agita was brutal, I couldn't stay still, so, rather than toss/turn & keep the FodGuy from getting rest, I got up .................... spent a few hours on the computer, then turned on the boobtube; wouldn't you know, I missed the first hour or so of Finian's Rainbow - missed Sharon's cursing of the Senator & turning him black {one of the funniest scenes in movies EVER} - but I turned to it anyway - I originally saw it when it first hit theaters, back in '68 {I've always loved the opening, where they're wandering all over this beautiful country too many tend to take for granted}.
It's now over 10 years since my Dad died; like Finian McLonergan, the Major was something of a dreamer and a romantic - also like Finian, he had his moments of ...................... not thinking things through sensibly. But, I always KNEW he loved me - he might not have shown it in a way I appreciated at the time, but he was there for me. At the end of the movie today, I was crying like a baby - because, you see, like Finian, it seemed my Dad waited until I was married, to someone he'd met years earlier, when I was active duty, to let go - we were married 27 November 1999 - my Dad died 9 December 1999. Watching Finian take his leave of his Sharon, after her wedding, and wandering over the hills, I just missed my Dad so much today ............................
On the day I was born,
Said my father, said he.
I've an an elegant legacy
Waitin' for ye,
'Tis a rhyme for your lips
And a song for your heart,
To sing it whenever
The world falls apart.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow it over the hill
And the stream.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
'Twas a sumptuous gift
To bequeath to a child.
Oh the lore of that song
Kept her feet runnin' wild.
For you never grow old
And you never stand still,
With whippoorwills singin'
Beyond the next hill.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow it over the hill
And the stream.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
So I bundled my heart
And I roamed the world free
To the east with the lark
To the west with the sea
And I searched all the earth
And I scanned all the skies
And I found it at last
In my own true love's eyes.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow it over the hill
And the stream.
Look, look
Look to the rainbow.
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow,
Follow the fellow
Who follows a dream.
.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Back in October, 2001 ......................................
Peggy Noonan wrote one of the most roll-up-your-sleeves-&-get-it-done columns, regarding the men who handled the aftermath of 9/11, in Welcome Back, Duke - it's one of my favorite news columns of all times; via Bayou Renaissance Man {even though he's no longer ON the bayou ;-) }, he points us to North's blog, and the post The Passionate Carnivore. I'm thinking North is providing the men's perspective, in many fewer words than Ms. Noonan, but they're both proving the same point - thank GOD for manly men! ;-)
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.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Got a new article up ...........................................
regarding how reminiscent the current "situation" in Egypt is to what happened 33+ years ago, in Iran ......................... article is here.
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Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Scorpions, Chiggers & Sand Fleas
Subject: Scorpions, Chiggers & Sand Fleas
This kid is a Marine and a member of the Knights of Columbus and has a way with words.
From the Sand Pit:
It's freezing here. I'm sitting on hard, cold dirt between rocks and shrubs
at the base of the Hindu Kush Mountains, along the Dar 'yoi Pomir River,
watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave. Stake out,
my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles.
I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to fifteen seconds to
avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the
chiggers and sand fleas, but the scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod..
Hurts like a bastard. The antidote tastes like transmission fluid, but God
bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.
The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they
are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water.
That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me
comes in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and
storage facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates
up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the
hardware.
We bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new
movement. It's all about intelligence. We haven't even brought in the
snipers yet. These scurrying rats have no idea what they're in for. We are
but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the eradication
to begin. I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him
with my boot on his throat as I spit into his face and plunge my nickel-plated
Bowie knife through his frontal lobe. But you know me, I'm a romantic.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: This country blows, man. It's not
even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no
government. This is an inhospitable, rock pit shit hole ruled by eleventh
century warring tribes. There are no jobs here like we know jobs.
Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the
opium trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options.
Oh, I forgot, you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened,
crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu, if
that's your idea of a party. But the smell alone of those 'tent cities of the
walking dead' is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully
scrape bulbs for eighteen hours a day.
