SHE IS STILL A KILLER AT 68

 

 A little bit of fall foliage repeating itself

Living in four distinct seasons brings four sets of seasonal signs. They come and go.  I partake in their annual story and this chapter is again coming to an end. Now to get ready for the next big change.

But four seasons do not bring any drastic life change here. A bad winter storm can slow us down for a few weeks, a month, make headline news and but we all move on. Living here in middle New England, we know the seasons and adapt to the changes.

Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love brisk days, no bugs and the outside chores of closing up spring and summer. All the little jobs outside beckon and seem over whelming. But a little here and a little there and most everything gets done.

Yesterday morning, I found the box of winter gloves and hats on top of the snow blower. I know that at the end of winter, I am tired of all of the cold/snow and will put these items where I will come across them in preparation for next winter season. I laid out the pile of mixed hats and gloves, re-arranged and took sets to the truck, tractor and bedroom dresser. Her sewed and repaired one of my favorite set of Carhart gloves. Her did the same and we are prepared for those first blasts of wind and cold air that want to go through us as we travel. Gloves and stocking caps; check.

The last green pepper was pulled last week as the plant gave its final effort and push to produce. The comings and goings of life well represented in garden efforts were put to final rest in our compost pile, along with the remains of other seasonal vegetables. "Green Pepper" was cleaned and roasted over the grill with a little olive oil and garlic salt.

Barn cat is now 68 years old. That she has survived this long, on her own terms living outside, is simply a miracle. A testament to her cat senses, OPSEC and stubborn attitudes. Not many stories of cats living very long outside in this part of the world. Too many natural patient predators.

She still prefers to stay outside when nights are warm. She is the first in the garage though when evenings are forecasted to be cool and cold. She is not above enjoying a full meal, cup of cream and climbing into her cat bed for a good night's sleep. But she too has to do the long stretching now in the morning to get things moving. 

I am surprised that she is still able to catch and kill the little animals she does. Apparently, the small chipmunk is a complete meal deal. Only the tail is left with some other unmentionables. And she always lays those remains in the middle of the small garage rug for us to see. She is still a killer at 68.

The job falls to me to remove the remains and I "set” them back to the earth with a small apology for the cat. Final rights for little chipmunk are always in order.

Our resident black bear sauntered across the front of the Dodge truck yesterday morning. Crossing from one side of the driveway to the other. No worries, no bother and ignoring my chores at the bottom of the driveway. Black Bear is still small, but healthy and continues to come and go here as part of his/her territory. Beautiful animal. Hibernation has got to be getting closer.

By the way, best not interrupt bears having sex.

UNEASINESS IN THE AIR.

I want to shed this shroud of uneasiness covering me this week.  I want to shake it off like the dog shakes off after swimming water. Is it self-inflicted? I ask myself this constantly. Could be. I want to write about this, but am at a loss for new paths or insights and in fear of just regurgitating media garbage.  Stuck in primordial goo this morning. Probably best to get outside with chores.

And I did. I took time to accomplish more post-season clean up and forced myself to sit down and look at fall foliage. This is the time of year people vacation in our neck of the woods. I often take all of the natural beauty for granted. 

But I force mandated time through out the day to pick up head and look at the forests. Lo and behold, it is absolutely wonderful what Mother Nature has been doing again as she moves us to winter. Maybe just a little past peak color now, but the late morning sun compliments her work. Time spent in observation helped calm down the mechanism.

Best to jump in now.

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SKIMMING THE NET

Quit often, other bloggers and thinkers clear the goo for me in their writings. I use to feel that I was the crazy one worrying too much. Seemingly overnight, I am merely a grain of sand in the flow of human wash about our tomorrows. 

Cloud People vs. Dirt People 

The Wood Pile Report 448

The trajectories of history's bits and pieces seem commonly governed by war, the Great Attractor, converging again and again as if no velocity is escape velocity. It's said peace is the time between wars when nations rearm and rewrite their battle plans. True that. Just now there's a "last warning" feel to it all, as if the ref just came on the field and said time's up, it's meat-grinder time................What it comes down to is this: with all sides escalating, look to your resources and make good on deficiencies. Should a military event trigger mobilization, actual shortages combined with DC's plans for "emergency redistribution" will make life difficult even for the prepared. Should there be military strikes on the US itself, look for draconian martial law reminiscent of Leningrad seventy-five years ago. History may not repeat itself but—oh wait, yes it does.

This headline below, although market/investment oriented,  paints a hell of a portrait of panic.

There will be Panic: "It's Going To Be Like The Contents of Hoover Dam Trying To Get Through A Garden Hose"

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DAYS OF OLD

I picked up the tractor this past weekend from mechanic. A hundred percent gone through, repaired and winter weather ready.  Had I taken the tractor for the go through and little repairs to a dealership or large town garage, the repairs would not have been addressed as mechanic did. 

