Did you ever wake-up with a song in your head that just wouldn't go away. Well that happened today. The odd part is that it's a Baptist Children's Sunday School song that I haven't heard for over 48 years. Somewhere in the back of my brain some nerve ending just decided to start firing away. Thought I'd share in hopes that doing so would get it out of my mind, here goes, if you know it sing along with me:
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Down in my heart
I’m gonna let it shine
Down in my heart
I’m gonna let it shine
Down in my heart
I’m gonna let it shine
Ain’t gonna make it shine
Just gonna let it shine
Ain’t gonna make it shine
Just gonna let it shine
Ain’t gonna make it shine
Just gonna let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shineLet it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Hope you enjoyed that!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Tales of Thanksgiving
The holiday season always makes me sit and think, especially when I should be working. This time of year always makes me think of several memorable Thanksgivings. The first was back in
the 1961. The whole fam-damly was on a convoy to the farm to have Thanksgiving Dinner with Grandma Jones. There were to many of us to fit into one car, so Mom and Dad, Jenniffer, Peter, and Raymond were in one car, and Sherry, Krista, Jennell and I were in the second car. We were headed along what is now the back-way to the farm, southwest out of OK City, through Binger, and through what we thought then were canyons (we hadn't been out west yet) towards Oney, or Albert, depending on which side of the 4-way stop sign you lived on. We had made it past Binger and were cruising along; as I recall Sherry and Krista were debating about which radio station to listen to. Krista was winning because Sherry was way too safety conscience to think about trying to change the radio station while she was driving. I was leaning forward from the back seat with my arms crossed under my chin on the back of the front seat, no-one even considered safety seat belts back then. When all of the sudden there was great big square thing covering the windshield, then there was a tearing sound, and then it was gone. All of the sudden Sherry is frantically trying to stop the car. Dad's doing the same in front of us, then backing up. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it wasn't going to be good. And Krista says; "Dad's going to be really mad about that." It turns out that when we had stopped at the service station earlier that the hood hadn't been closed properly, the hatch had released and it had flipped open, the sheared its bolts and flipped backwards over the top of the car. Luckily no one was hurt. I don't recall Dad being mad about the loss of the hood. But I do remember Sherry being really shook up for the rest of drive in. The only other thing I remember about that Thanksgiving is that this was the last time I ever had Grandma Jones "Grape Cobbler". She made it from wild grapes that she had picked and canned. It had big chunks of dumplings mixed up in a thick grape sauce with whole grapes floating around it. It was one of my favorite deserts when I was a kid. Funny what you remember about holidays.
The next one that I remember was Thanksgiving of 1963. That was the year that President Kennedy was assassinated. Almost as memorable to our family was that this was the year that the Florida Seminoles had demonstrated and taken over their BIA office in a sit in. These two events will be forever linked in my mind. Naturally all the demonstrators had been arrested and hauled off to jail. Dad had sympathy for them and felt that he should do his part to support them. One evening when he was feeling the benefit of John Barley Corn and not thinking as clearly as one would hope, he decided that the best thing to do in support of his fellow Seminoles was to call President Kennedy speak his piece of mind. Naturally, he was not allowed to speak to the President; but he had managed to vent his ire to whomever it was they had eventually linked him up to. A few days later President Kennedy was assassinated. I was in Social Studies class at John Marshall High School when it happened. History was a telecast block of instruction, a new experiment for OKC schools, and all 8th graders attended the same class in the auditorium, a class of about 300 hundred of us. There was one lead teacher and several assistant teachers that monitored us as we watched the instruction on televisions. I recall the TV going off and the auditorium was dark for a second or two; then the lights came on and Mr. Devaughn was standing on the stage with a microphone. He made the announcement that the president had been assassinated, and then they turned the TV back on, only now to NBC news and we watched developments for a few minutes. By the end of that period the Principal came over the loud speaker and called for a moment of silence; and then school was dismissed for the rest of the day and we were told to to go home and be with our families. On the evening of the next day, after Dad had come home from work, there was a knock on the door. I answered it and standing there were literally two men-in-black, holding their hats in their hands. They asked if Dad was home, and then asked to be allowed in. These men were from the FBI, as a result of the assassination all "anomalies" were being investigated. Dad's stunt the week before had placed him in their radar and now they were there to check out his abilby on the day in question. I don't think I've ever seen the old man so humble, it was a truly sobering event, in that when they left he was sober. The one thing that I remember clearest about it was that Dad did not bad mouth them after they were gone. He had been impressed with their forth right manner, the accuracy and level of detail they had available, and the way they validated events and come to a no-harm conclusion. That year was the first time I saw the "FBI Story" with Jimmy Stewart in the staring role. For a while there my ambition was to become an FBI agent when I grew up.
Next is Thanksgiving eve 1968, Fort Rucker, Alabama. Myself and my fellow classmates in the Door Gunner Training Center had been tagged for KP duty the day befor Thanksgiving. We were just glad that we had dodged the bullet for the next day. In addition to the duties normally associated with KP duty we had been tasked with much of the preparations for Thanksgiving. Included were baking a lot of extra goods and pre-cooking several hams. They wroked us right up to 9 PM that night, and we had gone on shift before 5 AM that morning. The Mess Daddy had fed us our dinner meal just prior to feeding the troops, so we had dinner around 3:30 that afternoon. My partner, Danny Kink, and I started thinking around 7:30 when it became clear that we were not going to get out of there until late. So all of us, there were about 8 of us from our class, each smuggled something out and hid it before we got off shift. After we got off, everyone gathered their goods up and met-up back at the barricks. We had managed to smuggle out a ham, a tray of rolls, butter, a couple of pies, and a two or three gallon box-bag of chocolate milk (milk in plastic bag, inside a box, that was used to fill a milk machine). Once back in the barracks we had our very own, pre-Thanksgiving feast. Once done, we snuck the dirty pans back and stacked them up outside the mess hall where they could be found the next day. The next day being a holiday we were allowed to sleep in. I have to tell you, that was one of the most enjoyable Thanksgiving meals I think I have ever had. A bunch of stinking dirty GI's hunkered down in the back of the barracks enjoying ham sandawiches, pie, and choclate milk as a bed-time snack!
