Thank You, Gentlemen

There are 98 living Medal Of Honor recipients.  Today, March 25th, is the day Congress has declared as National Medal Of Honor Day.

Where do we find such men?

Awwww ...!

Somebody needs a hug!

Heart Squeeze ...

Somebody does love him ...

To Die For The Cute!

Gorgeous Kitteh!

Never seen this kind of tortoiseshell-tuxedo cross before!

Why Do I Do This?

So I never went to bed Sunday night. 

DaBear was sick, and slept most of Sunday away.  I got up Sunday with my own health issues ... I had a sore throat and stiff neck, both of the right side.  The sore throat expressed itself especially when I coughed.  Sunday afternoon I developed throbbing pains on the left side of my face, in the teeth and the cheek.  The pains lasted two hours or so, and only then did that side get stopped up a little; once I was able to sniffle, the pains ceased.

I just never went to bed.  DaBear felt ill Sunday night, and even he was up till almost 2 (reading Dresden books).  I just stayed up, for no good reason --- I wasn't getting anything done in particular, other than the wash.

DaBear got up at 7:30 or so and emailed his boss that he wouldn't be in, then went back to bed.  And still I stayed up.  I was making phone calls, but still ----!

I showered, but instead of going to bed I started fiddling with the computer.

He got back up around 11 and made himself something to eat.  Then I made myself something to eat.

Sometime just before 2pm, I was sleeping in my chair, leaning over in the most awkward positions, and DaBear persuaded me to go lay down.   He woke me up around 6:40pm to eat. 

Now it'a almost 2am.  I finished the wash, filled the dishwasher, made a sh!tload of blog entries, and had a snack ... all since he went to bed at midnight.

I'm taking the car tomorrow, and I have a raft of errands to run.  And, yet, I may not get into bed before 3 --- I have to shower, I think.

<sigh>

This has to change.

I Can Relate!

When I was a little kid, I would have thoughts like this ...



and I would think this way when I wasn't such a little kid, too ...

Wore Out ...!

I've been here ...!



... sweet kitteh!

Vacation, Part 2

Made the hotel reservations.  We'll be in Iron River on the 3rd of July, and leave on the 10th. 

I've been in Iron River for Veteran's Day, and for Memorial Day ... the Fourth of July should be very nice, except for the fact that they don't do fireworks!

Silly Yankees!

Goodness Gracious ---

But, for a belly rub, I suppose it's acceptable behavior ...

... What The ...???

I don't know how this was photographed ...!

Vacation

We took the first real steps toward planning a vacation today.

Originally, we were going to take a train from Austin to Chicago, and then rent a car to get to the U. P.  However, upon reflection, the train wasn't going to work out.  We wouldn't be able to shower properly on the train, and that would mean getting to Chicago dirty and icky.  So, now we're going to rent a SUV here and drive up.

This time, I'll have a portable computer that's my own, and I should be able to write, at least a little, while there.

By then, we should have been in our new house for a couple of months ... I sure hope we can trust our new neighbors not to rip us off!

Amen, Kitteh!

Now, this is an icon!



... all you can do is live with it ...

How Kitteh And I Greet The New Day

This is me, most every morning ...


Too many late nights!

This Is One Of Those Pictures ...

that you keep staring at, trying to figure out:

1. How could the pictured event possibly occur; and
2. How did the photographer just happen to have a camera on hand to record the pictured event?
   

That's just ... freaky, you know?

Goodness Gracious: Mad Magazine Hits The Nail On The Head ...!

A Wonderful Tribute From Son To Father

I read this late last night, and wept. Godspeed, sir, to your reward; and to the son, you are so fortunate, to have a father worth honoring. Thank you for doing so.

===============================

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

My Father Asks For Nothing

(2006)My father asks me for nothing, really. Every three months or so, I take him to his doctor, who pokes about him wondering what keeps him animated, and that's about it. He's grown frail, and has discovered the joys of "Not Going." It takes a lot to get him to leave the comfort and safety of his house. I was really surprised when he called me on Saturday, because he asked me to take him somewhere.