Mechanic and helper are small town folks and old school. Friends now after all the years as our mechanic. Cloud People (gonna see this from time to time here folks) will not get this. But the old school approach to doing a job, adding a little personal interest along with experienced skill sets meshed well in the engines of this great country. Old School was an integral part of this land. 

Front drive shaft repaired. Step repaired and overbuilt. I have always overbuilt things; always. If a 2 x 4 will hold and do the job, then I install a 4 x 4. I said to the wife, mechanic runs a lot of heavy equipment when not at the shop. He built this because he did not want the job coming back to him. 

I went into mechanic's office and personally thanked him for the great job of over repairing the tractor step. "I did not want the job coming back to me." Yep, old school and right out of my overbuildit playbook. 

Mechanic and crew will get a warm homemade apple pie early Thanksgiving week. Most likely a dozen extra homemade Christmas cookies mid-December.

Saying thank you is one of life's greatest lessons and pleasures. And that is a real heartfelt thank you. Not just off the cuff mention. But a real extension of the hand and a firm grasp handshake and thank you, I appreciate that. You will see peoples eyes light up when you say it from the heart. Old school thank yous can come in the way of a hand written note or letter too. Not e-mailed, texted or electronic. Hand written and mailed. Last time you received one? See, old school!!

HERMIT'S AND RUSSIAN TEA CAKES

Her, sister of brother-in-law, is making cookies this morning. He loves Hermits and Russian Tea Cakes. Hermits will mail out just fine for his up-coming birthday. They are a hearty cookie and weather well. Dunkable! 

The upside this morning is my job of tasting these to make sure they pass quality control. Be damned if we are going to send cookies to brother-in-law if not up to highest standards. I am here for them. 

Like the dog, I waited and waited at the kitchen table. Hermans take time to make, ingredients and all. A finger was waved in the air when the first two dozen arrived from the oven and laid out in military order. They needed to cool.  Whhhhat? 

There is no way I can steal one when her back is turned, as it would appear as obvious as a fallen soldier. (I can get away with this when meatballs fall on the cooling rack near me) Numbered or bar-coded, each cookie is a member of a larger organization and accounted for. My allotment of 4 arrived with a cold glass milk. Apparently that is all til tomorrow mornings cup of coffee. And that is fine as they are very rich. BUT, that would not preclude me from eating a dozen. 

Final word!! Safe to eat.   

THINGS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND     

I see bundles of wood for sale at the local store all the time. Five pieces of wood, wrapped in plastic and finished off with a handle. The cost is $5 or a dollar a piece. (Figured that out myself using old school math skills!) I find myself staring at the wood for sale pile while trying to understand any value or use for the product. And then I see it all sell over a period of a couple of weeks and am a loss for words. I think of my wood piles at home and conclude that it must all be worth millions of dollars. I do not have an answer or understanding. Well, maybe for folks coming for the weekend to have outdoor camp fires; but still? 

I do go down the value-for-value road. Two gallons of water equal one piece of wood. Two swiss steaks, purchased for dinner tomorrow night, for four pieces of wood. Two pounds of butter equals one bag of wood. Two sausage egg hot sandwiches in the deli or four pieces of wood. Free cup of coffee, two doughnuts for one and a half pieces of wood. And I can go on and on. 

All of this runs through my head and I am troubled that I do not get it. Even if the wood is used for camping, a dollar a piece is head-shaking wrong.

AILENS

Apology from the get go here. I know that a few of you are rolling your eyes before I even start. Bear with me. 

Must have been a zillion sightings, cave drawings and reports since the beginning of time. All with one thing in common, them out there. The space station shuts off the live feed when a blur gets to close or tries to dock. Whew. 

But only one of those zillion reports over time has to be true. Only one and folks, they are out there.

"Because it's better if we find the aliens before they find us."

Investing 100 million dollars to find them first. This ranks right up there with wood selling for a dollar a piece. Get a grip boys and girls, the dirt people on the big blue planet have been entered into the galactic log books eons ago. 

Even if we found them first, we would "screw the pooch" on the handling of the information.  We would find them and spend another 100 million dollars denying their existence. 

"Screwing the pooch" is an aviators term for serious pilot error.

If you do not want to have anything to do with all of this, at least take an hour and a half with the movie PAUL.  It is funny and a good escape.

FINAL SAY

The week has passed and peak foliage has been a wonderful treat, traveling the highway-byways of middle New England. Frontal systems, wind, rain and the forests are shedding leaves over night. Groundcover for a day or two is fall foliage frosting. Leaf blowers and rakes will be out in force this coming week. 

Snow up north this weekend and colder weather on the horizon. I figure a week left to get the last few big chores done here.