Now move to the early 70's, I don't remember exactly which year it was, but I think it was Thanksgiving of 1974. Leora, lit
tle Leora, and I had traveled to Grandma and Grandpa T's for Thanksgiving day. It was about a three hour drive up through Heber and Daniels Canyon, past Strawberry, across Duchene Valley and into Vernal. On this particular Thanksgiving Grandma T had a brand new "Amana Radar Range" microwave oven with a rotating table. It was the newest wonder in kitchen technology and Grandma was just dying to try it out on the holiday bird. Well, she prepared that bird, stuffed it full, greased it down, strapped the legs and wings up tight and wedged that big old bird into the Microwave. I swear, if that bird had been an ounce bigger it never would have made it in the oven and we might have been better off for it. Then she commenced to zap it! Well about an hour later, the recommended time for bird zapping by Amana's user manual, we pulled it out and looked it over. It smelled about right, but it didn't look like any bird we'd ever seen cooked before. In fact, it looked down right RAW. So back in it goes again for another hour. Grandma wasn't concerned because microwave cooking takes less time than conventional roasting, or so the manual says. At the end of the second hour out it comes again for inspection, and its still looks pretty raw. About now Grandma T is getting a little concerned. We still had time, but this just wasn't how it was supposed to go. So back in it goes for hour three, then hour four, and finally hour five. At last this bird is starting to look like a roast turkey is supposed to look. So Grandma hands it over to me and tells me to slice it up while she and the other ladies s
tart putting the rest of the food on the table. I'll never forget it. I took her carving knife and fork in hand and stabbed that big old fork into the bird. I can remember thinking, this feels like a tough old bird. And then I made the first slice, about 1/4 inch thick. As the slice of meat comes off of the bird and gets laid onto the serving tray I noticed that the slice of good breast meat seems a little dry and a little dark. So I make the second slice, and it was tough to cut. As I laid it over onto the serving plate the inner side of this slice is down-right brown in color, I thought, now that's odd. So I made the next slice and here I cut into some true charcoal gumbo. I mean, it wasn't even recognizable as meat. Grandma had zapped that poor old bird into a cinder. We learned right then and there that a microwave oven cooks from the inside out, the closer we got to the core of that bird the worse it got. Sooo, Grandma went down into the cellar and brought up a 5 lb canned ham, and I sliced and micro zapped that real quick and that's what we had for Turkey Dinner! To my knowledge no one in the family has tried cooking a holiday dinner in the microwave since.
Time moves forward and its now the day after Thanksgiving 1983. We had stayed at home that year because the weather for
ecast was for a terrible snow storm. It started snowing on the evening of Thanksgiving Day and snowed off and on all night long. By the day after Thanksgiving there was already two feet of snow on the ground and it was still a steadily coming down. By the time that storm ended we had well over three feet of snow. I had to shovel snow off the roof after that storm to keep the roof from collapsing. One of the maintenance buildings roofs on post actually did collapse because of the heavy snow. So its the Friday after Thanksgiving and we were house bound. No traffic anywhere that we can see, all is quiet, and white, and cold. The kids were just dying to get out into the snow and play, but Leora and I had kept them in all morning. Around noon I had a brilliant flash. I dug out the Cross-Country Skies for Leora, Rachel and myself and I told Mom to break out the Christmas decorations and to make some Hot Chocolate. Then with Leora and Rachel in tow I took off for the Ace Hardware store in town on Cross Country skies, it was a trip of not much more than six blocks, but less than a mile. When we got to Ace the girls and I picked out a nice 6 foot tree, I bought some rope, and rigged a harness to tow the tree with. And then the girls and I towed that tree back to the house. The wind had picked up while we were gone and it was near blizzard conditions by the time we got home. But there was Mom, Angie, and Hank, waiting for us on the porch, all excited about the snow, a Christmas Tree, Hot Chocolate, and life in general. Now that was a fun day. By the way, the next Monday, after a week end of continual storms, I Cross Country Skied into wor
k, about an 8 mile trip. I was one of a very few people that made it in that day. But I was able to organize the few folks from the Equipment Management Division where I worked that did make it in and we were able to get the Depot roads cleared for folks to come back to work the next day. Then I Cross Country Skied back home. The Base Commander was needless impressed with his new Second Lieutenant.
The next year, at the most the second year after that we were at Grandma and Grandpa T's for Thanksgiving again. While Grandma and Aunt Debi were fixing Thanksgiving Dinner I took Leora and the kids up on the mountain near Flaming Gorge Damn and went Cross Country Skiing. Up on top, just South of the damn there is a great big bowl shaped valley. We parked the truck on the shoulder of the road and skied down into the valley for an afternoon of frolicking in the snow. The snow conditions were just great. After a couple of hours the clouds started gathering, the temperature dropped, and the wind started to pick-up so we decided that the prudent thing to do was to head back. Naturally it was all up hill back to the truck. Rachel had been ill a couple of weeks earlier, and apparently the days outing had been too much for her and she quickly got exhausted on the way back up the mountain. Leora and I talked about the options, and I decided that the easiset, quickest solution was for me to carry Rachel out. So I knelled down, and she climbed up on my back, arms around my neck, with my hands hooked under her knees with her still wearing her skies; and up the mountain we went. That was some trek on cross country skies. It was particularly hard to maintain my bala
nce, and more than once I wrenched my back trying to stay upright on my skies. We finally made it back up to the truck. All of us were pretty well heated up from the work out except Rachel, and she was starting to show signs of hypothermia. We cranked the heat up in the truck and sat her on Leora's Lap and wrapped in a blanket. By the time we got off the mountain she had finally warmed up. But all told, we had a really great day of Cross Country skiing.
