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Monthly Archives: May 2009

Annabelle died on Monday . . .

AnnieBelleMy best friend died on Monday, the nineteenth of January 2009, at exactly 3:33 p.m. while I was rushing her to the doctor. She was born with an enlarged heart, a heart which abruptly failed after serving her well for more than 12 years. The friend that died was Annie, a beautiful long-haired calico cat, and a loved and loving member of our family for more than 10 years.

Sue, a dear friend who lives in Alabama, learned of our loss and sent a beautiful sympathy card and a touching consolation e-mail. After reading my response, she sent the following e-mail:

“My heart continues to go out to you and Janie—it truly does take time for a broken heart to heal. Thank you for the touching e-mail and for sharing your heart with me. What a blessing you, Janie and Annie all were to one another—truly one of life’s most precious gifts. I look forward to seeing you both again sometime this year. Meanwhile, keep in mind when you see Annie again, you’ll be seeing Cindy and me also—we’re a package deal.

“With so much heartfelt love, Sue.”

This e-mail was my belated response to Sue’s initial card and e-mail:

“Sue, please forgive us for not responding sooner to your heartfelt e-mail and your beautiful card. Janie and I have had a difficult time dealing with Annie’s death. We have just now been able to discuss her without both of us breaking down. We see her in every room and in every position, and hear sounds, especially during the night, which remind us of her and, for an ever-so-brief moment, bring her back to us. We have had other pets and loved them all, but before Annie we never knew that a creature’s love could be so deep and strong and forgiving, and that such love could be demonstrated in so many ways.

“Annie and I were a couple for ten years, and we remain a couple. Since her death I have come to realize that she and I were, and still are, soul mates, and I believe that our separation is temporary. Yes, I believe that animals have souls, and it appears that Pope John Paul II agreed with me. That can be confirmed at this web site:

http://www.dreamshore.net/rococo/pope.html

“I’ve spent a lot of time online recently. I found a poem, one so sad that it broke my heart, but it is so uplifting that at the same time my heart was breaking, my spirit soared. The poem can be found, with numerous variations, on many web sites by googling “rainbow bridge poem.”

Annie & DadHere is the poem in its entirety:

“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

“When a pet that has been especially close to someone here dies, that beloved pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals that were ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those that were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one thing; they each miss someone very special to them who was left behind.

annie at comp 2“They all run and play together, but the day will come when a special one—the most special among the special—will suddenly stop and look into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent. Her eager body quivers. Suddenly she leaves the group and begins to run, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster.

“Annie has spotted me, and when we meet we will cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. Her happy kisses will rain upon me; my hands will again caress her, and I will look again into the trusting eyes of my Annie, so long gone from my life but never absent from my heart.

“Then we’ll cross Rainbow Bridge together. . .”

Annie2I took the liberty of changing the poem to make it personal—it wasn’t easy—making the changes was difficult and the tears flowed freely, but the physical catharsis provided some psychological relief—albeit temporary.

Thank you, Sue, for the sympathy and understanding expressed in your e-mail, and thanks for the beautiful card. You’re one of a select group of people, quite rare, who can convey their most profound feelings to others—willingly, unsolicited and without hesitation. Janie and I are proud of your friendship for us and for Cindy (our favorite daughter, but don’t tell the other two!).

May God bless you and keep you—you’re always welcome in our home.

We’ll leave the light on for you.

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Posted by on May 29, 2009 in death, Family, friends, pets

 

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Sex & Chocolate Math—Find Anyone’s True Age . . .

Do you know someone who is reluctant to reveal their age? If so, ask them to play this “game of numbers” and you’ll know their age (if they play the game honestly—and you’ll know whether they did).

Use the Chocolate Math Formula to determine anyone’s age (including your own). A neighbor recently e-mailed me the formula, undoubtedly gleaned from the Internet. It works every time, and one can only speculate on how much time someone had on their hands in order to “formulate the formula.”

Special note: I took many liberties in making what I felt were improvements in the presentation of this posting. There is not even a fat chance (pun intended) that the Chocolate Math formula has been copyrighted, and trust me—my presentation is infinitesimally better than the one I received.

CHOCOLATE MATH FORMULA

Ask that person (the one reluctant to tell their age) to take the steps outlined below—you might want to suggest that they apply pen or pencil to paper in the process, or perhaps use a calculator.

1. Choose a number from 1 to 10 ( including the numbers 1 and 10)—this
should be the number of times you would like to have chocolate each week.