Sunday morning day break and the wind has all but wiped fall foliage from the country side.  Cold outside and the first look and feel of winter is now official. 

Quick chicken noodle soup on the back burner for lunch today. Warm fresh rolls with butter will be dunked. I really really want to start the first fire this morning. But self imposed rules are rules; first fire has to wait till November 1st.

  



 
 

 

A SELF-QUIETING WEEK

Photo from Ace of Spades

I have been following the taking of a knee and jamming fists in the air from afar. Used to be that Sunday afternoon was spent in my man chair. Her would fix a fun snack lunch and I would consume a game and a half. Flip between games with maybe, burst out a cheer or utter “crap” and other expletives. I was a fan and I left life for the entire Sunday afternoon to watch football. I had a few favorite teams, quarterbacks, wide receivers and the such. Her calls one of the top NFL quarterbacks a girl (still does) but I always overlooked that cause the guy can play the game. But he does not walk the manly man walk nor carry himself in the manly man manner. 

And I will say here, as an aside, that I always enjoyed the National Anthem and the pre-game flyover. Always, always, always touched places deep inside me. If well sung, a tear in my eye.  

Very poor sportsmanlike conduct from one of my west coast teams last season put that team out of the house here. Then this season, Kaepernick (one of my/our favorites a few years back) finally pushed the whole NFL program off the property. The NFL is no longer our dads' sport and I am sure NOT going to listen to all of the crap during pre-game just to see the kick-off and stay with the game. The off button works just fine. And to the sponsors here, I will no longer spend my money on your stuff. The off button works just fine at the store's, too. I will not be a participant in S***ing on my anthem and my flag. There is an old saying that you do not crap in the same place you eat. Not good for long term health and welfare nor a business model the board will appreciate. 

There was a time when the NFL and its sponsors brought taking a knee to their fan base and we loved it and them for it.  

I see now where some are questioning our National Anthem. Not surprised. "Weak", says John Ledgend.

Leah Tysse, kneeled while singing the National Anthem recently, stating ".... Let's be honest. Until we can recognize that white privilege exists, we cannot have a dialogue about race."

Hillary, bless her heart, perceives blacks as super predators. Give her a call, Leah, and report back to us on your lengthy conversation with her about race and the wonderful solutions you both brought forward.  She indicates a willingness to talk before the video ends. I am sure that great inroads await us all from you two putting your heads together.

Deplorables, Super Predators, Needy Latinos, the list of "Acceptables" is getting smaller. 
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Skimming the Net this week

A Good Gray Man Read.

The Elite Have No Idea

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I am grateful that I have not had to worry about Paris Hilton for awhile. Nor do I worry anymore about Tom Hiddleston and Taylor Swift. I did enjoy seeing them out and about, but apparently he wanted a public life, she did not; talk of children and then they moved on. Tom Hiddleston has become one of my favorite actors after watching the mini-series, The Night Manager, Tom will do just fine, me thinks. James Bond material. And probably a song soon about ol Tom from ol Taylor so she benefits, too.

But this week I am worried about poor Billy Bush. Never watched him on TV other than flipping channels and briefly spending a few seconds with him. Never held my attention nor interest. But Billy has said bad words, was way too close to "The Donald" many years ago and of course has been suspended by NBC. Poor guy now fears his career may be over in broadcasting for trash talking filth and dirt.  Wikileaks has his value at 9 million dollars. The upside for Billy is that he is the only broadcaster everyone is talking about and attention is attention, even if it is bad. Billy should wear all of this attention as a badge of honor. No, I am not condoning all that he and The Donald said regarding kitty cats, but my god, who is without sin saying bad words? My money is on Billy doing just fine after all of this.

I see the good old boys of the GOP have again thrown "The Donald" under the bus this week and "The Donald" is now going it alone now without the party's support. I do love an underdog! The more nastiness the teleprompter readers throw at "The Donald", the stronger he becomes. Like a super hero. Apparently, if he wins, everything that happens in the future, from past political actions and to future catastrophes, will be blamed on him. But he is not a politician nor has had any part in the history of political doings. He's donated and rubbed elbows, but not been a decision or policy maker. Flies in the face of common sense, huh? Where's the underdog?

SNOWFLAKES

I enjoy visiting with people I do not know when I go to the grocery store. I never go to the store under any kind of hurry-up come and go pressure. I like taking my time and enjoy quick visits with strangers. Ninety-nine percent of the times folks engage, joke and visit. And it is probably my fault that I bring out the 1% on occasion.