I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks, and Turkmen and
even a couple of Pushtuns, for over a month-and-a-half now, and this
much I can say for sure: These guys, all of 'em, are Huns... actual,
living Huns..They LIVE to fight. It's what they do. It's ALL they do. They
have no respect for anything, not for their families, nor for each other,
nor for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life. They
play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into human
cockfights to defend the family honor. Huns, roaming packs of savage,
heartless beasts who feed on each other's barbarism. Cavemen with
AK-47's.
Then again, maybe I'm just cranky.
I'm freezing my ass off on this stupid hill because my lap warmer
is running out of juice, and I can't recharge it until the sun comes up
in a few hours.
Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor, Write a letter
to CNN and tell Wolf and Anderson and that awful, sneering, pompous
Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban 'smart..'
They are not smart. I suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because
the word they are looking for is 'cunning.' The Taliban are cunning, like
jackals and hyenas and wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless, and
when confronted, cowardly. They are hateful, malevolent parasites who
create nothing and destroy everything else. Smart. Pfft. Yeah, they're
real smart.
They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very
good one, as books go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing
to be products of the devil. They're still figuring out how to work a Bic
lighter.
Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like
trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets
frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it.
OK, enough. Snuffle will be up soon, so I have to get back to my hole.
Covering my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice, but I'm good at it.
Please, I tell you and my fellow Americans to turn off the TV sets and
move on with your lives. The story line you are getting from CNN and
other news agencies is utter bullshit and designed not to deliver truth
but rather to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials.
We've got this one under control The worst thing you guys can do right
now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here, because you
have no idea what we're doing, and really, you don't want to know.
We are your military, and we are doing what you sent us here to do.
Saucy Jack
Recon 4th Marine in Afghanistan
Semper Fi!
"Freedom is not free...but the U.S. Marine Corps will pay most of your
share".
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a
blank check made payable to 'The United States of America ' for
an amount of 'up to and including my life.' That is Honor, and there
are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.
From 4th Recon Marine Division in Afghanistan
Semper Fi', Saucy Jack, Semper Fi'
.
This kid is a Marine and a member of the Knights of Columbus and has a way with words.
From the Sand Pit:
It's freezing here. I'm sitting on hard, cold dirt between rocks and shrubs
at the base of the Hindu Kush Mountains, along the Dar 'yoi Pomir River,
watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave. Stake out,
my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles.
I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to fifteen seconds to
avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the
chiggers and sand fleas, but the scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod..
Hurts like a bastard. The antidote tastes like transmission fluid, but God
bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.
The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they
are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water.
That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me
comes in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and
storage facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates
up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the
hardware.
We bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new
movement. It's all about intelligence. We haven't even brought in the
snipers yet. These scurrying rats have no idea what they're in for. We are
but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the eradication
to begin. I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him
with my boot on his throat as I spit into his face and plunge my nickel-plated
Bowie knife through his frontal lobe. But you know me, I'm a romantic.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: This country blows, man. It's not
even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no
government. This is an inhospitable, rock pit shit hole ruled by eleventh
century warring tribes. There are no jobs here like we know jobs.
Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the
opium trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options.
Oh, I forgot, you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened,
crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu, if
that's your idea of a party. But the smell alone of those 'tent cities of the
walking dead' is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully
scrape bulbs for eighteen hours a day.
I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks, and Turkmen and
even a couple of Pushtuns, for over a month-and-a-half now, and this
much I can say for sure: These guys, all of 'em, are Huns... actual,
living Huns..They LIVE to fight. It's what they do. It's ALL they do. They
have no respect for anything, not for their families, nor for each other,
nor for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life. They
play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into human
cockfights to defend the family honor. Huns, roaming packs of savage,
heartless beasts who feed on each other's barbarism. Cavemen with
AK-47's.
Then again, maybe I'm just cranky.
I'm freezing my ass off on this stupid hill because my lap warmer
is running out of juice, and I can't recharge it until the sun comes up
in a few hours.
Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor, Write a letter
to CNN and tell Wolf and Anderson and that awful, sneering, pompous
Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban 'smart..'
They are not smart. I suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because
the word they are looking for is 'cunning.' The Taliban are cunning, like
jackals and hyenas and wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless, and
when confronted, cowardly. They are hateful, malevolent parasites who
create nothing and destroy everything else. Smart. Pfft. Yeah, they're
real smart.
They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very
good one, as books go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing
to be products of the devil. They're still figuring out how to work a Bic
lighter.
Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like
trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets
frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it.
OK, enough. Snuffle will be up soon, so I have to get back to my hole.
Covering my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice, but I'm good at it.
Please, I tell you and my fellow Americans to turn off the TV sets and
move on with your lives. The story line you are getting from CNN and
other news agencies is utter bullshit and designed not to deliver truth
but rather to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials.
We've got this one under control The worst thing you guys can do right
now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here, because you
have no idea what we're doing, and really, you don't want to know.
We are your military, and we are doing what you sent us here to do.
Saucy Jack
Recon 4th Marine in Afghanistan
Semper Fi!
"Freedom is not free...but the U.S. Marine Corps will pay most of your
share".
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a
blank check made payable to 'The United States of America ' for
an amount of 'up to and including my life.' That is Honor, and there
are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.
From 4th Recon Marine Division in Afghanistan
Semper Fi', Saucy Jack, Semper Fi'
.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
From a retired Marine Mustang aviator-type, 1 each ................................ ;-)
'Specially for Old NFO .............................. ;-)
Subject: The History of "Aviator"
This explains it all. Aviators come from a long line of a secret society, formed around one thousand years ago. They are warriors, and here is the proof! Ground pounders can read it and weep!
A little known fact is the origin of the word, "Aviator." In the immortal words of Johnny Carson: "I did not know that."
Phu Khen (pronounced Foo Ken) 1169-? is considered by some to be the most under-recognized military officer in history. Many have never heard of his contributions to modern military warfare. The mission of this secret society is to bring honor to the name of Phu Khen.
A 'Khen' was a subordinate to a 'Khan' (pronounced 'konn') in the military structure of the Mongol hordes. Khan is Turkish for leader. Most know of the great Genghis Khan, but little has been written of his chain of command.
Khen is also of Turkish origin. Although there is not a word in English that adequately conveys the meaning. Roughly translated, it means, "One who will do the impossible, while appearing unprepared and complaining constantly."
Phu Khen was one of ten Khens that headed the divisions, or groups of hordes, as they were known, of the Mongol Army serving under Genghis Khan. His abilities came to light during the Mongols' raids on the Turkistan city of Bohicaroo. Bohicans were fierce warriors and the city was well fortified. The entire city was protected by huge walls and the hordes were at a standoff with the Bohicans. Bohicaroo was well-stocked and it would be difficult to wait them out. Genghis Khan assembled his Khens and ordered each of them to develop a plan for penetrating the defenses of Bohicaroo.
Operation Achieve Victory (AV) was born. All 10 divisions of Khens submitted their plan. After reviewing AV plans 1 thru 7 and finding them all unworkable or ridiculous, Genghis Khan was understandably upset.
It was with much perspiration that Phu Khen submitted his idea, which came to be known as AV 8. Upon seeing AV 8, Genghis was convinced this was the perfect plan and gave his immediate approval. The plan was beautifully simple. Phu Khen would arm his hordes to the teeth, load them into catapults, and hurl them over the wall. The losses were expected to be high, but hey, hordes were cheap! Those that survived the flight would engage the enemy in combat. Those that did not? Well, surely their flailing bodies would cause some damage.
The plan worked and the Bohicans were defeated. From that day on, whenever the Mongol Army encountered an insurmountable enemy, Genghis Khan would give the order, "Send some of the Phu Khen AV 8-ers."
This is believed, though not by anyone outside our secret society, to be the true origin of the word Aviator (AV 8-er).