2. Multiply the number you picked by 2.

3. Add 5 to the total.

4. Multiply that total by 50.

5. If you have already had your birthday this year, add 1759—if you have not had your birthday this year, add 1758.

6. Now subtract the 4-digit year in which you were born.

You should now have a 3-digit number.

The first digit is your original number (the number of times you want to have chocolate each week).

The other digits tell your age—oh, yes, they do—don’t deny it!

This year, 2009, is the only year in which the formula will work, so spread it around for everyone to enjoy.

Oh, and here’s a helpful hint—chocolate is not a mandatory part of the formula. Chocolate can be replaced by the number of times the person would like to eat out each week, or leave work early, or be late for work, or bathe the dog, or have sex, or wash the car—the possibilities are limitless, and depend only on the circumstances under which the game is being played. Regardless of the commodity or activity used, the formula will always work.

Neat, huh? Or, as the younger generation might say, “Sweet!”

 
2 Comments

Posted by on May 29, 2009 in games, Humor, math

 

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Letter to the Express-News editor, San Antonio TX

Yesterday I submitted a letter to the editor of the Express-News, the only daily newspaper still extant in San Antonio, Texas, the seventh largest city in the United States (population 1,328,984). My submission was received and acknowledged the same day.

The chances that the letter will be printed are slim to none, so I’m posting my criticisms, aspersions and frustrations to a different audience—the city and the nation’s bloggers. If similar situations exist in your cities, let’s hear about them. I also encourage and welcome comments from local folks—current and past subscribers, long-time readers of the Express-News, newcomers to the metropolitan area, etc.

May 26, 2009
To the editor, Express-News:

Your present publication is a shadow of its former self, and I would imagine that the paper’s workplace has changed accordingly. Some of your people have probably agreed to pay cuts, some have voluntarily moved on to greener fields, and others have been dismissed for various reasons, including efforts to reduce operating costs.

The Express-News has shrunk—it has changed in size, shape, format and content. The ratio of width to length has changed—the paper is narrower and longer and its type is smaller. Some of us, your long-time readers who are stubbornly hanging on to their daily hard-copy news source, often resort to using a magnifying glass to read the classifieds—reading glasses aren’t strong enough.

About the only thing that hasn’t shrunk is the cost of the Express-News. My quarterly cost for a 7-day weekly subscription has risen some 25 percent in the past year, with no notice of the increase other than the higher charge shown on the billing notice.

Your readership is probably shrinking also, with a corresponding shrinkage in your subscriptions. I don’t have access to the demographics involved in shrinking readership and subscriptions, but I can make a fair guess as to which groups are bailing out. Many of the bailouts are younger readers who are computer-literate and spend considerable time at their computers reviewing news sources. There are probably many others, of all ages, who are dissatisfied with the cost of the paper and its physical changes, and have opted to get their daily news from television.

Many of us older subscribers are computer illiterates—we have retained our subscriptions through the many changes to the paper, but you may be assured that more cancellations are in the offing. Reading your paper has become a chore for us, and more and more our attention is directed to television news, including local, national and cable news sources.

This letter is not meant to be informative or to be a diatribe, and any criticism is meant to be constructive. I’m sure you are well aware of everything I’ve discussed. I submit this letter only to make my feelings a matter of record while I still have, as a subscriber, the inherent right to comment, whether to compliment or to criticize.

NOTE TO ANY VIEWERS THIS POSTING MAY ATTRACT:

I’ll get back to you later with more details, specifically on whether my letter was printed, and if printed, whether as-submitted or edited.

 
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Posted by on May 27, 2009 in news sources

 

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Tell me a story, win a freebie!

This is a reproduction of a comment I made on another blog, to a posting entitled “Tell me a story, win a freebie!” It’s a contest and can be viewed at cindydyer.wordpress.com. My comment is reproduced here in an effort to possibly draw more viewers and perhaps more story submissions to the contest. A lesser reason for posting it on my blog is to perhaps enlighten others in the use of “I’ and “me” in similar situations—assuming, of course, that there are others who may need and will embrace enlightenment.

Yes, I know what “assume” means when it’s hyphenated—if there is anyone on the planet who is not familiar with that, here’s the hyphenated word: Ass-u-me—the rest should be obvious.

This is the comment I posted on Cindy’s blog: (cindydyer.wordpress.com)

Your “Tell me a story, win a freebie!” posting is a great idea, and I believe you’ll get lots of takers on your offer—in fact, I intend to submit a story of my own, with the realistic expectation that I will be selected to receive a package of your note cards. That “realistic expectation” is based on our familial relationship, and it’s probably closely akin to nepotism, a situation which, similar to incest, is acceptable as long as it’s kept in the family.