Noon-thirty on a Sunday afternoon is not the time to go to the store. Everyone is shopping and the lines are always long. But I did, had a small basket and stepped into a 7-person long line at the quick checkout. Peeking around the corner, I noticed it was the gal who is ALWAYS very slow checking folks out. The gal in front of me was hand-carrying 3-4 items, expressionless. I pulled in behind her and nicely asked her “if she could please hurry up.” See, this is a joke, folks. No one standing in a long check out line can hurry up. Was my opening line to start a conversation. It works 90% of the time starting a conversation, even a brief one. Ninety percent know it is a joke. 

In the past years, an older gal always worked that #1 check out line and we interacted several times a week with pleasantries and joking. I would often ask her to hurry up and she would throw it back in my face. She knew I was pushing her buttons in the way of joking. I quit doing that, not because she objected or saw it as some kind of micro aggression, but because other folks in line thought I was some kind of real asshole. If looks could kill, there would be no “afterblog” here.

The gal in line looked at me with incredulous eyes. Not believing what she heard. How rude of me to ask her to hurry up when she had no control over this whole out-of-control day with all lines backed up and no one moving to any noticeable degree. Yikes! There it was, in her eyes and void expression. I immediately go into my “I am just teasing” apology and body language. “I was just joking.” Nothing, absolutely nothing in response. Yikes, again.

So I look at line #2. It is shorter with a younger girl running it who is faster and HAS expressions and life on her face. I wanted to get out of line #1. I choose line #2 and, low and behold, I move through at lightening speed. Line #1 is still backed up and I dare not look at the gal I tried to tease and start a conversation with.

I get all of my cart on the belt and put the little plastic thing behind my last item indicating the free space now available to whoever is next. The check out gal says hello and how are you? I say "top shelf looking up." I turn back to look at the next person and it is the gal I tried to tease. I could not resist.

“Oh, you are the gal I just teased about hurrying up.” She smiled, said nothing, but smiled. I said, “This is just not fair, just not fair.” See, after all was said and done in those few moments, I tried to tease, start a conversation, was all checked out before her line was moving. And she had to come in behind me when she was once ahead of me. See, just unfair.

But, she smiled.

In all honesty, calling her a snowflake may be too judgemental. I could have just been another asshole in her life that day that she did not want to deal with. Long lines at a grocery store do not always bring out the best pleasantries in folks. I need to smooth out my starting-a-conversation-with strangers approach.

WWW III

I do worry still about WWW III and nuclear war. Too many stories and threats and incidents being traded between nations and their leaders. One would think people are also concerned but maybe it is just more to worry about than anyone wants to worry about. Head in the sand works, too. Besides, we ought to be spending our time on she said, he said, they said and OMG OMG. Regardless, I worry about the big one now and soon. 

It will be game-on with the big flash in the sky. Do you have your Potassium Iodide? Buy it today. It will vanish and be sold out in a heartbeat.

Do you know how to flush your body system in the days after the bright light? You can get much of this stuff today from your local grocery store. Do your homework and act. You will need to be drinking more water daily, in the after, than you are drinking today. Your everyday availability to have water can also vanish in a heartbeat.

These are just a few of the many sites addressing, need to know, information after a nuclear bomb attack. 

Protect Yourself from Nuclear Radiation Exposure.

Nukes and Fallout 

22 Ways to Naturally Detox

I am reminded of a class I took in junior college after leaving the Army. I was a little older than most of the kids and a lot more serious about my education.

I took a class in world history/relations. Do not remember the exact course title. We spent a good part of a week working with partners (3) representing a major country of the world. We “gamed” the countries' self-interests in the world through research and then interacting in the affairs of the world with the other team countries. We were given problems to solve as world leaders. We had to make choices in our own self-interest and then the world's self interest as we problem solved. After running a full scenario, we were given a different county to represent the next day and gamed a different set of circumstances all over again. Never Ever Did We Game all of this where WWW III did not start in the middle east and was a nuclear event. NEVER! This was back in 1970.  Rigged? Maybe, but we tried our damnedest to not have our sessions turn into war as a result of our combined problem solving. 

If this is indeed the case of near-future human events, then maybe you and I ought to be vewy vewy ready. Vewy vewy ready!!

WHAT I DO KNOW FOR SURE IS COMING.

Iced Over Driveway Last Season.

This is mother nature at work here every winter and part of some week in the near future. Snow melted, then iced over, more snow on top, melted again by the afternoon sun and re-frozen that night. Poor dog's legs slide out to the side when she has to go out and do her business. She always looks back at me, during these moments, saying bad dog words. Upside, when all is said and done, is her knowing the warm brick hearth behind the wood stove awaits her return to the warm living room.

November and December, sound like a cold, wet, snowy mess here according to the Farmer's Almanac. 

Tractor is with our mechanic doctor with front driveshaft problem. Picked up a new bearing and bushing cushion this week. Ought to have the old girl back by week's end. Yes, it was getting close to failure and there is no doubt in my mind she would have failed at the bottom of the hill, late on a Friday afternoon with two more feet of snow in the forecast that night. That is the way of the ignored mechanical world.