Now as we approach yet another Thanksgiving Day, I find myself sitting here smiling as I ponder Thanksgivings past, and wonder, what new adventures this and future Thanksgivings have in store. Here's hoping that no mater where you are, or who you're with, that you've taken the time to gather as many of the family as you can around you, and to enjoy this wonderful holiday. I hope you're all telling your version what ever memories are dear to you, as you are creating new memories for a new generation of family.
(All photo's are from the Flamming Gorge Cross Country Outing: #1 = Leora Nad Angie; #2 = Rachel; #3 = Leora, Angie, Rachel, Marie & Tah-Tey-Ze; #4 = Leora; #5 = Angie)
Happy Thanksgiving!
Dad
the 1961. The whole fam-damly was on a convoy to the farm to have Thanksgiving Dinner with Grandma Jones. There were to many of us to fit into one car, so Mom and Dad, Jenniffer, Peter, and Raymond were in one car, and Sherry, Krista, Jennell and I were in the second car. We were headed along what is now the back-way to the farm, southwest out of OK City, through Binger, and through what we thought then were canyons (we hadn't been out west yet) towards Oney, or Albert, depending on which side of the 4-way stop sign you lived on. We had made it past Binger and were cruising along; as I recall Sherry and Krista were debating about which radio station to listen to. Krista was winning because Sherry was way too safety conscience to think about trying to change the radio station while she was driving. I was leaning forward from the back seat with my arms crossed under my chin on the back of the front seat, no-one even considered safety seat belts back then. When all of the sudden there was great big square thing covering the windshield, then there was a tearing sound, and then it was gone. All of the sudden Sherry is frantically trying to stop the car. Dad's doing the same in front of us, then backing up. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it wasn't going to be good. And Krista says; "Dad's going to be really mad about that." It turns out that when we had stopped at the service station earlier that the hood hadn't been closed properly, the hatch had released and it had flipped open, the sheared its bolts and flipped backwards over the top of the car. Luckily no one was hurt. I don't recall Dad being mad about the loss of the hood. But I do remember Sherry being really shook up for the rest of drive in. The only other thing I remember about that Thanksgiving is that this was the last time I ever had Grandma Jones "Grape Cobbler". She made it from wild grapes that she had picked and canned. It had big chunks of dumplings mixed up in a thick grape sauce with whole grapes floating around it. It was one of my favorite deserts when I was a kid. Funny what you remember about holidays.
The next one that I remember was Thanksgiving of 1963. That was the year that President Kennedy was assassinated. Almost as memorable to our family was that this was the year that the Florida Seminoles had demonstrated and taken over their BIA office in a sit in. These two events will be forever linked in my mind. Naturally all the demonstrators had been arrested and hauled off to jail. Dad had sympathy for them and felt that he should do his part to support them. One evening when he was feeling the benefit of John Barley Corn and not thinking as clearly as one would hope, he decided that the best thing to do in support of his fellow Seminoles was to call President Kennedy speak his piece of mind. Naturally, he was not allowed to speak to the President; but he had managed to vent his ire to whomever it was they had eventually linked him up to. A few days later President Kennedy was assassinated. I was in Social Studies class at John Marshall High School when it happened. History was a telecast block of instruction, a new experiment for OKC schools, and all 8th graders attended the same class in the auditorium, a class of about 300 hundred of us. There was one lead teacher and several assistant teachers that monitored us as we watched the instruction on televisions. I recall the TV going off and the auditorium was dark for a second or two; then the lights came on and Mr. Devaughn was standing on the stage with a microphone. He made the announcement that the president had been assassinated, and then they turned the TV back on, only now to NBC news and we watched developments for a few minutes. By the end of that period the Principal came over the loud speaker and called for a moment of silence; and then school was dismissed for the rest of the day and we were told to to go home and be with our families. On the evening of the next day, after Dad had come home from work, there was a knock on the door. I answered it and standing there were literally two men-in-black, holding their hats in their hands. They asked if Dad was home, and then asked to be allowed in. These men were from the FBI, as a result of the assassination all "anomalies" were being investigated. Dad's stunt the week before had placed him in their radar and now they were there to check out his abilby on the day in question. I don't think I've ever seen the old man so humble, it was a truly sobering event, in that when they left he was sober. The one thing that I remember clearest about it was that Dad did not bad mouth them after they were gone. He had been impressed with their forth right manner, the accuracy and level of detail they had available, and the way they validated events and come to a no-harm conclusion. That year was the first time I saw the "FBI Story" with Jimmy Stewart in the staring role. For a while there my ambition was to become an FBI agent when I grew up.