Phu Khen's AV 8-ers were understandably an unruly mob, not likely to be socially acceptable. Many were heavy drinkers and insomniacs. But when nothing else would do, you could always count on an AV 8-er. A Phu Khen Aviator. Denied, perhaps rightfully so, his place in history, Phu Khen has been, nonetheless, immortalized in prose.
Consider it an honor to be a Phu Khen Aviator. Wear the mantle proudly, but speak of it cautiously. It is not always popular to be one of us.
You hear mystical references, often hushed whispers, to 'those Phu Khen Aviators.' Do not let these things bother you. As with any secret society, we go largely misunderstood, prohibited by our apathy from explaining ourselves.
You are expected to always live down to the reputation of the Phu Khen Aviator... a reputation cultivated for centuries, undaunted by scorn or ridicule, unhindered by progress. So drink up, be crude, sleep late, urinate in public, and get the job done.
When others are offended, you can revel in the knowledge that YOU are a PHU KHEN AVIATOR!
.
Subject: The History of "Aviator"
This explains it all. Aviators come from a long line of a secret society, formed around one thousand years ago. They are warriors, and here is the proof! Ground pounders can read it and weep!
A little known fact is the origin of the word, "Aviator." In the immortal words of Johnny Carson: "I did not know that."
Phu Khen (pronounced Foo Ken) 1169-? is considered by some to be the most under-recognized military officer in history. Many have never heard of his contributions to modern military warfare. The mission of this secret society is to bring honor to the name of Phu Khen.
A 'Khen' was a subordinate to a 'Khan' (pronounced 'konn') in the military structure of the Mongol hordes. Khan is Turkish for leader. Most know of the great Genghis Khan, but little has been written of his chain of command.
Khen is also of Turkish origin. Although there is not a word in English that adequately conveys the meaning. Roughly translated, it means, "One who will do the impossible, while appearing unprepared and complaining constantly."
Phu Khen was one of ten Khens that headed the divisions, or groups of hordes, as they were known, of the Mongol Army serving under Genghis Khan. His abilities came to light during the Mongols' raids on the Turkistan city of Bohicaroo. Bohicans were fierce warriors and the city was well fortified. The entire city was protected by huge walls and the hordes were at a standoff with the Bohicans. Bohicaroo was well-stocked and it would be difficult to wait them out. Genghis Khan assembled his Khens and ordered each of them to develop a plan for penetrating the defenses of Bohicaroo.
Operation Achieve Victory (AV) was born. All 10 divisions of Khens submitted their plan. After reviewing AV plans 1 thru 7 and finding them all unworkable or ridiculous, Genghis Khan was understandably upset.
It was with much perspiration that Phu Khen submitted his idea, which came to be known as AV 8. Upon seeing AV 8, Genghis was convinced this was the perfect plan and gave his immediate approval. The plan was beautifully simple. Phu Khen would arm his hordes to the teeth, load them into catapults, and hurl them over the wall. The losses were expected to be high, but hey, hordes were cheap! Those that survived the flight would engage the enemy in combat. Those that did not? Well, surely their flailing bodies would cause some damage.
The plan worked and the Bohicans were defeated. From that day on, whenever the Mongol Army encountered an insurmountable enemy, Genghis Khan would give the order, "Send some of the Phu Khen AV 8-ers."
This is believed, though not by anyone outside our secret society, to be the true origin of the word Aviator (AV 8-er).
Phu Khen's AV 8-ers were understandably an unruly mob, not likely to be socially acceptable. Many were heavy drinkers and insomniacs. But when nothing else would do, you could always count on an AV 8-er. A Phu Khen Aviator. Denied, perhaps rightfully so, his place in history, Phu Khen has been, nonetheless, immortalized in prose.
Consider it an honor to be a Phu Khen Aviator. Wear the mantle proudly, but speak of it cautiously. It is not always popular to be one of us.