Her rig is in the shop too with a possible radiator leak. Exploratory surgery appears to be the answer. Good news is that her rig does not have a head gasket failure with water leaking into the oil pan. Engine light came on and O2 sensor was easily replaced. But her rig will soon again be winter ready. Yep, needs a new radiator.

Prime rib, lobster and a night at the opera are out of the question this month facing these repair bills.

A self-quieting week when all was said and done.

POST 29

I broke free yesterday and built things. Little things. Cut pine pieces, glued, clamped and assembled the old-fashion way with small nails. Screwed in place and now functioning in the kitchen cabinet to neatly hold new frying pans, 7 in all. Old glass lids, old pans still on the counter and we are both trying to throw them away in the garbage can of recyclables. Today could be the day. We have no problem of finding stuff and bringing it home with intentions to use. Pasta-making machine, old-fashion espresso pot, pizza stones. Stuff.

The old cat blankets were removed and thrown in the garbage can earlier this past week and replaced with warm sweaters, bathrobes and blankets from the bin of old clothes. I get pleasure out of seeing the cat in a freshly cleaned cat house, snuggled deep in warm surroundings. Time is short now before her heated bed is turned for 6 months and her water dish plugged in. Eating two cans of cat food and two large helpings of cream daily now. A sign.

Making little things on the cleaned shop bench is what I need to get back to. I have an idea of making a model of a V-22 Osprey. A whirligig to get flying before the first snows set in. I have two large over-sized fan blades that ought to hum in a gentle breeze. I enjoy getting wrapped up in no-nonsense projects like this because I get totally lost in the planning, thinking and building. I can see the finished project in my head and the propellers turning. Once I get the fuselage roughed out, the project will gain a life of its own. Stay tuned.

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Skimming the Net This Past Week

Fred On Everything.

From the    Wood Pile Report

* "The purpose served by race riots is clear unless you believe the rioters are deep thinkers with a noble sense of justice. Just as dogs claim territory by pissing on it, so too do they claim territory by pissing on it. Detroit for one, thoroughly pissed on and thoroughly claimed. Great Civil Rights Leaders piss from on high, rioters piss horizontally. "White flight" isn't some unfortunate side effect of such tribal territorial marking, it's the intent. Mr. Buchanan could have ended this essay with "... a criminal takeover of Charlotte’s downtown". Whether it was criminal or not will be debated by the usual ameliorists. That it was a takeover won't be."  (Pat Buchanan article)

* "We got to talking around here about what we'd really do if we were in a city when the SHTF, meaning a sudden catastrophe, real life-or-death stuff, grid down or Boston winning the World Series. Kidding.

Let's assume you know it's "the big one", but you know almost nothing more. You must act immediately. This will win me no friends with the comms and intel people, but here's what you don't need to know in the first hours:

exactly what happened,
when it happened,
what caused it,
who did it and why,

and here's what you do need to know in the first hours:

where a safe place is,
how to get there intact.

That's it. Either you want to survive or you want to be the best informed corpse in the city. Said differently, he who panics first panics best. Yes, there are times when panic is the rational response, not in the sense of unthinking reaction but in the sense of committing to survive without wasting time on distractions. First get off the tracks, then watch the train."

Surf Party

* 'Hurricane Matthew can suck my a**,' she said, before downing multiple beers at once."

Nothing like a fridge full of beer to welcome in a major storm to your neighborhood. This article is worth a few minutes of reading wonderful quotable quotes. Quite the contrast from the end of the world weather/news casts. Ought to be interesting to follow all of this after the storm passes.

Telegraph Road

Mark Knopfler singing - playing guitar. Rolls up his sleeves, feels the music and shakes the numbness out of his fingers.   If I could sing, write music and play the guitar, this is what I would want it to be. If you do not have 13 minutes, then fast forward to 8:50 and let go for a few minutes. Full screen and audio up.  This is what music sounds like.


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When I was flying commercially after Vietnam, I often gave orientation rides to folks who were afraid to fly. Maybe a birthday present from a family member or just taking a walk on the wild side for a moment in their life. I always had access to a Cessna 172, a very comfortable and user-friendly airplane.

I always gave the very best flight I could. There were way too many stories of pilots scaring the hell out of someone who was already apprehensive about flying in small planes to begin with. I never understood the need for anyone to act like that. To what point, other than 'look at me'.

The flights always went well, the coastal scenery was worth the chance they thought they were taking. A few gentle turns along with longer duration straight and level flying. An hour introduction flight.

Smiles on their faces when the flight was over said it all. They will be back and speak well of their first flight. A basic fear or uneasiness, overcome.