Next is Thanksgiving eve 1968, Fort Rucker, Alabama. Myself and my fellow classmates in the Door Gunner Training Center had been tagged for KP duty the day befor Thanksgiving. We were just glad that we had dodged the bullet for the next day. In addition to the duties normally associated with KP duty we had been tasked with much of the preparations for Thanksgiving. Included were baking a lot of extra goods and pre-cooking several hams. They wroked us right up to 9 PM that night, and we had gone on shift before 5 AM that morning. The Mess Daddy had fed us our dinner meal just prior to feeding the troops, so we had dinner around 3:30 that afternoon. My partner, Danny Kink, and I started thinking around 7:30 when it became clear that we were not going to get out of there until late. So all of us, there were about 8 of us from our class, each smuggled something out and hid it before we got off shift. After we got off, everyone gathered their goods up and met-up back at the barricks. We had managed to smuggle out a ham, a tray of rolls, butter, a couple of pies, and a two or three gallon box-bag of chocolate milk (milk in plastic bag, inside a box, that was used to fill a milk machine). Once back in the barracks we had our very own, pre-Thanksgiving feast. Once done, we snuck the dirty pans back and stacked them up outside the mess hall where they could be found the next day. The next day being a holiday we were allowed to sleep in. I have to tell you, that was one of the most enjoyable Thanksgiving meals I think I have ever had. A bunch of stinking dirty GI's hunkered down in the back of the barracks enjoying ham sandawiches, pie, and choclate milk as a bed-time snack!
Now move to the early 70's, I don't remember exactly which year it was, but I think it was Thanksgiving of 1974. Leora, lit
tle Leora, and I had traveled to Grandma and Grandpa T's for Thanksgiving day. It was about a three hour drive up through Heber and Daniels Canyon, past Strawberry, across Duchene Valley and into Vernal. On this particular Thanksgiving Grandma T had a brand new "Amana Radar Range" microwave oven with a rotating table. It was the newest wonder in kitchen technology and Grandma was just dying to try it out on the holiday bird. Well, she prepared that bird, stuffed it full, greased it down, strapped the legs and wings up tight and wedged that big old bird into the Microwave. I swear, if that bird had been an ounce bigger it never would have made it in the oven and we might have been better off for it. Then she commenced to zap it! Well about an hour later, the recommended time for bird zapping by Amana's user manual, we pulled it out and looked it over. It smelled about right, but it didn't look like any bird we'd ever seen cooked before. In fact, it looked down right RAW. So back in it goes again for another hour. Grandma wasn't concerned because microwave cooking takes less time than conventional roasting, or so the manual says. At the end of the second hour out it comes again for inspection, and its still looks pretty raw. About now Grandma T is getting a little concerned. We still had time, but this just wasn't how it was supposed to go. So back in it goes for hour three, then hour four, and finally hour five. At last this bird is starting to look like a roast turkey is supposed to look. So Grandma hands it over to me and tells me to slice it up while she and the other ladies s
tart putting the rest of the food on the table. I'll never forget it. I took her carving knife and fork in hand and stabbed that big old fork into the bird. I can remember thinking, this feels like a tough old bird. And then I made the first slice, about 1/4 inch thick. As the slice of meat comes off of the bird and gets laid onto the serving tray I noticed that the slice of good breast meat seems a little dry and a little dark. So I make the second slice, and it was tough to cut. As I laid it over onto the serving plate the inner side of this slice is down-right brown in color, I thought, now that's odd. So I made the next slice and here I cut into some true charcoal gumbo. I mean, it wasn't even recognizable as meat. Grandma had zapped that poor old bird into a cinder. We learned right then and there that a microwave oven cooks from the inside out, the closer we got to the core of that bird the worse it got. Sooo, Grandma went down into the cellar and brought up a 5 lb canned ham, and I sliced and micro zapped that real quick and that's what we had for Turkey Dinner! To my knowledge no one in the family has tried cooking a holiday dinner in the microwave since.Time moves forward and its now the day after Thanksgiving 1983. We had stayed at home that year because the weather for
ecast was for a terrible snow storm. It started snowing on the evening of Thanksgiving Day and snowed off and on all night long. By the day after Thanksgiving there was already two feet of snow on the ground and it was still a steadily coming down. By the time that storm ended we had well over three feet of snow. I had to shovel snow off the roof after that storm to keep the roof from collapsing. One of the maintenance buildings roofs on post actually did collapse because of the heavy snow. So its the Friday after Thanksgiving and we were house bound. No traffic anywhere that we can see, all is quiet, and white, and cold. The kids were just dying to get out into the snow and play, but Leora and I had kept them in all morning. Around noon I had a brilliant flash. I dug out the Cross-Country Skies for Leora, Rachel and myself and I told Mom to break out the Christmas decorations and to make some Hot Chocolate. Then with Leora and Rachel in tow I took off for the Ace Hardware store in town on Cross Country skies, it was a trip of not much more than six blocks, but less than a mile. When we got to Ace the girls and I picked out a nice 6 foot tree, I bought some rope, and rigged a harness to tow the tree with. And then the girls and I towed that tree back to the house. The wind had picked up while we were gone and it was near blizzard conditions by the time we got home. But there was Mom, Angie, and Hank, waiting for us on the porch, all excited about the snow, a Christmas Tree, Hot Chocolate, and life in general. Now that was a fun day. By the way, the next Monday, after a week end of continual storms, I Cross Country Skied into wor
k, about an 8 mile trip. I was one of a very few people that made it in that day. But I was able to organize the few folks from the Equipment Management Division where I worked that did make it in and we were able to get the Depot roads cleared for folks to come back to work the next day. Then I Cross Country Skied back home. The Base Commander was needless impressed with his new Second Lieutenant.The next year, at the most the second year after that we were at Grandma and Grandpa T's for Thanksgiving again. While Grandma and Aunt Debi were fixing Thanksgiving Dinner I took Leora and the kids up on the mountain near Flaming Gorge Damn and went Cross Country Skiing. Up on top, just South of the damn there is a great big bowl shaped valley. We parked the truck on the shoulder of the road and skied down into the valley for an afternoon of frolicking in the snow. The snow conditions were just great. After a couple of hours the clouds started gathering, the temperature dropped, and the wind started to pick-up so we decided that the prudent thing to do was to head back. Naturally it was all up hill back to the truck. Rachel had been ill a couple of weeks earlier, and apparently the days outing had been too much for her and she quickly got exhausted on the way back up the mountain. Leora and I talked about the options, and I decided that the easiset, quickest solution was for me to carry Rachel out. So I knelled down, and she climbed up on my back, arms around my neck, with my hands hooked under her knees with her still wearing her skies; and up the mountain we went. That was some trek on cross country skies. It was particularly hard to maintain my bala
nce, and more than once I wrenched my back trying to stay upright on my skies. We finally made it back up to the truck. All of us were pretty well heated up from the work out except Rachel, and she was starting to show signs of hypothermia. We cranked the heat up in the truck and sat her on Leora's Lap and wrapped in a blanket. By the time we got off the mountain she had finally warmed up. But all told, we had a really great day of Cross Country skiing.Now as we approach yet another Thanksgiving Day, I find myself sitting here smiling as I ponder Thanksgivings past, and wonder, what new adventures this and future Thanksgivings have in store. Here's hoping that no mater where you are, or who you're with, that you've taken the time to gather as many of the family as you can around you, and to enjoy this wonderful holiday. I hope you're all telling your version what ever memories are dear to you, as you are creating new memories for a new generation of family.