My father was a ball gunner on a B-24J Liberator bomber in the Pacific during WW2. He rarely spoke about that. My father and his confreres considered themselves part of a thing greater than the sum of their parts in it --or so it seems to me -- and more or less did what was expected of them as a sort of unpleasant chore, kept themselves safe as much as was practicable, amused themselves when possible, and got back to being regular people as soon as they could.

As far as how practicable it was to keep safe hanging below a plane filled with four hundred pound bombs with nothing but the ocean beneath you to bore you and Japanese Zeros shooting at you to keep you interested in the trip, you can draw your own conclusions.

My father said that the last B-24 in flying condition was going to be at a little airshow nearby, and he wanted to go see it. Would I take him?

As I said, my father is very frail. His heart is big but not useful. His mind is sharp but not overused now. It takes quite a bit of effort for him to get down the hall and into a car. And there was nothing I could do to keep him from trying to climb in that plane when we got there.

I didn't try, actually; I just was sort of amazed, and wondered how I could help him. You entered the plane on a rickety jump ladder in the tail, walked through the fuselage filled with wooden ammo boxes and gun emplacemements, climbed around the retracted ball that was his home for forty missions, and then had to walk on a catwalk less than a foot wide between the bomb racks to get to the cockpit. All this for a man who needs a walker.

We went along the side of the plane, creeping along at the pace my father goes, my father assiduously avoiding walking between the fuselage and the props -- a habit sixty years old and more -- and he saw his chance. He ducked down and crept into the bomb bay.

Down came the hands. No one needed to be told who that man was, or why he was there. Everyone behind paused to wait patiently and respectfully, and everyone within reach helped me pick that old, frail, brave man up to look on the nuts and bolts of that totem of his distant life. And they thanked him, and they asked him questions, and marveled at him. A Brigadier General and a sailor and a J.A.G. and Vietnam vets by the handful pressed his hand for the piquant residue of that life that might be on it.

He just looked for one familiar face that he had not brought with him, but there were none.


My father asks for nothing.

(My father passed away on Sunday)

Tit For Tat, Kitteh Style ...

Silly bad kitteh ...

Mullen Visits Bit Of America In Heart Of Mexico

Office of the Secretary of Defense Public Affairs

Story by Jim Garamone
Date: 03.07.2009
Posted: 03.07.2009 01:46



MEXICO CITY - In the heart of this thoroughly Mexican metropolis, there is a little bit America.

Navy Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, took time from a busy schedule of meetings with Mexican military and naval leaders yesterday to visit the Mexico City National Cemetery.

The American Battle Monuments Commission oversees the cemetery, where 1,563 Americans are buried. Mullen had finished a meeting with Mexican army Gen. Guillermo Galvan, secretary of national defense, and was on his way to meet with Mexican navy Adm. Mariano Francisco Saynez when he asked to visit the American shrine.

The cemetery contains the remains of 750 Americans killed in the Mexican-American War in 1846 and 1847. "I wanted to pay my respects and honor those who served," Mullen said. Leslie Bassett, charge d'affaires at the U.S. Embassy here, accompanied the admiral.

Superintendent Hector de Jesus led the admiral's party along the cemetery's paths, pointing out famous and not-so-famous names. He lamented the fact that the admiral wasn't visiting later in the spring, "when all the flowers will be out."

But purple bougainvillea blossoms add highlights to the trees, and a variety of flowers bloomed around the monument to those "known but to God." The grass is perfectly trimmed along the pathways, and hedges allow privacy from the busy city.

"This is reflective of how Americans take care of those who serve and sacrifice," Mullen said. "There are 24 military cemeteries overseas, and they are all beautifully maintained."

The cemetery was the first American military cemetery established outside the United States in 1851. Congress authorized $10,000 to buy the land and hired people to collect the remains of 750 American soldiers from shallow graves around Mexico City. There was no way at the time to identify the remains, and they all are buried under a white-marble monument.

A further 813 veterans, members of their families and members of the U.S. Diplomatic Service also are buried at the cemetery. The last burial was in 1924.

Peggy Noonan: A Tragedy Of Errors, And An Accounting

Until this column, Peggy Noonan and I were not in charity; she, a self-professed Catholic and conservative, was worshipping at the Altar of Zero. This is the first column in a long time where she has pulled her tongue off 0bama's boots and turned slightly away from the Altar, and back towards reality.