You hear mystical references, often hushed whispers, to 'those Phu Khen Aviators.' Do not let these things bother you. As with any secret society, we go largely misunderstood, prohibited by our apathy from explaining ourselves.
You are expected to always live down to the reputation of the Phu Khen Aviator... a reputation cultivated for centuries, undaunted by scorn or ridicule, unhindered by progress. So drink up, be crude, sleep late, urinate in public, and get the job done.
When others are offended, you can revel in the knowledge that YOU are a PHU KHEN AVIATOR!
.
Monday, January 3, 2011
For about the past month .......................................
I've been assisting the Spousal Unit with our 2 gas hog vehicles; the engine was replaced "professionally" {ie, we paid over $900.00 for the engine, damn near $1,000.00 for the installation}, only to have it bucking at highway speeds. Turns out, the crank positioning sensor was put back with only ONE bolt {it requires 2}. On a '98 Ram 1500, the cps is located at the REAR of the engine - LOTS of fun removing/replacing/removing/replacing that {yes, I intended that repetition}. We also replaced the distributor, and the plug wires, and over the weekend, replaced the rear brakes.
The Rainier decided to 'deflate' the rear air suspension, so THAT made travel ............................ interesting. Turns out, it appears the electrical connections got wet, and once they dried out, the compressor worked for the suspension {it never STOPPED working on the tire inflator in the rear compartment of the vehicle}.
So, anyhoo, I'm up IN the engine compartment to access areas, when a neighbor showed up & just HAD to take a picture. Fine, but I refused to turn & face the camera. Her 'husband' {whom I do NOT speak to, and normally refer to pejoratively with an 8-letter word, or as "Mr. Charm" sarcastically} came over to ask the FodGuy some automotive question, while I was about 30 feet away - the FodGuy referred to me as his "Chief Mechanic's Assistant", to which "Mr. Charm" laughed derisively - but, here's the thing - HIS wife was driving over the summer, in an older minivan, with NO engine coolant {he had taken a hike on her for 3 months} - she'd stop when it would get 'too hot' and spray water over the engine block - *I'm* the one who told her she was risking cracking the engine block, and pretty much forced her into getting coolant. She's a nice lady, heart of gold, but dumber than a box of rocks - "hubby" isn't too much better, since he installed a 'floating floor' with nails, for someone who was paying him; he puts things {his porch} together with nails rather than screws, THAT gives you an idea of his terminal stupidity. He's been rude to me once too often; I refuse to have anything to do with him. The FodGuy thought I was mad at HIM {the FodGuy} for talking with "Mr. Charm" - I said, no, SOMEONE has to talk to him, it just will never be ME ............................ ;-)
.
The Rainier decided to 'deflate' the rear air suspension, so THAT made travel ............................ interesting. Turns out, it appears the electrical connections got wet, and once they dried out, the compressor worked for the suspension {it never STOPPED working on the tire inflator in the rear compartment of the vehicle}.
So, anyhoo, I'm up IN the engine compartment to access areas, when a neighbor showed up & just HAD to take a picture. Fine, but I refused to turn & face the camera. Her 'husband' {whom I do NOT speak to, and normally refer to pejoratively with an 8-letter word, or as "Mr. Charm" sarcastically} came over to ask the FodGuy some automotive question, while I was about 30 feet away - the FodGuy referred to me as his "Chief Mechanic's Assistant", to which "Mr. Charm" laughed derisively - but, here's the thing - HIS wife was driving over the summer, in an older minivan, with NO engine coolant {he had taken a hike on her for 3 months} - she'd stop when it would get 'too hot' and spray water over the engine block - *I'm* the one who told her she was risking cracking the engine block, and pretty much forced her into getting coolant. She's a nice lady, heart of gold, but dumber than a box of rocks - "hubby" isn't too much better, since he installed a 'floating floor' with nails, for someone who was paying him; he puts things {his porch} together with nails rather than screws, THAT gives you an idea of his terminal stupidity. He's been rude to me once too often; I refuse to have anything to do with him. The FodGuy thought I was mad at HIM {the FodGuy} for talking with "Mr. Charm" - I said, no, SOMEONE has to talk to him, it just will never be ME ............................ ;-)
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Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I've another article up, .............................................