Hey, that’s a joke—lighten up!

Today is about the same as any other day, give or take an hour or so—I was up and about at 2:44 AM, ready to “go out and meet the day,” and I would have but I didn’t because it was very dark and “I had no place to go and nothing to do when I got there” (that’s one of your Grandma Hester’s favorite sayings).

Now for the real reason I’m making this comment:

It’s prompted by my never-ending efforts to enlighten others in their use of the English language—alas, so many errors and so little time.

The phrase below is from your posting of “Tell me a story, win a freebie!” May I direct your attention to the words in bold?

BAD

I would love to hear from fellow gardeners who have the same modus operandi as me when it comes to squeezing in just one more plant . . .

BETTER

I would love to hear from fellow gardeners who have the same modus operandi as I when it comes to squeezing in just one more plant . . . (have is understood—if you retain the me it would be read by the literati as, “. . . the same modus operandi as me have . . .).

BEST

I would love to hear from fellow gardeners who have the same modus operandi as I have when it comes to squeezing in just one more plant . . .

The BETTER choice is actually the BESTEST because it places the onus (one should always double-check the spelling of that word) on the reader. Realizing that have is understood, the literati will accept the use of I alone, but the illiterati will laugh and sneer in the belief that the writer is deficient in hizerhur knowledge and use of English.

PeeEss:

That last sentence contains two words which I just coined, illiterati and
hizerher—both should be self-explanatory. I will soon apply for copyrights on those two words, but during the interim period before copyrights are granted, others may use them freely—no attribution is necessary.

 
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Posted by on May 25, 2009 in Uncategorized

 

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CHIHUAHUAS, HAM HOCKS & BUTTER BEANS

CHIHUAHUAS, HAM HOCKS & BUTTER BEANS

RECIPE FOR DISASTER:

Assemble one medium-size ham hock, one pound of dry butter beans, a medium-size cooking pot, a reasonable amount of water, and one Chihuahua.

Place ham hock, butter beans and water in pot. Cook over medium heat until meal is done (beans should be soft, ham should strip easily from the bone). Have the Chihuahua stand by while meal is cooking (don’t worry—when he smells it cooking he won’t stray very far).

When meal is done, strip most of ham from the bone (leave a little for the Chihuahua) and serve with butter beans and such other vegetables, drinks and breads as desired. Place leftovers (minus the ham bone) in refrigerator.

When ham bone is properly cooled, give a few beans and the ham bone, with bits of meat still attached, to Chihuahua for his enjoyment. Allow him to gnaw on the bone to his heart’s content for the next two days

After his two days of enjoyment, patiently (and very carefully) separate the snarling Chihuahua from his ham bone and place him, full of butter beans and ham cooked with butter beans, into the car for the 800-mile return trip to San Antonio, Texas.

The end result? (pun intended)

DISASTER!

My mother used the above recipe with devastating effectiveness in the summer of 1966. My wife and I took a vacation with our three daughters and Bimbo, an adult Chihuahua with a voracious appetite. En route to South Georgia to visit my wife’s relatives, we made a brief stop in Alabama to visit my mother, my brother and his family.

Mama loved animals—she and Bimbo became instant friends, and she prevailed on us to let her look after Bimbo while we were in Georgia, pointing out that we could pick him up on our way back home. We readily obliged—Bimbo had a strong predilection for intestinal gas, with its accumulation and discharge not restricted to any particular type of food. In short, we were happy to leave him in Alabama.

On any automobile outing, seating for our family, including the Chihuahua, rarely varied—elder daughter in front seat, two younger daughters on opposite sides of the back seat and their mother in the center, strategically placed to keep the two girls separated, father behind the wheel and Bimbo standing, rear feet in father’s lap and front feet placed on the door’s cushioned armrest—the little dog loved watching the scenery pass by, and barked at most of it.

I feel that I have effectively laid the groundwork and prepared the reader for the rest of this narrative—I’m fairly certain that most readers by this point are far ahead of me, so I will try to be brief in my finishing remarks (good luck there!).

At numerous times during the long trip home, anyone who happened to be watching would have seen a black-and-white 4-door automobile swerve off the highway onto its shoulder and screech to a halt—then all four doors would fly open and all the car’s occupants would stumble out, coughing and retching with eyes streaming tears—all, that is, except the Chihuahua—obviously he wasn’t as bothered by the results wrought by Mama’s recipe for ham hock and butter beans.

