If you really understand the gun control point...

I am sorry that so many people were killed and wounded at Fort Hood, Texas today, they didn't deserve to be shot up like that. An Army officer did it (but we won't condemn officers) and doctor (but we won't condemn doctors) a shrink (but we won't condemn those that treat mental illness) a Muslim (but we won't condemn Muslims) with semi-automatic pistols with extra loaded magazines (but we won't condemn the firearms nor the bullets). In Texas, home to the Alamo, mythical Lonesome Dove, and cowboy culture there is Fort Hood (named for a fine Rebel general) with signs posted at all the gates that the Commander doesn't permit Concealed Carry and doesn't honor the state's permit to carry, that all weapons are locked up without ammunition, that all personal weapons are registered and locked in quarters or unit arms rooms unless given permission to use them in recreation. Nope, what happened today is what is the weakness in the argument that gun control means fewer deaths and destruction - in Texas that had the Texas Tower shooter, there are points of total gun control where potential victims abound. If those in the processing center had only made it to Indian Country they could have been carrying a weapon with at least twenty rounds as they wore their reflective belt, but they were being protected by foolish words and policies that don't bear the name of the commander, only his title.

Okay, now I am really ill....

I don't believe in Zombies, although people tied to their televisions, cellphones and such may be closer than I want to realize. Still today when I went to check with my doctor he had other specialists listed to see about how to improve me. Sigh, and my mother loves me the way I am, except for the far away and apart stuff. Anyway, my doctor wants me to see a Cardiac Specialist and get a Brain scan - anyone that knew me as a Drill Sergeant and Senior NCO would immediately know the doctor was trying to find a heart and mind - which were removed in my first NCO Academy for my future professional growth. What my doctor and I talked about is confidential, but really I wasn't buying it and probably won't anytime soon without something else changing.

I walked down to the dock today, like most days, and a bright red BMW pulled over and stopped and the window powered down, so I stuck my head down and around (hoping for that beautiful long legged red head of my mythology -- it wasn't) it was a sharp looking soldier with three metal proficiency badges above his left pocket and sunglasses on his head "Hey, Old Timer, would you like a lift?" Which is not the way to sell me a refrigerator in the Artic, Old Timer? do we know each other? "No," I answered, "I do this for the exercise and thanks for the offer." He drove off, I hadn't even been limping or anything but he was looking out for me. Ladies, he was a keeper if you could catch him... like I would know what a keeper was today.

The only other thing of note today was that I called BlogTalkRadio to make may opinion known on Gun Nuts Radio: Self Defense hosted by Breda of Library, Guns and Bacon fame. So I chatted and no one paid attention to me, and then I called and was nicely thanked by Caleb - but I probably sounded like an old man when I asked why he hadn't shot in his latest self defense opportunity - his answer was correct - the threat was gone so he didn't shoot. I also wondered but didn't ask why he was a target of the fool with the knife, what made him a potential victim? Still, since he threw his coffee at the perp I thought that was the first good move, getting his pistol out next was second, and not saying "put your hands in the air" was the third good non-move.

Okay, almost time to go get the hot shower and get to bed, I am so far behind in work and will crack the whip tomorrow. Since another doctor has my Thursday afternoon tied up in his office and lab. Can't wait to find out about the Brain Scan, I know there must be a good picture of my mind somewhere.... blank slate of course... I did get three green ball caps to use as Shoot Boss this weekend, two are perfect colors, no sewing on them yet. But the color becomes me... I hope.

Good morning, blog readers everywhere...

I am up and working on becoming a better man again, no hope but it is one way to try and pick the better of two options. I am fatter, thank you for feeding all my desires and few of my needs, it is great to be able to have to problem of too much than the challenge of way too little. Since twenty pounds is what I complain about most, thinking thirty five will really ring my alarm bell. But my blood pressure was 115/82 this morning with the heart rate of 42 beats per minute, so vacations are still very good to me. Note to self, when visiting places with water and sand, take swimming suit and get in and swim, how can one just go without (yes, there are swimming suits and various things to wear in my chest of drawers), also use the fitness facilities, and drag some friends or family along to sweat and talk to.