(All photo's are from the Flamming Gorge Cross Country Outing: #1 = Leora Nad Angie; #2 = Rachel; #3 = Leora, Angie, Rachel, Marie & Tah-Tey-Ze; #4 = Leora; #5 = Angie)
Happy Thanksgiving!
Dad
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Beans, Bullets, and Butter
Did you ever really consider the value of a dollar bill? After all, the modern dollar is just a piece of paper. Its intrinsic value can't be much more than a cent, maybe even a fraction of a cent. In days gone by it was backed by silver bullion held in reserve by our government, they were even called silver certificates; but we stopped doing that a long time ago. Oddly enough a silver dollar is now worth something like $7.20. A Silver Dollar is 3/4 of a Troy ounce and an ounce is currently worth $9.61, down from $13.90 about the middle of last month. Another measure popular today is gasoline. Locally it's still valued at $2.17 per gallon, down from a high of $3.99 per gallon just about a month ago. I remember when I came home from Vietnam in 1971 buying gasoline for $0.25 per gallon. I could fill my Fire Bird 400 for less than $5. Today a tank of gas for my truck cost me $43.40.
I've got a friend in the construction business. Lately he's doing more home repair and remodeling than new construction. He was telling me that for some time now he has been trying to figure out a barter system for his services. He's built a spreadsheet that includes all of the things that he needs to keep his family afloat; so much food, so much fuel, etc... He's built his spread sheet in such a way that he can accept either money or tradable commodities. He got this idea from his Grandfathers journal. His Grandfather had lived through the depression of the late 20's and 30's. Apparently his Grandfather did as much work on the barter system as he did on the money system. He used cash to pay his bills when he couldn't trade other goods, but provided most of his families needs and amassed real property by bartering his services. Apparently he came out of the depression better off than he entered it.
I've got another friend that has taken the food storage concept to the extreme. He figures that he has enough bare essential food on-hand to keep approximately 50 people alive for a year. I asked him what that was about? Didn't he have troubles rotating stockage? What about spoilage? His response was that pigs and chickens really don't care about the quality of what they eat. And that he was planning on sharing his food with those really in need. Only they had to work for it daily. He also has many seeds stored up. His idea is that 2 or 3 man-hours of soil preparation and garden tending is worth a meal. He plans on putting several acres into produce and small live stock and to in turn barter his yield for other things he might need. Here in Arizona we have an extremely long growing season and he can likely get two crops a season as long as water holds out.
About now your wondering where's this old man is going this time. Its my believe that we've got about 6 to 9 months before things really melt down economically. I believe that we will face the real crisis about the time we come to end of this fiscal year (1 oct to 30 Sep). That's the governments funding cycle, a fiscal year. We, the American people, have allowed ourselves and our nation to transform our entire economy to a credit based system vise a value based system. In my opinion the start point was a few decades ago when we moved Social Security funds into the general budget and made it available for more than Social Security. Now we have a whole generation of Boomers (old farts like myself) who have paid into a system all our lives that has nothing showing on the balance side of the budget. The solution that politicians in power keep promoting are "entitlement" based welfare programs. We keep paying out more than we have, and we keep proposing socialized solutions that spend even more. My advise to you, my family, is to get serious about food storage over the next few months if you haven't been already. Figure out a way to put aside or ensure an emergency house payment or two. If you can, set a little cash aside also. Notice I said cash, not money in the bank.
There is an old adage out there that tells us to study history to understand the future. Think of the 30's with bank failures, or 9/11 when banks closed for a day. How about California with their fires of the past week. Had things been just a little worse they would have had a power black-out for a few days. Our entire banking system is based on the availability of electrical power, same issue with your credit card. No power basically means that the check-out counter every where is shut down and banks are inoperable. Where are you going to get your cash for a few days/weeks at a time if we have regional power failures?