We made it safely back home, and in retrospect we found that part of the trip to be hilarious, but it was definitely not funny at the time.

Bimbo had a good life and a fairly long life—born in 1964, he lived until 1972 and enjoyed good health throughout those years. The little fellow met his demise while fighting another male dog over the affections of a female dog—had he known that he was no match for the other dogs, neither for fighting the male nor for (insert verb with gerund hereother than fighting) the female, he may not have been as quick to vie for the female’s favors, but he had no way of knowing that the other dogs, both male and female, were full-grown German Shepherds. However, I believe that had he known, he would have still persisted—he was, above all, a Chihuahua and backing away from a fight or a (insert noun here—sans gerund) was not in his nature.

I’ll get back to you later with more details.

 
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Posted by on May 24, 2009 in Family, Humor, Travel, Uncategorized

 

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Never Volunteer: Note for Incoming Military Personnel . . .

NEVER VOLUNTEER . . .

Anyone who joins the US military under any condition and no matter which branch of service, will be bombarded with suggestions and admonitions voiced by “knowledgeable” others. Any listing of such would be interminably long, so here are just a few examples:

ADVICE ON MEDICAL PRACTICES:

Don’t bend over, no matter what the doctor says.

If you do bend over and the doctor places both hands on your shoulders, be afraid—be very afraid.

Watch out for that square needle in the left testicle.

Get ready to ride the silver stallion.

“Riding the silver stallion” is how GIs describe a procedure which requires one, while hanging upside down (a more accurate description would be while hanging “downside up”), to allow the rectal insertion of a long round shiny item similar to a giant ring-sizer. The purpose of this barbaric procedure is, ostensibly, to examine the lower third of the colon to determine if any polyps exist. I believe the procedure may have been replaced by one even more barbaric—it’s called a sigmoidoscopy—one lies on one’s side and allows compressed air to be blown into the colon through the rectal insertion of a flexible tube, again ostensibly to examine the colon for polyps.

ADVICE ON PERSONAL HYGIENE:

Don’t drop the soap in the shower.

If you do drop the soap, don’t pick it up—leave it.

ADVICE ON HOW TO POLICE (CLEAN UP) AN AREA:

If it’s not moving, pick it up.

If you can’t pick it up, paint it.

If you can’t paint it, salute it.

If you can’t salute it, frigate (at least two alternate spellings are available).

ADVICE ON JOINING FORMATIONS FOR DETAIL SELECTION:

To avoid being selected, huddle in the center of the group—stay away from the edges.

To avoid being selected, stay on the edges—do not huddle in the center.

HINT FOR FUTURE SELECTION FORMATIONS:

Any selector worth his salt will alternate his selection methods.

AND THE ADVICE MOST GIVEN TO INCOMING MILITARY PERSONNEL IS:

Never volunteer!

I failed to heed this advice on two memorable occasions early in my military career. The first was in 1949 while I was in a casual status at Chanute AFB in Rantoul, Illinois, awaiting starting dates for technical training courses. We casuals fell out (assembled) early each morning to present ourselves for various details, many of which were designed to keep us busy, off the streets and out of trouble while in a casual status. In my first assembly I was the only one who foolishly raised a hand when we were asked if anyone could type—I figured my typing skills would guarantee a cushy day-job in a climate-controlled office.

I was wrong—I spent a very long day at the base motor pool, breaking down vehicle wheels, very large wheels with very large tires, all very worn, very flat or blown out, and then reassembling them with new inner-tubes. (Yes, Virginia—long, long ago in ancient times, vehicle tires were equipped with rubber tubes that had to be inflated with compressed air—said tubes were very susceptible to punctures and blowouts).

In those ancient times, apparently there were no hydraulic helpers available—they either had not been invented, or the United States Air Force motor pools could not afford them, or they simply did not want to use them (with slave labor available, they didn’t really need them).

At times I was tempted, but I managed to avoid volunteering for anything else until June 25, 1950, a day which is so far in the past that an explanation is necessary—on that date units of the North Korean army crossed the 38th parallel and invaded South Korea. On that same day the aircraft maintenance personnel of the Eighth Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron of the 67th Tactical Reconnaissance Wing based at Yokota Air Base, Japan were asked to volunteer to staff a forward aircraft maintenance unit at Taegu Air Base, near the city of Taegu in the southern part of South Korea.

All personnel in Japan, whether accompanied or unaccompanied by family, earned one point per month of the 36 rotation points acquired for rotation back to the states. The carrot extended to us, if we volunteered for duty in Korea, was the promise to award three rotation points for each month spent in the combat zone, effectively limiting our tours to a maximum of one year before rotating back the United States.