Also, take a couple of your good knives, it does seem really strange to have to find a Wal-Mart and pick a Chinese product when I have all those great ones from Germany and the old proud of our product America - before Gerber sold out. I guess I could have found out about my concealed carry permit from Washington in Florida - but that wasn't on my list of important things to do. I did find my sister, the one closest to me in many things, has a License To Carry Firearms from Pennsylvania. Which to my eyes didn't make it clear what the intent of the license was, having looked it up I kind of understand. I do appreciate the efforts of the State of Pennsylvania, but doesn't that fly in the face of simple 2nd Amendment language? It is 'Shall issue' so that isn't too bad, unless one is living or working in Philadelphia (would Benjamin Franklin choose to live in that city today?).

Still in the sibling competition of which of us is the better at whatever, I have to hand it all to my brother on the motorcycling front. He was the one that recommended the Trusty Triumph to me, and he has ridden motorcycles for many more years than I, many many. But he rode his bike all the way from Aurora, Colorado to Palm Coast, Florida, and is zigging back by North Carolina to visit Mom and get some tubing twisted for his exhaust system on his bike then home. Now that is some riding. He needs good thoughts to go with his good riding skills, those highways are a zooming jungle out there. You have no idea how many times I got lost looking for some area, and it was very nice to sooner or later be back where I was supposed to be. I have my niece's home zeroed in -- so I figure the perfect home is coming on the market soon for her to lock in and buy --- just so one day I will have to find them again. I will be taking my swimming suit, shorts, jogging shoes and good attitude, dude.

sometimes small town guys go farther than one thinks...

I have always called Ligonier Valley my hometown, but I didn't live in the town and was living on Darlington Road along side the Loyalhanna Creek that cut through the Chestnut Ridge that lay West of Ligonier Valley. I left for college and then adventures with the military service of my country and its best intentions. So I think having been elsewhere and seen and done a bit I can pretend to be a ex-resident expert on small town boy goes far.

I was thinking of that at the memorial for my friend and brother-in-law, William Gerald Leibel, Jr (Jerry), today. He kind of stayed home while I was wandering but then I realized that he had traveled to England with my sister to visit their daughter in her Air Force service, had gone to Colorado for the Renasiance Fair wedding of my brother's son, gone to Hawaii to visit and attend the wedding of my son in the Navy and in love, he did get around.

The minister said kind and good words about Jerry, and knew we all cared very much about Jerry and knew he couldn't catch more than we were sure Jerry was a very good man - in a fight, in a family, in his role as father - all a very good man. But they, my sister and her daughters picked a perfect place to say good-bye, it had a long white sand road to get to the park, the creek was perfect to the jumping fish and the dolphin, the breeze was cooling and the day was fine and we remembered Jerry and our lives with him. My mother had written her memories and I and my sister read them and shared our thoughts about her memories, good thoughts.

As I thought about how small town boys leave and travel, and that Jerry really hadn't, I looked a second time and realized he wasn't frozen in that place nor our hearts, but was going out with his daughters and wife, and his son-in-laws, and grandchildren into their futures. Kind of always there, a solid reference an anchor when you wanted an expert opinion - well, their dad would have done it this way, or would have said this about that, or not said anything at all unless it was 'do you need any help?' That part of Jerry that he gave away with his love will go on into our future, and we will be happy to pass it on, wherever the road leads us.

Traveling as fast as I can...

wandering through the friendly skies and stopping at points along the way, is one way to expend a good night's sleep and dreams. But sure enough I am now here in Florida, and my wife made me stop and sleep off the road before I fell asleep on the road, that worked so well.

