fish come up and snatch some of them and splash around.
Yep, summer evenings on McCartyville Road are pretty neat, pretty neat, indeed.
I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, with God at the controls, speaking to us every hour. All we have to do is tune in.
This past weekend certainly perked up my spirits and rekindled an old flame -- an old passion. Out of the blue, my neighbor down the road called and asked me if I wanted to go with him to a fly-in for breakfast over at Grimes Field in Urbana. One of the coolest things about having a private pilot's license is having the ability and means to get into a plane and fly off somewhere for a $5.00 pancake breakfast, see the sights and enjoy the company of other pilots. I know, it probably cost about $40 or so to do this, but it is generally worth it and ends up being something few people have the opportunity to do. Dave has a grass strip behind our house, and it was easy to hook up with him. As we took off, rolling down the field, we saw Pam and Bailey standing at the far end, waiving. I felt like I should have been wearing an old leather helmet and goggles with a long, white silk scarf as we cleared the telephone wires and turned east to do battle with the Red Barron.
In this case, the Urbana folks were also showing off the new hanger they had built and the vintage planes they were restoring. One of the things I have noticed lately at these sorts of things -- fly-ins, ham radio "Field Days", fishing derbies and lazy weekend days along the banks at Lake Loramie -- there are a lot of "old guys" (probably grandpas) there with youngsters -- both boys and girls. I think this is really neat. I was a speaker last year at a father-son breakfast at the Catholic church up the road and the point of my message was there needs to be more of this kind of thing and that sons and grandsons are losing a lot by not talking to dad/grand dad and listening to his stories -- especially if they were veterans of WWII, Korea or Viet Nam. There is a lot of family history and "grandpa wisdom" being lost every day and not being passed down.
Anyway, the planes they were restoring were interesting to see.
One in particular, was a B-25 Mitchell bomber. They have done a fantastic job restoring this piece of history. And though it still has some to go before it's complete -- the tail section and the aft gunner area are being done now -- you can see the hard work and love they have put in so far. Look at it shine.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't at least mention the replica Wright-B flyer they built, and the old DC-3 they were also restoring. I think I could have seen that old plane in the movie "Con Air".
It's pretty much gutted right now and probably saw it's last real flying time as a cargo plane somewhere. The name of the company who flew it is "Desert Air" -- I wonder which desert.
Well, it certainly was a fun time, and brought back some good memories -- like the time I took Doug and Danika on a little flight in the 172. They were pretty brave to both get in the cramped back seat of that little plane and go up with a "low hours pilot" like me. Maybe when I get my ticket back, I'll take Quinn up for a ride ... maybe when he's a little older.
Nobody who has not been up in the sky on a glorious morning can possibly imagine the way a pilot feels in free heaven. (William T. Piper)
When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.(Leonardo Da Vinci)
Well, here it is, Wednesday, and it's been raining off and on since Sunday. I know the newly planted crops need rain, but I figure they aren't going to be harvested next week so they might need that much rain that fast. At least I was able to go hit a bucket of golf balls yesterday afternoon...really had a case of the "Aw Shucks!!" on T-shots on the last round I played Sunday. Fortunately, I did not need a complete makeover, just a tweaking. I've got three golf outings in the next week and they would be so much better with good drives. I know ...... Waaaaaaaaaaa! That's just how it is when your're retired -- you think about such things as improving drives, getting a better pass on putts, and how to really hit that flop shot and get it to stop where you want.
Anyway, I was sitting in the front room the other day about 10:00 in the morning, thinking of just those very things, when a storm started gathering in the west. All of a sudden, it sure got real dark and windy. In fact, it got so dark, the lights on darkness sensors that I have around the house came on and it actually looked like night. Then the hail started to fall. It wasn't that long ago that I completed my weather spotters class for the ham radio club up here and I remembered that hail and sudden darkness and storm warnings usually meant that some not-so-good things were afoot. I grabbed my camera and shot these pictures real quickly. They may appear a bit dark, and that's because the flash went off when they were taken. You can see how dark it was. Fortunately, just as quickly as it got dark, quiet and began to hail -- it stopped. The sky got lighter and then the rains came. The dark clouds went off to the East and we just had a gentle rain for a few hours. Nothing broken. The hail was only the 1/4 inch version, thank goodness.
Normally, old Bailey would have been panting, and trying to get down to the basement. She really doesn't like storms. Well this time, I looked over at her and she was sound asleep by the fireplace. No big deal for her. That's how fast it came and went. I guess that's one good thing about living here -- it's so flat that any bad weather doesn't last too long, and just shoots on by.
Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm, and the wise man prays to God, not for safety from danger, but deliverance from fear.
The reason I go into all of that is because one of their best songs was titled "Up, Up and Away." It was a light, happy song, with catchy lyrics which later became the theme song for a major airline. The song's lyrics got attached to the whole hot air balloon industry, becoming the instantly-recognizable image that surrounded that segment of flight.
local entertainment (Pam and I saw our first "Tractor Square Dance" at this year's event -- we were told that this is a Country Fest staple and it was quite a draw.)
he glow. Only a few of them flew and only for a short flight since the day's winds had not died down early enough. You see, they are only allowed to fly in daylight (VFR rules only). The colors of these huge elephantine-envelopes highlighted an already spectacularly- blue sky. Pilots call this a "severe clear" sky.
Pam and I took a ride in one of these magnificent flying machines for an anniversary about 15 years ago. It was spectacular! In a way, I envy Meredith that peace and serenity. It's a lot of work to get it in the air, but she really knows her stuff and I can hardly wait to go "Up, Up and Away..."with her. You go, girl.