this one concerning the issue of women in combat; seems the British MoD {Ministry of Defence} doesn't believe women "belong" in combat operations - I ask Women Can't Fight? - this has been a source of disagreement with some very good friends, but my Marines seemed to agree with me - of course, my "suggestion" for taking care of ObL {Osama bin Laden, for those who've forgotten} MAY have a little something to do with that - these Marines don't want to get on my bad side ....................... ;-)
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.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The day I took the Oath, administered by my Dad ...................................
My brother, my Mother, me, and my Dad
.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Anybody who knows me, knew this was coming ........................................
I DO believe that we ALL need a little Christmas, especially this year - may you not know hunger, or rejection; may you be warm & dry; may you know love .................
,
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
If I may be permitted some bragging ........................................
my very first article has been posted on NewsRealBlog, which is part of David Horowitz' FrontPage Magazine ........................... aw, garsh, I'm blushing .................................
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
"Ben"
see more dog and puppy pictures
Back in the mid-70's, we had gone on a visit to my maternal grandmother, in North Philadelphia. She lived in a ROUGH part of the city, where on an earlier visit I had seen neighbors sluicing down the 'payment' {how native pronounce 'pavement'} from an earlier stabbing. THIS trip was November? December? timeframe, pretty chilly, with cold rain, sleet, etc.
We came to a stop light at on a one-way street crossing a major thoroughfare; there was a large dog, walking in the gutter, ignored by all who passed him. He looked forsaken & miserable, a sad, scruffy, unwanted dog. I jumped out of the back seat, & went up to him. Of course, the light changed at that moment, so my Dad had to MOVE the car - he circled the block & picked up the dog & me. Of course, my Dad was NOT pleased with me, for jumping out of the car, in an area I was unfamiliar with, where I stood out like a sore thumb.
We got the dog home - our German Shepherd, Mary II "adopted" him, teaching him where the food & water were, showing him around the property. I named him 'Ben'; even though I was never a big Michael Jackson fan, that was always one of my favorite songs of his - my sweet Ben decided that HE was solely responsible for alerting us to anyone on the property - he adored all of us, & my Dad even came to like him. We weren't able to keep him when we moved, so we took him to the shelter where hopefully, someone realized what a wonderful dog he was.
The picture above reminded me of the day we found Ben.
Ben
Songwriters: Scharf, Walter; Black, Don;
Ben, the two of us need look no more
We both found what we were looking for
With my friend to call my own I'll never be alone
And you my friend will see, you've got a friend in me
Ben, you're always running here and there
You feel you're not wanted anywhere
If you ever look behind and don't like what you find
There's something you should know, you've got a place to go
I used to say, "I", And "Me"
Now it's "Us", Now it's "We"
Ben, most people would turn you away
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again if they had a friend like Ben
Like Ben, like Ben
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Via Doug Powers' column @ Michelle Malkin ........................................
.
You voted for Obama to prove you’re not a racist. Now, who are you going to vote for to prove you’re not an idiot?
Just about says it all, doesn't it?
UPDATE: Not to be an "Eeyore" {H/t HillBuzz}, but the following pretty well sums up my concerns with the lame duck session after 2 November .....................
The Scorpion and the Frog
One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn't see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.
Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.
"Hellooo Mr. Frog!" called the scorpion across the water, "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?"
"Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?" asked the frog hesitantly.
"Because," the scorpion replied, "If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!"
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. "What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!"
"This is true," agreed the scorpion, "But then I wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the river!"
"Alright then...how do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?" said the frog.
"Ahh...," crooned the scorpion, "Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!"
So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
"You fool!" croaked the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?"
The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog's back.
"I could not help myself. It is my nature."
Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.
Self destruction - "Its my Nature", said the Scorpion...