Family are those which acknowledge that you are related, and the children respond quickest to new found members, and they all make the journey worthy. How do we find each other, by bumping into one another at the pool, at the registration desk and by asking after. All very disorganized, but all real life not something that will ever get written into a script and on your screen.

Time to go and get a good night's worth in preparation for the morrow.

My wife doesn't understand my laughing...

I have proof of Global Warming, the upper left old guy pushing the bagger cleaning up the yard was from February and he was so proud that he had done something to make Earth more Eden-like. Now it is March, he traveled over 280 miles this weekend through rain, sleet, hail and snow to help train three new Riflemen, and about twelve soon to be's, getting up early after a wonderful dreamfull sleep to check the blogging community and notice they never missed me - and my wife awakes to cancel her doctor's appointment to stay home until the snow melts. One would think as fast as Congress and the President are burning money in Washington there wouldn't be any snow anywhere - carbon foot prints of Giants, just ask them. Anyway, I must drop back into the real world, I didn't fire one round the entire weekend but I was talking targets, history of America, and helping teach and coach America's future Riflemen. Isn't the snow beautiful? God loves us.

I just wanted to say thanks, but couldn't comment...

VIPs
Name: RN Clara Hart
Posting date: 1/26/09
Stationed in: a civilian military hospital in the U.S.
Milblog url: www.mcneillysperspective.blogspot.com
Email: clarahart2@yahoo.com

“Good Morning!. . . Hello? Anybody home?” Slowly one brown eye slid open.

“Hi! My name’s Clara, I’m going to be your nurse today.” The brown eye peered out at me from underneath a headdress of gauze.

“How are ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?”

“No, no and no.”

“Okay then, here’s today’s plan." I rattled off a list of things to accomplish. “You ready?”

“Nope."

“Huh! Well! That’s not really an option. So this is what we’re gonna do," I said with a smile.

A long-suffering sigh was the only response.

My patient, injured three years ago in Iraq, had returned for additional surgery and so, in caring for him with tasks to be completed, I forged on with the morning.

At one point the causality affairs officer stopped in and asked if a high profile visitor could come by. Since my patient was stable I said it was fine with me as long as the patient didn’t mind. My patient looked at me, then reluctantly agreed.

“Damn, man! If I known today I was going to have a VIP patient who was going to have a VIP visitor I’d have done my hair!” I joked with him. For that quip, my patient awarded me with a crooked smile and a gurgle of laughter.

Timetable for the visit set, we began to complete some of the day’s tasks. While working, my patient, in slow, deliberate speech, said, “They come in, shake your hand and tell you how proud they are of you. They say thanks for serving your country, how grateful they are for men and women like you. They struggle to figure out what to talk about next and try real hard not to stare at your blown off leg or damaged face. Then they leave and you never see or hear from them again. If you’re lucky they might remember you, but most don’t.” Brown eye looked out at me, sadness clearly evident. “I get so tired of being on display for these people. People that don’t know me.”

Later, while charting as my patient lay sleeping I looked up to see the VIP striding down the hallway,entourage in tow. I stood and moved into my patient’s room, waking him by calling his name.

“Visitors," I said.

The VIP came into the room and began to speak. At times my patient’s speech was slow and halting, softly spoken, and the VIP had difficulty understanding. To cover the awkwardness, I began to joke with my patient, the mood lightening when the crooked smile appeared on his face. As quickly as he came the VIP left, and with a remembrance gift in his hand my patient simply looked at me, tired expression on his face. I told him to go back to sleep, and returned to work.

Several hours later a second visitor approached me, another liaison, inquiring as to the status of my patient and asking if he could see him. As my patient was finally getting some much-needed rest, I threatened him with great bodily harm if he even attempted to wake my patient.

“Oh no, Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that! I just wanted to make sure he was okay. See, we served together in Iraq three years ago, and the last time I saw him was a couple of days before he got blown up. I won’t wake him, and if you tell me he’s doing okay, that’s good enough for me. I’ll see him some other time."