The bottom lines is that you can survive any economic turmoil that comes your way if you're actively preparing for it today, mentally and physically. And if it really gets tough, I expect each of you to be prepared to bring your siblings, cousins, etc... under your wing, or at least help them to get here if nothing else. Like my Daddy always said, "There's nothing holding us back but Fear and lack of Common Sense." Lets take proactive actions today so that we can hold our collective own in the future.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A Pittance of Time
I'm attaching the lyrics of a song that I've just heard. Its amazing. A friend sent me a video clip of the Author/Singer performing his song. It brought me to tears. You can find it out on the internet by looking up "Terry Kelly's" web page. It is worth your time. The story behind the song is Mr. Kelly was in a store when over the PA they announced that at 11 O'Clock (symbology, the 11th hour) they wanted their patrons to take two minutes of silence to honor our veterans. At the appropriate time there was one man with his daughters that refused to take two m inutes, who insisted on arguing with the clerk. It made Mr. Kelly so mad that he went home and wrote this song. (BTW...The photo is yours truly circa 1969 recieving the Bronze Star. I suspect that none of you have seen this photo.)
Here are the lyrics. The music has a kind of Irish meleody to it.
Its a Pittance of Time
By Terry Kelly
They fought and some died for their homeland
They fought and some died now it’s our land
Look at his little child, there’s no fear in her eyes
Could he not show respect for other dads who have died?
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who went over
In peace may they rest, may we never forget why they died.
It’s a pittance of time
God forgive me for wanting to strike him
Give me strength so as not to be like him
My heart pounds in my breast, fingers pressed to my lips
My throat wants to bawl out, my tongue barely resists
But two minutes I will bide
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who went over
In peace may they rest, may we never forget why they died.
It’s a pittance of time
Read the letters and poems of the heroes at home
They have casualties, battles, and fears of their own
There’s a price to be paid if you go, if you stay
Freedom is fought for and won in numerous ways
Take two minutes would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls all over
May we never forget our young become vets
At the end of the line it’s a pittance of time
It takes courage to fight in your own war
It takes courage to fight someone else’s war
Our peacekeepers tell of their own living hell
They bring hope to foreign lands that the hatemongers can’t kill.
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who go over
In peacetime our best still don battle dress
And lay their lives on the line.
It’s a pittance of time
In Peace may they rest, lest we forget why they died.
Take a pittance of time
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sunshine
A long time ago, in time before time, lived a young warrior fighting in a land now lost. The hero of our story was at an all time low both spiritually and physically. The days were long and brutal, and the nights way too short and often wrought with a few minutes of sleep interspersed with a lifetimes of exhilaration and fellowship in his brotherhood of arms; mixed with instances of stark terror that lasted seconds that left you sapped of all strength. All too often when one would hope for a soft bed and sleep our warrior found himself standing his turn on guard duty on the base camps perimeter. At times like these the only thing that kept him safe, sane, and alert was to place the physical here and now on auto alert while one segment of the brain contemplated a better future in the home of the brave and the land of the free. Having recently received a “Dear John” letter from his first love, our warrior’s mind often wandered to trying to determine what the woman he would like to spend the rest of his life with would be like. Being a lustful young man, many of the desired attributes initially identified described an attractive woman, easy on the eyes with a womanly smell and a pleasing feel when held in a close embrace. Further contemplation defined a woman of good demeanor, one that could pleasantly hold her own regardless of her surroundings. One that enjoyed life was adventurous, and willing to share all of her self. Over the span of many weeks and months these musings about the perfect woman became a checklist of sorts that could be recalled, reviewed and contemplated on a moments notice regardless of what was going on. Even in the thickest of combat he would find one segment of his brain contemplating what could be while the rest of his being was engaged actively in self defense and survival.
Eventually the Gods smiled upon our young man and he found himself riding on that great silver freedom bird that returned those lucky few that survived, physically unscathed, to their homelands, to family and friends, to attempt to regroup themselves and live as other free men lived. Upon his return he learned the lesson that all surviving warriors learn, you can never truly return home. You’re changed from what you were into something different, larger, and more complex. Your values are more finely honed; your beliefs more deeply felt, your drive more intense, and our sense of time more immediate. And most of all, he learned that very few who had not experienced what he had experienced understood who he was, or why he was. More importantly, few wanted to understand.
So our wandering soul returned to his homeland a changed and driven individual on a personal quest to discover who he had become and find hearth and home. For it truly was a quest. Many times our warrior feared that he would fail in his quest and be doomed to wander aimlessly throughout the remainder of his life. He met many new people along his journey. Many fell to the wayside; a few, lost brothers in arms like himself became fast and true friends. Friends that would be close him to the end of time. His friends and family introduced him to many eligible, beautiful young damsels in hopes that he would find himself through interaction with the fairer sex. At each occasion our hero would find himself within minutes of meeting a new Lady Fair evaluating her against the checklist he retained in his head. Each time, without fail, no matter how fair, how bright, or how comely, each would fail to measure up. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and soon a full year had gone by.
Then one day in the late fall of
the year, he was introduced one more Lady Fair. It was a simple meeting, in a very untraditional environment. From the very first second our young man was smitten. Here was a beautiful young woman with eyes of blue that seemed to shift to green, and then back again to blue; with long blond hair and points of her own way up high. She had a very pleasant smile and was captivating, alluring, yet demure in her own way. Without a thought he quickly ran through his mental check list and found her to be fully without fault in his eyes. Numb with anticipation he checked his list, not once, not twice, but time and time again, all in an instance.
Circumstances and distance keep them apart through that first long winter; but in the spring of the year they were brought back together again. At the first opportunity he took her into his arms and pledged his love for all time, and announced his intentions to make her his wife. At first she was unsure, astounded at the brash, bold, and unforeseen announcement; yet she also sensed that his pledge was sincere and heartfelt.
Their courtship was a whirlwind affair that lasted a few short weeks. The hours that they were apart seemed as days, making their reunions all the more wonderful. Within what seemed to be a lifetime, but measured in a few short days by mortal man, our hero proposed; and to his great relieve the Lady Fair accepted his pledge of love.