Dunno 'bout the rest of y'all, but I CAN SEE Dems playing 6 kinds of hell, before they collectively pick up their marbles & go home - the PROBLEM is, until the new folks could get themselves organized, WE'D be stuck with whatever the old-timers choose to do .............................
,
You voted for Obama to prove you’re not a racist. Now, who are you going to vote for to prove you’re not an idiot?
Just about says it all, doesn't it?
UPDATE: Not to be an "Eeyore" {H/t HillBuzz}, but the following pretty well sums up my concerns with the lame duck session after 2 November .....................
The Scorpion and the Frog
One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn't see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.
Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.
"Hellooo Mr. Frog!" called the scorpion across the water, "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?"
"Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?" asked the frog hesitantly.
"Because," the scorpion replied, "If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!"
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. "What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!"
"This is true," agreed the scorpion, "But then I wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the river!"
"Alright then...how do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?" said the frog.
"Ahh...," crooned the scorpion, "Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!"
So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
"You fool!" croaked the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?"
The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog's back.
"I could not help myself. It is my nature."
Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.
Self destruction - "Its my Nature", said the Scorpion...
Dunno 'bout the rest of y'all, but I CAN SEE Dems playing 6 kinds of hell, before they collectively pick up their marbles & go home - the PROBLEM is, until the new folks could get themselves organized, WE'D be stuck with whatever the old-timers choose to do .............................
,
Sunday, October 3, 2010
From my Colonel .............................. ;-)
SEASON'S GREETINGS
T'was the night before elections
And all through the town
Tempers were flaring
Emotions all up and down
I, in my bathrobe
With a cat in my lap
Had cut off the TV
Tired of political clap-trap
When all of a sudden
There arose such a noise
I peered out my window
Saw Obama and his boys
They had come for my wallet
They wanted my pay
To give to the others
Who had not worked a day!
He snatched up my money
And quick as a wink
Jumped back on his bandwagon
As I gagged from the stink
He then rallied his henchmen
Who were pulling his cart
I could tell they were out
To tear my country apart!
'On Fannie, on Freddie,
On Biden and Ayers!
On Acorn, On Pelosi'
He screamed at the pairs!
They took off for his cause
And as they flew out of sight
I heard him laugh at the nation
Who wouldn't stand up and fight!
So I leave you to think
On this one final note—
IF YOU DON'T WANT SOCIALISM
GET OUT AND VOTE !!!!
GOD BLESS AMERICA, OUR ONLY HOPE!
.
T'was the night before elections
And all through the town
Tempers were flaring
Emotions all up and down
I, in my bathrobe
With a cat in my lap
Had cut off the TV
Tired of political clap-trap
When all of a sudden
There arose such a noise
I peered out my window
Saw Obama and his boys
They had come for my wallet
They wanted my pay
To give to the others
Who had not worked a day!
He snatched up my money
And quick as a wink
Jumped back on his bandwagon
As I gagged from the stink
He then rallied his henchmen
Who were pulling his cart
I could tell they were out
To tear my country apart!
'On Fannie, on Freddie,
On Biden and Ayers!
On Acorn, On Pelosi'
He screamed at the pairs!
They took off for his cause
And as they flew out of sight
I heard him laugh at the nation
Who wouldn't stand up and fight!
So I leave you to think
On this one final note—
IF YOU DON'T WANT SOCIALISM
GET OUT AND VOTE !!!!
GOD BLESS AMERICA, OUR ONLY HOPE!
.
Blame it on the time of year, but every year, I'm lookin' for a Greyhound ..................................
Thirty years ago, I was {I thought} one day away from giving birth in Philadelphia; 4 October {feast of St. Francis of Assisi} would've been GREAT - I'd been involved in humane work since I was 14, so my child being born on his feast day would've been icing on the cake ......................... she's STILL the icing on the cake, even though the stinker was born on 6 October, feast of St. Bruno, patron saint of the possessed ............................. she's having "issues" with the 'big 3-0' {it's a hereditary thing - I thought my life was OVER @ 30}- if you're so inclined to tell her it isn't ALL bad, please leave comments here - I will ensure she receives them, on her birthday - a neighbor does wonderful things with cakes/fondant, so the neighbor, a friend & I are going to surprise her at work with it - the cake will be chocolate cake with raspberry ganache, and rum-flavored cake with pina colada-flavored ganache ........................ done up with skulls, of course!! ;-)
I MISS the Northeastern part of the country, this time of year .................................