Now, she's no longer a fave read, but she has redeemed herself, a bit. Maybe the scales are falling from her eyes. And, of course, she says good things about the Marines, and I adore the Marines.

Yayy, Peggy.

=================================================================================================

It is late in the morning one day last December.

A plane is in distress, it's lost one engine and now two and it's going down, and people on the ground hear the sound, look up, say, "That's going awful low," and whip out their cellphones. You could see the pictures they took later on the news.

It sounds like Chesley Sullenburger and US Airways Flight 1549, but that was five weeks later. This was the military jet that went down in San Diego; this was the story that ended badly.

Then this week it took a turn. And looked at a certain way, the San Diego story is every bit as big, and elements of it just as deserving of emulation, as Sully saving all souls when he put down in the Hudson.

It's Dec. 8, 2008, 11:11 a.m., and a young Marine pilot takes off from an aircraft carrier, the USS Abraham Lincoln, on a routine training flight. The carrier is maybe 90 miles southwest of San Diego. Lt. Dan Neubauer is flying an F/A-18 Hornet. Minutes into the flight, he notices low oil pressure in one of the two engines. He shuts it down. Then the light shows low fuel for the other engine. He's talking to air traffic control and given options and suggestions on where to make an emergency landing. He can go to the naval air station at North Island, the route to which takes him over San Diego Bay, or he can go to the Marine air station at Miramar, with which he is more familiar, but which takes him over heavily populated land. He goes for Miramar. The second engine flames out. About three miles from the runway, the electrical system dies. Lt. Neubauer tries to aim the jet toward a canyon, and ejects at what all seem to agree is the last possible moment.

AP

Dong Yun Yoon arrives with his minister the Rev. Daniel Shin at the crash site where his wife, two daughters and mother-in-law were killed.

The jet crashed nose down in the University City neighborhood of San Diego, hitting two homes and damaging three. Four people, all members of a Korean immigrant family, were killed—36-year-old Youngmi Lee; her daughters, Grace, 15 months, and Rachel, 2 months, and her 60-year-old mother, Seokim Kim.

Lee's husband, a grocer named Dong Yun Yoon, was at work. The day after he'd lost his family, he humbled and awed San Diego by publicly forgiving the pilot—"I know he did everything he could"—and speaking of his faith—"I know God is taking care of my family."

His grace and generosity were staggering, but there was growing local anger at the military. Why was the disabled plane over land? The Marines launched an investigation—of themselves. This Wednesday the results were announced.

They could not have been tougher, or more damning. The crash, said Maj. Gen. Randolph Alles, the assistant wing commander for the Third Marine Aircraft Wing, was "clearly avoidable," the result of "a chain of wrong decisions." Mechanics had known since July of a glitch in the jet's fuel-transfer system; the Hornet should have been removed from service and fixed, and was not. The young pilot failed to read the safety checklist. He relied on guidance from Marines at Miramar who did not have complete knowledge or understanding of his situation. He should have been ordered to land at North Island. He took an unusual approach to Miramar, taking a long left loop instead of a shorter turn to the right, which ate up time and fuel.

Twelve Marines were disciplined; four senior officers, including the squadron commander, were removed from duty. Their military careers are, essentially, over. The pilot is grounded while a board reviews his future.

Residents told the San Diego Union-Tribune that they were taken aback by the report. Bob Johnson, who lived behind the Yoons and barely escaped the crash, said, "The Marines aren't trying to hide from it or duck it. They took it on the chin." A retired Navy pilot who lives less than a block from the crash and had formed, with neighbors, a group to push the Marines for an investigation, and for limiting flights over University City, said after the briefing, "I think we're out of business." In a later story the paper quoted a retired general, Bob Butcher, chairman of a society of former Marine aviators, calling the report "as open and frank a discussion of an accident as I've seen." "It was a lot more candid than many people expected."

This wasn't damage control, it was taking honest responsibility. And as such, in any modern American institution, it was stunning.