Not one member of our squadron maintenance unit who was accompanied by a family member or members volunteered—most unaccompanied members unhesitatingly volunteered (I was in that gullible group). Using our real names, we signed a document to support our action.

Soon after the request for volunteers to participate in the Korean conflict on-site, my squadron relocated to Itazuke AB near Fukuoka, a metropolitan city on the southern island of Kyushu. A pleasant three months passed before our volunteer statements took away the pleasantries—on October 1, 1950 we volunteers, along with our toolboxes, were airlifted to Taegu in a C-119 cargo plane (said flight is the subject of a future posting—watch for it).

So far, so good—at this point we were pleased with our decision to volunteer, but the pleasure was short-lived. Somewhere in the upper echelons of command a decision was made to make Taegu the headquarters for the 67th Tactical Reconnaissance Wing, with a cadre of maintenance personnel remaining in Japan to perform certain aircraft inspections and accomplish complicated technical modifications to our aircraft. In answer to your question, “Yes—most of those remaining in Japan were the same non-volunteers who were accompanied by a family member or family members.”

The most significant result of this move (at least to us volunteers) was that, because our headquarters was in the combat zone, the people who did not volunteer—those non-volunteering, accompanied-by-family-members people—those who stayed behind to face the rigors of duty in Japan—would also earn three points per month to apply to the 36 points required for stateside rotation.

I had numerous other opportunities to volunteer during the following 20 years before I retired from the military (for length of service with 22 years plus). I must admit, but not without a certain amount of chagrin, that I volunteered for some of them, but only after considering a long list of pros and cons. A few times I lost the opportunity to volunteer because I spend so much time evaluating those pros and cons—some of the lost opportunities were welcomed—some others were monumental disappointments.

I’ll get back to you later with more details.

 

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My 7-day Military R & R 3-day pass, Korea & Japan, 1951

I spent 15 months in South Korea during the Korean conflict, from October 1950 through December 1951. US Air Force personnel serving in South Korea during the Korean War were authorized an occasional 3-day pass to Japan, for the dual purposes of R&R (variously referred to as rest and recuperation, rest and relaxation, rest and recreation and other variations, some naughty, of the letters R & R).

This is the story of how I extended an R&R pass from three days to seven days. We were authorized multiple passes depending on mission requirements, but I was restricted to only one—my first was also my last.

The reason for that restriction was as follows:

My request for an R&R in the summer of 1951 was approved. My unit had a vintage (early 1930s) C-47 cargo plane which was used for a daily “milk run” between Taegu, South Korea and Itazuke Air Base near the southern city of Fukuoka, Japan. The aircraft was used to move supplies and personnel, including round-trip flights for those who were authorized a 3-day pass for R&R.

The C-47 was configured to carry 15 passengers in addition to crew and cargo—it departed Taegu in late afternoon daily, remained at Itazuke overnight and departed early the next day for the return flight to Taegu. Persons needing transportation to Korea were required to report no later than 0700 to sign up for the trip. Those who, luckily, were among the first 15 persons in line returned to Korea—those who needed the flight and were not among the first 15 in line were unlucky—their orders were stamped TNA (Transportation Not Available) and they were told to try again the following morning. It was a popular flight, and people were turned away every day because of the 15-passenger limitation.

The reader can probably see this one coming—if any person, reasonably
intelligent and perceptive (there were a few of us), had no burning desire to return to Korea, for whatever reason, that person simply waited, watched and counted until 15 others were in the line before joining it, and then had their orders stamped TNA, thereby legitimately gaining an additional day to be spent in “shopping and sight-seeing” in one of Japan’s largest cities during the post-World War II period of occupation by US military forces.

There were two of us on R&R from my unit, and through manipulation of the sign-up line we extended our stay in Japan—we were still there on the seventh day. However, seven was not our lucky number—when we presented our papers to be stamped NTA on the seventh day, we were told that our commanding officer had called—his orders were: Do not leave the terminal—remain there all day and overnight. Being model members of the US military, we followed his orders and languished in the terminal throughout a long day and an even longer night, and we were, predictably, the first two people in line the next day—we made the flight. On our return to Taegu we were verbally censured and threatened with every punitive action conceivable—except another R&R.

Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted.

I’ll get back to you later with more details on the subject of post-war military-occupied Japan.

 
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Posted by on May 22, 2009 in Humor, Military, Travel

 

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