“I know you,” he added. "You’ve taken care of another one of my guys and you’re good people. Protective as hell of your patients, but I like that. Makes me feel better knowing someone like you is looking after my guys when I can’t.” I smiled and nodded not sure what to say especially since I didn’t remember ever working with him.

After some prodding on my part he began to tell me about the crooked path that had taken him to two other duty stations before being tasked as a liaison. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go wake him up. You’re one visitor I know he’ll want to see."

Walking into the room, liaison slowly following, I again called my patient’s name. Leaning toward his head I softly spoke his name, then louder said “Wake up! There’s another visitor here to see you and you’ll like this one."

I heard the sigh he gave before the brown eye reluctantly opened. I began to smile as I watched recognition slowly dawn as he looked at his visitor. Then, as with an overexcited toddler whose entire body moves, my patient struggled to get his hand out from under the covers. He grinned, “How ya doing, man?!” All of us laughed, the visitor and the patient shook hands, then with hands tightly grasped, simply looked at each other.

Finding a chair for him, I urged the visitor to sit and talk. As I went about my work I heard snippets of the conversation drifting out of the room. Talk of guys they served with, promotions, life’s paths, laughter, tears, war stories and more laughter. Later, as the liaison stood up to leave, I wandered back into the room. With grins stretched across our faces we all gazed at each other.

I have no need to wonder which VIP my patient will remember most.

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I lifted the entire thing from The Sandbox, my problems are so little, perspective.

Well, ladies and lasses, were you there?

On Christmas morning my mother would always insist that we read the story of the first Christmas from Luke, 2 vs 1 to 20. So I was on to the shepherds being told of the birth and coming to tell Mary and Joseph, I also read enough that in Matthew 2 that there were wise men (Magi) from the East that came to find the promised baby born to be King of the Jews. So we have the story of the news of the birth going to the most common of folk, shepherds and the most special, almost rocket scientists - well, for the time of the Romans anyway. That is pretty much it, but then you weren't there were you? Seems a pretty empty land, town of Bethlehem, Kingdom of Judea and Romans roaming around but only shepherds, angels (in chorus) and three wise men from the East, Mary and Joseph.

What is wrong with this picture? it is on most religious Christmas cards, the children's Christmas pageant has more sheep and animals than humans - doesn't it? But there are hints, Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Now that sounds just right, a young girl going to have her first baby visits a cousin that will soon have her own - women do talk, they do go find out about stuff - not like a man never asking always pretending to know. It couldn't have been possible that you were written out of the story? You could have been traveling to Bethlehem with Joseph and Mary - just going in that direction (David had lots of wives and lots of decedents, twenty-eight generations worth!). Ever see women ignore another woman carrying a child? They always ask how she feels, about when she would be due to have the baby, where she is going, does she need anything? There were women, children and men going along that would have talked to Joseph and Mary, given sound advice and assistance as needed. Joseph didn't need any, he was a guy - and he would find Bethlehem soon enough without asking directions.

Well, this crowd gets to the little very important town, and find places to rest up - some would still be sleeping on the ground. Mary and Joseph get shelter - she is going to have a child, and other women are called in to assist in the birth -- that got written right out of history. Now, I know that women can have children all by themselves, it isn't easy but can happen. But even in a small town those that do understand hospitality (and that is a real sign of civilization) would be sure the local wise women and midwife would know and be attentive. There are rules about birth in the Bible, most misunderstood by men since it isn't really where they get to shine. So people the picture of the new mother, Mary, surrounded by women caring for her and encouraging her, bringing the swaddling clothes, cleaning mother and child, informing Joseph the boy was born as he heard the birth cry.

You can tell that the disciples were men, the writers of the Gospels were men, the leaders of the church that chose the stories to repeat, were men. For they put in the important parts of God and Man, and forgot the women - mostly - Jesus never did, from his mother to all the women that he taught and traveled with - they were always there. I suggest that we put them back into his birth scene again - or just remember that because women really care, they would always be there. They have always peopled my personal Christmas's, even if only in my mind and heart while we were apart.