These past few weeks are at the forefront here. We are having more and more conversations with people who want one-on-one instruction to learn to shoot. The reasons vary, mainly centered around self and family protection, but quite often a hidden fear, uneasiness and apprehension to over come. While on the range, we have seen fear rise in the admittance of being scared and trembling hands. But they come and have put a major personal concern on the line for us to work with, and for, them, coming to grips. We work with them in the same sense of first flights. 

We focus our instruction on gun safety and the basics of shooting. We tell all the folks that at the end of the lessons they will be tired for working new hand skills along with some stress. That what we will be looking at is safety, consistency and basic success with rounds down range. If they are off the target initially, not to worry, we will get them on target by the end of the session and we always do. And most important to them, and to us, is “that you will be safe shooting a .22 pistol, you will know and demonstrate handgun safety, from loading, moving with a pistol in your hand, clearing a jammed gun and returning a cleared gun to a shooting bench/storage. After a few magazines, they are required to explain to us what we have explained to them. Uneasiness and fear turn into working the challenges of learning to shoot and be on target. Lots of smiles and heart-felt "thank yous" when the class is over.

I would like to share with you some of the reasons women attend our classes but will never betray a trust. I WILL say that with all that is pressed into our chests daily on the whole gun debate, some everyday, wonderful women have become seriously threatened in the courses of their daily lives. Young to old. If what we are seeing in some of our classes is but a little window of life here in this great country, we are in a world of hurt.

Their stories and concerns do not come from a fear of the world falling apart, but from being too close to drug users and old-fashioned abuse. Fear of being cornered is a hell of a motivator. Some have come to this hard realization and are acting on doing what it takes to protect themselves and their children. I wish I could summon words to describe the profound seriousness these women bring to being ready to act. It has been an education for me, working with all of them.

I must admit that I have run into a wall here this week. Re-written much and deleted much.

We often talk about distractions all around us. No sooner than I got on a path this week, “squirrels” happen and I am ninety degrees into the underbrush. And while in the underbrush, “squirrels” happen again, another ninety degrees and soon I need to stop, look for high ground, check the compass and find a familiar landmark to gain the path again. Circles this week and a few ups and downs.

I would like to leave you with a letter from a father to his sons in college that he wrote to them this week.  With his permission:

You might call me paranoid or reactionary or irrational...but people buy life insurance because they *might* die early, they buy health insurance because they *might* get sick and they buy home insurance because their home *might* burn down or flood.

So, this is my advice for a different kind of (free) insurance...

At Colorado University this week, someone had a machete and was trying to attack people.  Doesn't matter why, what religion or color he was, or what weapon he used - he was trying to hurt people and was successful.

http://www.dailycamera.com/news/boulder/ci_30437066

Problem is, the people he hurt were just in the wrong place at the wrong time - it is usually so very random.

There are dozens of examples of similar (and worse) events recently taking place in the US.  I'm just not sure it's going to get any better for a little while.

But, if you keep your eyes and ears open while you are in a public space (even at school), you can increase your chances of not being one of those unfortunate people.

* When you enter a public space, look around at the people, identifying who in the immediate area is most likely a threat (profiling).

* Look at people's hands.  Anything in them?  Like watching a pitcher about to do a pickoff, you watch his feet for movement - same here, hands and feet

* Don't zone out in a crowd (smart phones anyone?)  Keep your eyes on everyone, switching your glance to different parts of the group around you.

* Try not to turn your back on someone, unless you know they aren't a threat. Put walls and obstacles to your back or flank.

* Look for quick exit points in every place you go.  If you hear a loud noise, exit away from it. (A lot of people in public shootings say they thought they heard "firecrackers", which were gunshots).

* Don't go towards a threat unless you can easily kill it dead.

Yes, this may sound paranoid but it is what trained police and military people do as a habit.  I still do it, especially in the city and subway and in every crowd, regardless.  Habit.

The more you do it, the more natural it becomes.

It is called "situational awareness" and the people who practice it survive and may even be the ones who identify and stop bad things before they happen or get worse.

Unfortunately and sadly it is part of our current reality.  Actually, it is just plain human nature - but some times are worse than others.

Be aware.  Don't be surprised by anything.

Love you,
Dad"

FREE FIRE ZONE

Going to try to publish on Sundays. But as soon as I set out a rule, I break it. We'll see.

From The Woodpile Report: and other sources this week. Skimming the top.