In the fall of the same year that wed, and by the next summer were blessed with their first born, a bright eyed baby girl that was given a name of “light” after her Mother. Their family quickly grew to three young maidens and one stalwart son. Over the years they have shared many an adventure, and have traveled the world together. Now nearing the 4th decade of their marriage our warrior is no longer young, but his heart is still true and his love for the Lady Fair is even grander if that be possible. As they near the six and fiftieth anniversary of her birth our now old and long-in-the tooth warrior wished the world to know Sunshine is one true love, the love of his life, and the woman for him through time and all eternity.
Eventually the Gods smiled upon our young man and he found himself riding on that great silver freedom bird that returned those lucky few that survived, physically unscathed, to their homelands, to family and friends, to attempt to regroup themselves and live as other free men lived. Upon his return he learned the lesson that all surviving warriors learn, you can never truly return home. You’re changed from what you were into something different, larger, and more complex. Your values are more finely honed; your beliefs more deeply felt, your drive more intense, and our sense of time more immediate. And most of all, he learned that very few who had not experienced what he had experienced understood who he was, or why he was. More importantly, few wanted to understand.
So our wandering soul returned to his homeland a changed and driven individual on a personal quest to discover who he had become and find hearth and home. For it truly was a quest. Many times our warrior feared that he would fail in his quest and be doomed to wander aimlessly throughout the remainder of his life. He met many new people along his journey. Many fell to the wayside; a few, lost brothers in arms like himself became fast and true friends. Friends that would be close him to the end of time. His friends and family introduced him to many eligible, beautiful young damsels in hopes that he would find himself through interaction with the fairer sex. At each occasion our hero would find himself within minutes of meeting a new Lady Fair evaluating her against the checklist he retained in his head. Each time, without fail, no matter how fair, how bright, or how comely, each would fail to measure up. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and soon a full year had gone by.
Then one day in the late fall of
the year, he was introduced one more Lady Fair. It was a simple meeting, in a very untraditional environment. From the very first second our young man was smitten. Here was a beautiful young woman with eyes of blue that seemed to shift to green, and then back again to blue; with long blond hair and points of her own way up high. She had a very pleasant smile and was captivating, alluring, yet demure in her own way. Without a thought he quickly ran through his mental check list and found her to be fully without fault in his eyes. Numb with anticipation he checked his list, not once, not twice, but time and time again, all in an instance.Circumstances and distance keep them apart through that first long winter; but in the spring of the year they were brought back together again. At the first opportunity he took her into his arms and pledged his love for all time, and announced his intentions to make her his wife. At first she was unsure, astounded at the brash, bold, and unforeseen announcement; yet she also sensed that his pledge was sincere and heartfelt.
Their courtship was a whirlwind affair that lasted a few short weeks. The hours that they were apart seemed as days, making their reunions all the more wonderful. Within what seemed to be a lifetime, but measured in a few short days by mortal man, our hero proposed; and to his great relieve the Lady Fair accepted his pledge of love.
In the fall of the same year that wed, and by the next summer were blessed with their first born, a bright eyed baby girl that was given a name of “light” after her Mother. Their family quickly grew to three young maidens and one stalwart son. Over the years they have shared many an adventure, and have traveled the world together. Now nearing the 4th decade of their marriage our warrior is no longer young, but his heart is still true and his love for the Lady Fair is even grander if that be possible. As they near the six and fiftieth anniversary of her birth our now old and long-in-the tooth warrior wished the world to know Sunshine is one true love, the love of his life, and the woman for him through time and all eternity.
Monday, November 3, 2008
My Friend FEMA!
On the cusp of the election today, I experienced on a personal level yet one more example of high-handed big brother at work. Upon my return from visiting with Mom in Salt Lake I had two registered letters waiting for me. The first was my annual summons to Federal District Court Jury Duty. This is the fourth year in a row. I wish they would simply call me so that I can be done with it for a while. Every Friday for a month I have to check in to see if they want me to report; and if I get called to report in then I have to travel to Tucson for a day to sit through questions to find out if I have been selected. For four years now I have been called to work my way through this drill only to be non-selected. Enough is enough, either call or be done with it.
The second letter was from our friends at FEMA and the National Flood Insurance Reform Act. It seems that some pin-head has just completed a study that declares that my house resides in a flood zone. What really makes it curious is my flood zone is rated at the same level of risk (read higher insurance premiums) as New Orleans. In other words, the pin-head that did this study thinks that my house has the same probability of being submerged as the homes in New Orleans that sit below sea level.
Think about that!
My house sits somewhere between 4,500 ft and 5,000 feet above sea level. We’re about 5 miles from the San Pedro River, the nearest body of water, and at an elevation of several 100 feet above the river level.
Now I am aware that some areas in Arizona are subject to seasonal sheet flooding. The last house we owned over on the Kendal Lane (aka, Kendal River) did have a problem as shown in the attached picture. This was taken about 15 minutes after a monsoon rain storm 3 years ago. The house was high and dry, but the road that was about 4 feet lower elevation than the house as you can see became a river. In the picture I’m standing in the middle of the road. THAT’S WHY I SOLD THE HOUSE AND MOVED!
This house, the one we’re in now has no such problem. This was the wettest year we’ve had in over ten years and we had no issue with water here. So here’s how my day went. I first called my insurance company, USAA, to find out what this was going to cost me. Before they would tell me how much they first made sure that I understood that I would pay the same rate no matter where I went because our good friends at FEMA have “fixed” the rates nation wide. When I finally got a rate out of them I was told that the rate would be $4,665 per year. You got it, over $388 per month. And the continuing good news is that the first years premium had to be paid in full up front, then the monthly rate could magnanimously be added to my escrow account on a monthly basis for subsequent years; lucky me!