Courtship or adoption, gone straying again?

I must be something, riding my motorcycle to work today and home. I seem to have attracted the notice of a feline from across the street. Well, some folks have it and some folks don't - or it could be that their front porch doesn't have the warmth of my garage and home, I am really not that attractive without the baggage of civilization's comforts. But I do pay attention to little things, which has its own rewards. Apple pie baking, pumpkin pies in the making and so far so good. Good night.

What I almost missed by being a loner...

You know that men understand women not at all - because they are men, and women shake their heads when men do things they can't comprehend (although the women will be sure they do Understand men - but that men are just fools or fallible). My point, quickly, is that we understand ourselves and our environment better than someone that doesn't live it with us. Trust me on this, Eskimos, Mongolian herdsmen and camel riding Bedouins live well where they are much better than I ever will be able to - in their environment and culture.

So in my studies and my storytelling, I have been bumping along on the American Revolution, Militia, Minutemen, and the Second Amendment to the Constitution. And for various reasons, me being a loner mostly, I kept concentrating on the People keeping and bearing arms - without the infringement from government. LEAVE ME ALONE! should be painted on my t-shirts, but I don't like too many printed shirts, plain dark somber colors. Okay, so far, that seems to be an important point from the Heller case - it does belong to the People (by only one vote). But you shouldn't trust the government to get it right, any more than you should trust a man or a woman to really understand the other gender. I don't trust the government goodness (and I do believe in fairy tales) when they spend so much time dividing the population into groups with different rules and privileges - I know why they do it and it never is the reason that they tell us, but back to what I almost missed.

Living in this high tech age, where Farmer Frank can plant, weed and harvest bushels of corn and beans that in the long ago past (1890's ?) would have taken long strings of horses and hundreds of men to produce on more acres (look at the pictures). So we don't really understand the old German farm houses, with the animals on the ground floor, the family on the second floor and the workers living in the tiny rooms on the third and fourth floors. We have trouble understanding community - we don't live in communities we just call where we live "a bedroom community" I watched my wife get up and leave for the day in Korea, to help the community replant the rice shoots (they have machines for it now) but everyone went out and helped replant the rice from the village, they would all go out and help harvest (they do have machines now - which is why they have so many people making cars for resale in America). Anyway, those are just two examples of community activities that everyone participating in for the benefit of the community. About the only community activity I see now, is sandbagging against floods - and we are being encouraged to stop that and run away by our government. Mandatory evacuation orders. I must be wandering again.

Back to my point, when you live as a community you also protect yourself as a community, establish good manners, laws and priorities -- and the community expects cooperation and responsibility from its adult members. You will talk, you will vote, you will abide or you will have to walk away an outcast, an outlaw (those are real important historical terms of condition). The MILITIA is the community's military power -- we don't have that any longer, governments don't want independent militia, an armed and organized bunch of citizens. The militia of the 1770's through the early years of America was the men of the community - not the state and never the Federal government. If we had communities today, not ones that just sleep together, the militia would be all the adult men and women of the community, armed and trained to protect the community. From sandbagging, fire fighting and catching crooks and perverts - it would be the community militia, but mostly the Community that would protect itself.

I now read that first part of the Second Amendment as what the Founding Fathers lived within, communities where the people formed their militia (not the government's nor King's military but the People's). Until you build communities again, it won't come back -- there are some places in America that aren't just bedroom communities: but they aren't on the news, on the Interstate or bothered much by Washington, DC. But then once upon a time Americans lived in communities not in enclaves (computer caves?) preparing to become part of the Matrix.

What a terrible way to start October, almost but...