The day after the report I heard from a young Naval aviator in predeployment training north of San Diego. He flies a Super Hornet, sister ship to the plane that went down. He said the Marine investigation "kept me up last night" because of how it contrasted with "the buck-passing we see" in the government and on Wall Street. He and his squadron was in range of San Diego television stations when they carried the report's conclusions live. He'd never seen "our entire wardroom crowded around a television" before. They watched "with bated breath." At the end they were impressed with the public nature of the criticism, and its candor: "There are still elements within the government that take personal responsibility seriously." He found himself wondering if the Marines had been "too hard on themselves." "But they are, after all, Marines."

By contrast, he says, when the economy came crashing down, "nowhere did we see a board come out and say: 'This is what happened, these are the decisions these particular people made, and this was the result. They are no longer a part of our organization.' There was no timeline of events or laymen's explanation of how a credit derivative was actually derived. We did not see congressmen get on television with charts and eviscerate their organization and say, 'These were the men who in 2003 allowed Freddie and Fannie unlimited rein over mortgage securities.' Instead we saw . . . everybody against everybody else with no one stepping forth and saying, 'We screwed up…'" There is no one in national leadership who could convincingly "assign blame," and no one "who could or would accept it."

This of course is true, but somehow more stinging when said by a serviceman.

The White House this week was consumed by extreme interest in a celebrated radio critic, reportedly coordinating an attack line with antic Clinton-era political operatives who don't know what time it is. For them it's always the bouncy '90s and anything goes, it's all just a game. President Obama himself contributes to an atmosphere of fear grown to panic as he takes a historic crisis and turns it into what he imagines is a grand opportunity for sweeping change. What we need is stabilization—an undergirding, a restrengthening so things can settle and then rise. What we're given is multiple schemes, and the beginning of a reordering of financial realities between the individual and the state.

The Obama people think they are playing big ball, not small ball, and they no doubt like the feeling of it: "We're making history." But that, ironically, was precisely the preoccupation of the last administration—doing it big, being "consequential," showing history. Watch: Within six months, the Obama administration will be starting to breathe the word "legacy."

What they're up to will win and hold support, at least for a while, until the reaction.

But is it responsible? Or is it only vain?

Anyway, all honor this week to the Marines, who were very much the former, not the latter.

Compare And Contrast: GWB and BH0 Vis-a-Vis The Marines

Most Marines are savvy enough to know who's on their side and who isn't.

It is my belief that Barack feels inferior to members of the military --- and rightly so.  The feeling makes him defensive, which, in turn, causes him to hold himself aloof. 

Please note, it's all about feelings.  Acting based solely on feelings is the hallmark of the liberal.

Different Presidents, A Different Marine Corps: Obama Vs Bush

'Nuff said.

Goodness Gracious: I Am Rose's Enlarged Thyroid, Part 2

So, today I went to get my blood drawn. 

I swear, that blood tech drilled a hole in my arm with a dull needle to get the blood out.  It seems that my arm has been sore, right there in the bed of the elbow, since my last blood draw.

I wonder when I did have my blood drawn last?  I need to ask Dr. Glaze and Dr. Dorsett.

First they took the blood, and then I got to pee in the cup.  The peeing was successful this time, as I managed to hold onto the cup as I filled it.  (Last time I gave a urine sample, for the GREX drug test, I dropped the cup in the toilet, and tehn couldn't pee for another 90 minutes.)

So ... now I wait until tomorrow (Friday).  If they don't call tomorrow by noon, I'm calling them.  I know, I know, I'm supposed to wait ... but I can't.

Thank God, we're going to see the Watchmen movie tomorrow.  I'm going to order big food at Alamo Draft House, and indulge myself in Italian sodas.

I Like Bears!

Even dogs that look like golden bears ...




Don't you just wanna hug him?  Especially in the snow?

Goodness Gracious: I Am Rose's Enlarged Thyroid, Part 1

Tuesday, I went to have a venous Doppler test done on my left arm.  Now, I've had a venous Doppler done before, on my legs, to make sure that I didn't have some circulatory side-effect of diabetes.  That test, as I recall, took about thirty minutes.