Further research on my part, not volunteered information, was that if I took a $5,000 deductible (I pay the first 5 grand in the event of a claim) I could reduce the rate to $3,500 per year, same payment policy for initial year and follow-on as previously stated. Digging deeper I found that you could hire a surveyor to do an “Elevation Certification” for $400 and “maybe” get your rate reduced some more. The idea being that if you are able to demonstrate that the your ground floor was sufficiently higher that grade elevation to mitigate the risk of any flooding you might get a rate reduction. Digging further and presenting the fact that I have experience in survey work I discovered that anybody can self-certify their property if you down-load from the FEMA web-site the Elevation Certification form.
So I did that and turned in the signed Elevation Certification Form and then called my Insurance Company back to verify their receipt of the form by email. They had received it and were able to refigure my annual rate right then. By completing the form I was able to reduce the rate down to $613 per year, a $4,052 overall reduction from my initial quote.
Think about that! In just a few hours I was able to reduce my quote by over $4,052 a year. Had I not been a suborn, insistent, and demanding guy our government would have bilked me out of $4,052. Upon Leora’s return from work I discovered that the government is doing the same think to us with respect to our second house that the Tingey’s live in. The only difference is that the starting price is $1,500 per year. I now have to go through that drill for their house.
That got me thinking. What’s prompting this insanity? Then it came to me. This is how our government is propping up insurance company losses over New Orleans, Houston, and related coastal areas that have been wiped out by hurricanes in the last few years. In lieu of abandoning areas that we know are going to flood year after year; the answer is to spread the cost, notice I said cost, not risk, spread the cost of coastal flood damage across the whole nation. As it turns out, my share in this insanity has been determined to be $613 every year; aren’t I lucky? I suspect that this is just another Democratic attempt to “spread the wealth”; in reality, another model for taking money away from those who earned it and have enough sense to not live in a flood zone and give it to the idiots that don’t know enough to move out of a flood zone once they discover that they’re in one. I figured it out, and I moved out. Why shouldn’t I expect the same from them?
The second letter was from our friends at FEMA and the National Flood Insurance Reform Act. It seems that some pin-head has just completed a study that declares that my house resides in a flood zone. What really makes it curious is my flood zone is rated at the same level of risk (read higher insurance premiums) as New Orleans. In other words, the pin-head that did this study thinks that my house has the same probability of being submerged as the homes in New Orleans that sit below sea level.
Think about that!
My house sits somewhere between 4,500 ft and 5,000 feet above sea level. We’re about 5 miles from the San Pedro River, the nearest body of water, and at an elevation of several 100 feet above the river level.
Now I am aware that some areas in Arizona are subject to seasonal sheet flooding. The last house we owned over on the Kendal Lane (aka, Kendal River) did have a problem as shown in the attached picture. This was taken about 15 minutes after a monsoon rain storm 3 years ago. The house was high and dry, but the road that was about 4 feet lower elevation than the house as you can see became a river. In the picture I’m standing in the middle of the road. THAT’S WHY I SOLD THE HOUSE AND MOVED!
This house, the one we’re in now has no such problem. This was the wettest year we’ve had in over ten years and we had no issue with water here. So here’s how my day went. I first called my insurance company, USAA, to find out what this was going to cost me. Before they would tell me how much they first made sure that I understood that I would pay the same rate no matter where I went because our good friends at FEMA have “fixed” the rates nation wide. When I finally got a rate out of them I was told that the rate would be $4,665 per year. You got it, over $388 per month. And the continuing good news is that the first years premium had to be paid in full up front, then the monthly rate could magnanimously be added to my escrow account on a monthly basis for subsequent years; lucky me!
Further research on my part, not volunteered information, was that if I took a $5,000 deductible (I pay the first 5 grand in the event of a claim) I could reduce the rate to $3,500 per year, same payment policy for initial year and follow-on as previously stated. Digging deeper I found that you could hire a surveyor to do an “Elevation Certification” for $400 and “maybe” get your rate reduced some more. The idea being that if you are able to demonstrate that the your ground floor was sufficiently higher that grade elevation to mitigate the risk of any flooding you might get a rate reduction. Digging further and presenting the fact that I have experience in survey work I discovered that anybody can self-certify their property if you down-load from the FEMA web-site the Elevation Certification form.
So I did that and turned in the signed Elevation Certification Form and then called my Insurance Company back to verify their receipt of the form by email. They had received it and were able to refigure my annual rate right then. By completing the form I was able to reduce the rate down to $613 per year, a $4,052 overall reduction from my initial quote.
Think about that! In just a few hours I was able to reduce my quote by over $4,052 a year. Had I not been a suborn, insistent, and demanding guy our government would have bilked me out of $4,052. Upon Leora’s return from work I discovered that the government is doing the same think to us with respect to our second house that the Tingey’s live in. The only difference is that the starting price is $1,500 per year. I now have to go through that drill for their house.
That got me thinking. What’s prompting this insanity? Then it came to me. This is how our government is propping up insurance company losses over New Orleans, Houston, and related coastal areas that have been wiped out by hurricanes in the last few years. In lieu of abandoning areas that we know are going to flood year after year; the answer is to spread the cost, notice I said cost, not risk, spread the cost of coastal flood damage across the whole nation. As it turns out, my share in this insanity has been determined to be $613 every year; aren’t I lucky? I suspect that this is just another Democratic attempt to “spread the wealth”; in reality, another model for taking money away from those who earned it and have enough sense to not live in a flood zone and give it to the idiots that don’t know enough to move out of a flood zone once they discover that they’re in one. I figured it out, and I moved out. Why shouldn’t I expect the same from them?
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