I am being beaten down and feeling like a fool, totally unprofessional and a minor instance, then the inspectors from the Executive Team show up and inspect and note my further deficiencies. I am turning into a very nasty man, so the minor problems that I would deal with laughingly just grate and I start snarling. My best workers and favorite patrons back off seeing the warning signs -- the fools just keep coming. Then I start singing songs (mentally) from the Christmas selection we are practicing, and I start thinking of going home to the wife that cares about me when no one else does, and the weather is with me and the Trusty Triumph, and I talk to one of my former workers (a wrencher biker) about motorcycles - and I am a bit mellowed back out....

Dinner is excellent, coffee is great and doorbells ring. I have my ammunition from CMP (what is the reason the Post Office can't deliver guns and ammo? so FedEx rules?) all seven hundred plus rounds of 30 caliber, then my wife's ride shows up and they talk about how the flowers look on the porch and they depart for church activities, and the cute smooth talking soccer player drops off my cookie dough - I ask her how soccer is coming, she plays all the positions. The day is too short with all the good stuff. But I will look at the blogsphere, I am not impressed by television and I have plans for exercising, dry firing and unpacking the Ammunition!.

I leave a little trail of comments and then find something way too cool. Totally undeserved, but most welcome Tribute to some sound advice for all shooters - I didn't do the shooting; she has great coaching and natural perfections (color choice, just ask). Another great day, no matter who tries to make me lesser - without any government intervention I am still king for today! Although I am more likely comfortable as a Sergeant in Arms, an American Rifleman, and your good neighbor.

The side of me, I will never see...

Quality time, with my wife and she wants to go to the YMCA and soak up heat, and I want to go shoot my pistols. So we do a little of both. She snaps some pictures of me shooting and this one catches my eye - since I never see this side. One never really knows how the world sees one, looking in a mirror helps get the hair straight and eye brows swept up but it is backwards from what you really are. So pictures have to cover the real you - and you do keep throwing away those that don't make you look good, tough, resourceful and brave (or at least I do). Some will worry about sexy - but that is so young in thought and foolish I am above that now, so above worried about looking sexy. But I do still look.

I, of course, am looking at how fat I am, hoping I still fit my pants and the spare tire isn't bulging too much (suck that stomach in, way in!). I was going to the Y so I will get a workout in, twenty-five minutes and nine seconds to row 5K, and thirty minutes on a step-strider for real sweat. I shot my KelTec PF-9, thirteen bullets, last seven all in the black. I also fire my favorite Colt Mark IV, Series 70, Government Model, .45 cal -- the last twenty only missed the black seven times, must have been rushing. It makes me happiest that all the bullets hurt the target aimed for, and although I couldn't charm my wife into shooting more than pictures I was very happy that she liked how well I perforated the paper and wants me to invite one of her ministers to come shooting one Saturday - I am all for that.

It is very difficult to be really objective about one's self and images. One of the reasons we test ourselves so often as we learn skills or achieve new levels of proficiency - we want to see how we are doing against the others in the race - The HUMAN Race, of course. I heard so many times yesterday that we were in the best country in the world, and although I know it is my country I have been in others and don't find this one the best at everything - there are some really great ideas that our country should consider. That goes back to my point about not seeing some sides of me - beyond my back, just in how I am in a social situation, how my critical comments will be received by people with other agendas, how I look to those afraid of weapons in my home, hands and head, how I look to those that knew me way back when -- that is a side I will never see. Everything about me I see through my mind's eye first; colored by trauma, emotion, desires, fears and dreams. I will never see your real "Earl" (me), I just hope I am better than either of us have noticed and remarked on in my life.

Happy Friday, First Day of Summer and it is...

Noticed while riding my motorcycle to work, that it was a great day. My workday planned out, a hundred and fifty new items to link and circulate, ILLs to request, patron information requests to answer and the Sun would be with us all day. That was how it went and the day was fine, I have about three hours of work on Monday, open one hour for patrons, then I close until Wednesday, my son is coming home before heading off to Hawaii. His room has been cleaned and prept, the spare bathroom is off limits to me - my wife has cleaned it and left the silent notice that I had better not mess it up. I have motorcycle safety stuff on Saturday morning, a Patriot Guard mission for the last units of the 4th Brigade of the 2nd Infantry Division, returning from Iraq in the afternoon, then a Homeowners meeting and grass cutting and house cleaning after that.