But the test on my arm took nearly an hour.  I had to strip to the waist and put on a hospital gown (ick).  The radiology tech spent what seemed to be a long time on my neck and the juncture of my shoulder, and then took readings all the way down to my hand.  She left the room briefly, just long enough for me to wipe off the goop (ick) and get back into my bra before she came back in and took more readings, all around the base of my throat, with two scanners of different lengths.

This morning, I got a call from the doctor's office.  The venal flow in my arm is just fine, no bloodclots or anything that would cause pain and/or swelling.

HOWEVER ...

I have an enlarged thyroid.  There is a heterogenous nodule on the left side.

Of course, it's on the left side.  My left leg is the one that's swollen; my left arm is also swollen; something on the left side of my face was swollen a few months ago, the sinus polyp was on the left side.  The filling that fell out of my tooth years ago is on the left side of my mouth.

I freely admit to having a raging case of hypochondria.  I was going to wait until next week to get my lab work done --- the liver panel I requested, a A1C to check the state of my diabetes, a urine test to make sure my bladder infection of a few months ago is truly gone --- but, after the doctor's office called, I decided to beat it in there ASAP, which would be tomorrow (Thursday).

My Daddy had a thyroid condition.  I don't know now what it was ... as I recall, he had to take a pill every day.  Thyroid conditions seem very amenable to treatment.  I am willing this to being an infection, and trying not to obsess ...

Goodness Gracious: Gotta Keep Politics Away From The Beauty Shop ...

I kinda got into it with my beautician --- and friend --- and one of the customers at the beauty shop today.  I called 0bama the "0bamessiah," reminded them of his drug addiction (they were dissing Bush's addiction), and so on.  We even got into the chimp cartoom thing.

My friend didn't say anything, but after I left, I realized I said things that didn't necessarily need to be said.

From now on, I'll stick with Michelle's clothes ...

I Have An Ick ...

I have an ick.  But it seems to be a little ick.

I got up this morning, with the intention of taking DaBear to work and hitting my nail tech appointment at noon.  But I felt so tired and draggy, and I was sore all over.  I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth while DaBear was in the shower, and when he came out, I was sitting on the side of the bed, still wearing my nightgown.  I got dressed, slowly, but was so out of it afterward I was sitting at my new computer, NOT playing with it.  I thought I was awake, but he says I was sound asleep.  I emailed and left a voice mail for my nail tech, carted the portable, my cell phone, and all my to-do accoutrements into the bed --- so nice to have a bed big enough to accomodate all that --- and finally, after seeing DaBear off, plopped myself in the bed ...

Where I promptly fell asleep for three hours.

The phone woke me up.  My fuzzy husband was letting me know he was bringing me lunch.  How kind and thoughtful!  We ate lunch (Jack In The Box) and I was able to stay up and play with the new computer after he went back to work.

I am blessed to have the husband I do, and the freedom I do.

Starting To Feel Crappy Here ...

I think I'm running a fever ... my body's sore and my skin doesn't want clothes on it.  I feel all draggy.

Woke Up Sore ...

Generally sore, although my left hip was particularly sore.  Not a sciatica thing, but on the outside join of hip and thigh.

Breaking The Sound Barrier To Bring Destruction Just That Much Faster!

Free-Floating Anger

A few years ago, the movie The Core showed static electricity building up and discharging, suddenly, unpredictably, and with horrific consequences, at in electrical superstorms at random sites all over the world. These devastating electrical storms destroyed the Roman Colosseum and San Francisco.

I feel the static emotional electricity building as I type.

It's not a good or a comfortable feeling.

People are mad as hell about the actions of government in the last month, and all that anger is floating above our heads, a malevolent cloud seeking a path --- any path --- to ground.

The Octo-Mom is attracting some of the energy --- the violent and sickly imaginative death threats she and everyone around her have received are above and beyond any rational reaction to her admittedly execrable behavior.

With any luck, some of the destructive potential of this anger will be leached off by Tea Parties --- but I think the Tea Parties will just crank up the anger, especially as people realize the drive-by media have no intention of covering these righteous demonstrations, preferring bobbing around in 0bama's tank and hoping, like the faithful puppy under the family dinner table, that a few pieces of Our Dear Leader's wagyu steak will drop on the floor within their reach.

I'm afraid it's going to get very very bad out there, long before it gets better ...