• “If they bomb EVEN one city in Russia, I swear, in half an hour every muslim will die” Vladimir Putin;  The Times
• AR 15 Mud Test
• Russian intelligence outfits are bringing back typewriters and building out their short wave radio structure. Perhaps they know something we don't. Nah. Unpossible. 
• Pieces are falling off this place, something's going to break. Preppers better have all of what they need and most of what they want. In place. Now.
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• Inside the AK-47
• From Facebook post:
  "A quick safety note for Concord peeps: You might want to consider some sort of personal safety device when out and about at our area shopping centers like Walmart on Loudon Road in the future.Today, I was verbally accosted and threatened by an aggressive panhandler (I'm going to surmise a junkie of some sort) who politely requested money from me for a motel room for he and his girlfriend. He pulled out a rather large wad of cash and pleaded with me that he only needed $12 more dollars and they were hungry.When I declined and said, I don't give money out to people; I give money to The Friendly Kitchen, he became belligerent and demanded the loose change in the center console of my vehicle, reaching in toward my open window. I rolled up the window and began to call police as he flailed his arms around, screaming and threatening me and then, threatening to damage my vehicle as he walked away. The man hit up a bunch of other people and then came back to my vehicle so I didn't dare leave. I began to slowly drive around the parking lot, keeping an eye on him, and after about seven minutes or so, he was picked up in a beat up late 1990s Chevy Malibu and drove off east toward Route 106. It had a vehicle plate of NH and then began with 406. If you see it around, stay away.Police said a man matching the same description had been there previously and they have had a bunch of complaints about him and others.Needless to say, I'm not easily scared and, frankly, I haven't been a victim of a violent crime since I was in my late teens living in Brooklyn. So this was a bit spooky - even for a rough and tumble guy like me who has seen a lot.As our heroin crisis continues to get worse with no relief in sight, the people on the fringes are probably going to get even more desperate - and violent. It's clearly time to be a lot more prepared to protect ourselves than some of us are. So, seriously, stay safe, folks."
  

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The Free Fire Zone

Stories of shootings, killings, stabbing, bombing, injured people and problems of color in the news for months now.  More and more folks talking about; “what is it going to take for me to protect myself and my family?” to how and when something like this may come about. To take another's life will be a life changing decision, can never be undone and not one to be considered lightly. To be cornered and the only action left in the box of choices is to take a life to protect a life, is not something I thought I would ever have to deal with or ever discuss again.

I plan never to run to a gun fight. I will never shoot anyone stealing from me nor ever shoot a man in the back. Never. I will stand and protect to the best of my ability my life, wife, family and innocence. I think the line in the sand for this kind of decision making and action will the be a last chance choice and the go/no go decision will be clear. I do not dwell on this but have tried to strongly build how I will act, as best I can, ahead of time. Face to face taking another life; do not really know if I can do this. But this being said, I will never live on my knees. I will choose to go out full burner with boots on. “Men will die for the same things they live for.” Cannot remember where I read this. 

Awhile ago, I sat down with my wife and said that there was something I needed to tell her. We do not do this often.  Always means that something of deeper importance is going to be discussed. I told her that should the moment come when there is not time to talk and something bad happens, that I want to her to always know that I love her deeply and w/o constraints.  I wanted her to know that in case I cannot tell her that in an end. She told me the same in return and it was a hard, heavy and teary eyed morning conversation. But it is said now.

The combat missions I flew in 1966/1967 (800+) were in support of our boys on the ground. We were aerial artillery and called in to support their gun fights on the ground. We contacted the units' forward observer en route. The FO gave us friendlies location, the enemy location and situation report. From nearly being overrun to having engaged a larger enemy force, we cleared many an entrenched enemy for the boys. The men I flew with were surgical in our ability to deliver high explosive rockets and machine gun support within meters of our boys on the ground. We did that daily and with excellent success. It was war.

 

It was normal for war aircraft and crews to be given free fire zones. And free fire zone was exactly what it says. Free fire on anything/anyone caught in the zone defined by a rectangular grid zone (2000 meters by 4000 meters for example) and a set of coordinates. "Intel" indicated that all were combatants in that zone. In other words, mission protocol gave us permission to kill on sight anything/anyone. It was war. 

 

Typical low level flying and Vietnamese on Rice Paddy Dikes

 

On one such mission, my team came upon a single man walking on a rice paddy dike, wearing black pajamas. Black pajamas was what the enemy wore. Vietnamese wore black pajamas. The Air craft commander in the other helicopter also confirmed that the man was indeed inside the free fire zone. We always always went out of our way to make sure our navigation was spot on. It was and he was. The door gunners were always tied into our conversations.

My door gunner asked if he had permission to shoot and kill the man. At that moment, the responsibility to take that mans life was on my shoulders and my decision. I had permission to do so in these combat missions. All the door gunner needed was a “yes” from me. I said “no” and told the team we were going to fly over and see if the man had a weapon. He did not.

On our next pass, I told the door gunner to shoot along side the man and if he ran, then he was for sure the enemy. The door gunner lit up the M-60 machine gun, spitting up mud/water at 750 rounds a minute next to the man walking on the dike. He continued walking and made no attempt to run. I gave the “no kill” order.