I will say our cold wet Spring seems to have been beaten back by Summer Sun, but most people feel it is only an illusion, the rain will return. The only temperate Rainforest is just across the Sound and it doesn't dry out in the Summer. Tacoma got to eighty-three degrees today, but Spokane got even higher so our season is officially and beautifully changed. Have a great one!

Rituals and wrinkles...

I start my day, the entry into the world of work portion, by getting the Regimental coffee mug turned into Regimental Shaving Mug down from the medicine cabinet. I take out the brush and turn on the hot water and moisten the bristles and start whipping up a froth of shaving soap. I have whipped up a froth or two elsewhere and in more exoitic places but not for my shaving, but stirring up hornets' nest has nothing on getting men to rise up and charge into combat in foolish gallantry and certain slaughter.

Just an old man's thoughts, as he whips up on the soap. Of other times and other places, which is probably why he has never seen the real face he wears in public. Once preparing to play an old man's part in a church pagent he thought about adding wrinkle lines with some eye liner or grease pencil - then looked and saw that the lines were deeply etched already - a miracle of God? or just a true measure of the blessings bestowed in his life? He remembers when as a teenager he carefully shaved with a straight razor, while his father swore by his electric, and after the careful application of English Leather or some other scent sure to succeed, and the long combing process to get his hair rolled up just right he would pronounce himself still very ugly but one of the toughest boys in school, never backing down. The old man smiles as he thinks about the fool's focus but fine false courage, no wrinkles then but lots of fears fought off.

Stop and put down the mug and brush and get a good double handful of hot water to rinse off the sleep and soften the skin and stubble. Hot water is so wonderful, remembering cold water shaves and showers or helmet baths in frozen places, so warm and loving. Time to apply the shaving foam, twirling the foam and touching bristles to beard - well, it would be a beard if he didn't cut it off. Doesn't get kissed any more for shaving than he does when whiskered - why does he cut it off? Trying to stay young? It is easier to remove the whiskers than to maintain a civilized image with a ragged beard, so he maintains the ritual. Time to prove he is still a man, must shave and make ready to meet the world. If one is going out to die make sure he has clean underwear and he has shaved. He has now a white foamy beard, he always knows what it would look like if it grew and hid the face under it.

Quickly taking up the razor, he expertly slashes soap and stubble away, wondering to himself why do all those models and actors with no hair on their chest always have two days or better worth of stubble to pose in maturity, sexy or just psuedo-sexy? Slash and rinse the blade off to slash away again. A nice close shave, drawing the sagging skin tight so the razor glides along the lubrication and cuts cleanly the hair. Check after rinsing, soft skin waiting for the woman's touch - ah, he will never ask and will always appreciate her touch. Which her? his memory asks, and the old man laughs - there were never that many that got that close, count them on one hand and happy that they were all wonderful and very special. Distracted he cuts slightly and starts to bleed a bit, must be time to finish and greet the world. Slapping on some after shave to stop the bleeding . Normal morning = spilling a bit of coffee and blood, offerings to the little gods of chance and luck.

Looking again into the mirror - and really looking - he sees a deeper crease that he doesn't remember being there yesterday. Wondering how the ten pounds of new fat hasn't found a place to hide in his face, but happy that the wrinkles all lift and crinkle around his eyes when he smiles, he must remember to smile more, his heart will be happier and yours will, too.

Time to see the expert on getting put into a box...