.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Figuring it's only a matter of time ...................................... UPDATED below
once ØbamaCare kicks in, here's some warning for all out there -
First of all, I will be 54 in December - I have served my country in the USMC, USNR, and federal civil service, for a total of 21 years. I'm not stupid; I HAVE the sense that God gave a goose, thank you very much, when it comes to my own healthcare decisions.
I have been diagnosed with ulcers since I was 11 years old {that's FORTY THREE YEARS for the mathematically-challenged}; I have gone the gamut from milk, Mylanta/Tums, Librax, Pepcid, Prevacid, AciPhex, Dexilant. The most recent change was to Dexilant {originally Kapidex}, about a year ago.
The FodGuy's company's health insurance changed twice in 6 months - from UniCare to BC/BS to Cigna - we've been with Cigna since June - NOW they are demanding a step back in treatment, ie., I have to go on a 'trial' of Prevacid's generic, because THEY don't have all my history, and are looking to cut costs. When I called, THEIR demand is I go BACK to the doctor {for $20.00} and discuss it with him - if HE affirms that Prevacid is NOT an option, THEN they will "approve" Dexilant.
This was ALL DONE WITHOUT *MY* BEING CONSULTED, which has me so angry, to quote my father, I could smoke a pickle. The absolute ARROGANCE that I don't have the right to have input on MY healthcare is outrageous - and I do NOT see ØbamaCare making this better - if anything, it will make things like this WORSE.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
UPDATE:
Called Cigna again, requested a supervisor - the young lady who answered was able to fix things so that I only need to call my doctor's office, and have THEM call Cigna & document that Dexilant is THE choice for me ..................... I was primed for bear, and I'm STILL angry that I was left out of this 'loop' - I WILL make the point with both our doctor's office and our pharmacy that, when it comes to decisions such as this, where MY body is involved, I will expect to be consulted ..........................
.
First of all, I will be 54 in December - I have served my country in the USMC, USNR, and federal civil service, for a total of 21 years. I'm not stupid; I HAVE the sense that God gave a goose, thank you very much, when it comes to my own healthcare decisions.
I have been diagnosed with ulcers since I was 11 years old {that's FORTY THREE YEARS for the mathematically-challenged}; I have gone the gamut from milk, Mylanta/Tums, Librax, Pepcid, Prevacid, AciPhex, Dexilant. The most recent change was to Dexilant {originally Kapidex}, about a year ago.
The FodGuy's company's health insurance changed twice in 6 months - from UniCare to BC/BS to Cigna - we've been with Cigna since June - NOW they are demanding a step back in treatment, ie., I have to go on a 'trial' of Prevacid's generic, because THEY don't have all my history, and are looking to cut costs. When I called, THEIR demand is I go BACK to the doctor {for $20.00} and discuss it with him - if HE affirms that Prevacid is NOT an option, THEN they will "approve" Dexilant.
This was ALL DONE WITHOUT *MY* BEING CONSULTED, which has me so angry, to quote my father, I could smoke a pickle. The absolute ARROGANCE that I don't have the right to have input on MY healthcare is outrageous - and I do NOT see ØbamaCare making this better - if anything, it will make things like this WORSE.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
UPDATE:
Called Cigna again, requested a supervisor - the young lady who answered was able to fix things so that I only need to call my doctor's office, and have THEM call Cigna & document that Dexilant is THE choice for me ..................... I was primed for bear, and I'm STILL angry that I was left out of this 'loop' - I WILL make the point with both our doctor's office and our pharmacy that, when it comes to decisions such as this, where MY body is involved, I will expect to be consulted ..........................
.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
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