I have thought of this moment so many times in the years after. I know the man in black pajamas knew that if he ran he was a dead man. To this day I do not know if he was the enemy. I could not kill an innocent/defenseless man, even with permission in an active war zone and as a part of mission protocol.

I was a 20 year old kid with permission to take a life. I have thanked God a million times, in the years after Vietnam, for guiding me on that day. In all of the war fighting I flew, I never had an itch to kill. And no, I knew of no one else who did either. From where does a young kid find the right thing to do in times like this?

We were returning one morning from a normal fire mission. Cleared from the mission, we turned north, on the deck, along the Central Highlands coast line. A mile inland or so the earth erupted around us. Nothing to draw on from experience nor training. We realized that we were in a B-52 strike and luckily on the edge of the drop. We turned right, directly for the coast line and the explosions waned behind us. Our tails tucked between our legs, pucker factor at max and shoulders shrugged waiting for the hit. Of course we would have turned into dust and never ever known the moment of being hit by a 500 pound bomb falling from a B-52. Lucky? Yep, lucky, shaken up and somewhat pissed off that we were not briefed on our mission being close to a scheduled B-52 strike that morning. I had a few conversations on all of this when I returned. And sure enough, looking at the map of the proposed strike, were were on the eastern edge off the targeted grid square. We received an “oops” from the morning mission briefer.

 

As we hit the coast line, we turned north to parallel. Flying a loose echelon formation, feet off the ocean deck. Gunners wanted to open up the 60's and I said go ahead. They did and it was a photo opportunity. Just like in the movies, two M-60 machine guns kicking up the water in front of the helicopter.

I shut them off after a few seconds and we settled down to the last part of our flight to home base. On the shoreline deck, carving the same turns, ups and downs as the coast line. We rounded a small rock peninsula (in the photo above) in a tight left hand turn. There on the rocks was a single man, black pajamas, fishing. The door gunner asked if he could shoot, was he the enemy, and I said NO. I saw this man and I saw me, the teenager, sitting on the rocky shore line at Westport Washington, fishing for Perch. Same same!!

The door gunner's question was not an on the edge of the seat request, but a request just the same. All the kids we flew with were exceptional young men. Many of our mission decisions were defined in the moment.

The B-52's flew out of Guam, using celestial navigation and obliterated designated rectangular targets. From a distance, when we were called in to over fly a recent strike for report purposes, it always looked like the B-52's had about an 85% accuracy rate from that high altitude method of bombing. Very few bombs landed outside of the designated target area. I never saw anything left to report on. Total surface of the land destroyed. We were sent out a few times, at day break, to over fly the nights B-52 air strikes. I cannot remember ever seeing any damage to the enemy. 

Earlier this week I learned this.

"B-52 missions flying out of Guam and Thailand were required to file flight plans as required with the local ATC and thus to the world in the form of a NOTAM. North Vietnam was receiving these NOTAMs via the CAO and were able to extrapolate target data from the documents. This gave ample time to warn potential targeted units and locations with up to eight hours to vacate the

area and make defensive preparations."

 

THOUGHTS

I turned 21 flying those combat missions in Vietnam. Seventy-one now and many years to digest truths about the war, about the senselessness of any war and loss of men and women. So much is lost in the causes and agendas of world leaders. You and I can spend countless hours here on many tangents. War is not a peoples' choice but people are the ones who pay the price. It looks so much different now than it did as a 20 year-old combat pilot. Back then, it was all for the men/brothers put in harms' way. That is what I understood then and, if put in the same position today, I would again serve those men with my life. But I so understand now the futility and utter waste of what put me in that position in the first place.

My Father's View

One late afternoon at McChord AFB, found my parents and I milling around the terminal. All the young men and women wore their colors. The parents paced, hugged, kissed and cried.

I was a young helicopter pilot going to Vietnam and I knew I was not going to die. My parents did not share the comfort of my convictions. My father pulled me aside, held me close and handed me a stiletto knife in a sheath. The knife was designed to kill and had been hidden all day with in my fathers jacket. Of all the lessons my father had to teach and give me, this day’s charge was allowing me the permission to take another human life. “Do what ever you have to Son, to come back to us in one piece” said dad. Mom never saw the exchange.

My dad’s eyes were red, but he was strong for his wife and son. His heart must have been tearing at the hinges but I never saw him cry. I never saw the depth of my parents pain. Many years later they told me how many in our community shunned them because their son was fighting in Vietnam. I had no idea and they carried that burden completely.



 

AND FINALLY

Today, I may very well be in the Basket of Deplorables.  You and I may very well re-think the foundations of our lives when we realize we are citizens marked by our government leaders and a political class.

   
With their fingers on the trigger of a drone strike or a battle rifle; if given a "free fire zone" protocol; what will the young kids serving America do today?