I like to think I am unique, one of a kind, and original -- but the doctor wants me to fit into a 'best health' box, with my blood pressure at a certain constant level, cholesterol at the best level and weight to height ratio with little fat fooling me. I don't fit, but then am not really fit yet again - hibernation does really happen, I should be a snowbird and go south for Sun or at least up on the mountains - it is too gray and dark in my days in the Great Northwest. I weigh 205.5 pounds this morning, and am starving since last I ate was six last evening. My blood pressure is 137/80 with the heart rate of 46. Dreams were my normal military tom-foolery, with long runs and bad plumbing. I did concentrate on running strides yesterday and made myself happy actually doing the distance a bit faster and thinking I looked graceful - although I still looked like an old man trying to relearn the joy of running.

Stepping into the Time Machine...

Closed the library on Friday, packed one suitcase for two and departed the Great Northwest. Left the suitcase in Chicago when we changed planes and our best laid plans. The library will be opened one day while I am gone - which means I am not important, or the library isn't or that four days of closure are just more punishment for the guilty. Could be that it has no meaning and no one will notice my shift into the future.

We are visiting my mother for her birthday, she was eighty on the 12th of February, born in a hospital in Uruguay in 1928 and living now in an upscale retirement home in almost Dixie. We find ourselves moving slower, speaking clearer and completely or else repeating ourselves to be understood. My slight limp from the motorcycle mishap has nothing on the number of Scooters, wheel chairs and fourteen types of walkers and canes. I find myself greeting everyone, saying hello with a smile and looking into everyone's eyes. I notice those that are doing things for other people seem the healthiest, happiest and most mobile, a secrect of success?

My sister shows up and hugs my wife and greets me and I immediately tell her to slow down, there isn't anything here to hurry over - she has just stepped out of her hamster wheel in her cage - she needs to adjust (slowly) to our future. We get her coffee and help her wrap a gift and talk (still too fast but we can keep up)about family elsewhere and what is going on and what is important. We don't mention politics nor celebrities.

A former sister-in-law joins us and we attack the set up of the area for the party/reception (elders have a very different party idea - no beer keg in sight). I do the thug work, five women and I just take orders and lift and tote. For fun I get to blow up the baloons, red and pink. Nice set up, nice cake and and most of the local world came to say hello, I get told I look like my father by all that knew him from his time in their world. My mother is having a wonderful time saying thankyous and explaining the pictures from the albums and years ago and far away. I have noted many pictures that I had never seen - some with a much younger fellow I could have been, except never that cute.

Party over, mother sleeping in her throne, we clean up and check the weather, sister decides she can safely return to the hamster wheel in her cage. Wish her well and a safe voyage - back to the place they depend on her for W-2s and payroll, and heartfelt hugs and good advice about home and life. She is speeding up as she turns to go... no time for my hug, but she and I aren't ever that far apart; we both wear LL Bean slip ons, and laugh immediately at the same funny, my sister.

I have a couple of more days for scouting the territory of the ancient, aged, aging, and just older than dirt. We met a ninety-nine year old at the party - she was a wonder. But knowing math the way I do, the women out numbered the men six or seven to one in that age group, I might not make that twenty year trip; I do ride a motorcycle and love to look leeringly at lovely looking ladies (not really, I just wanted to play with L's). I will continue to tell my wife she will miss me when I am gone, and I will continue to jog gently (85% of MHR) when I get back to "my" normal life pace and the walking race into the Prison from the ferry. Work harder work faster... but that is the subject of another post on another day.

Help wanted!

Needed two library clerks, seems that I ran the other two off, I was too demanding? I just walk around saying "work harder, work faster" and they were driven off. Sad, I thought one of them was going to be really good, but he seemed to shatter under the interruptions of his harmonic motions.

So I put out a call with the job center and seven men showed up for testing, and four were satisfactory for the two positions. Three of the four had real problems with the Dewey system, don't I love a challenge? Then I have to pause and contemplate and review their interviews, and pause and contemplate. While I did that I had them all shelving books - and shelf reading, which we really needed, and I contemplated and got a telephone call from the Public Library asking if I could be available for a second job interview next week. No, I am visiting my mother on her birthday, so the suggestion was a telephone interview on Thursday or Friday. I said okay, just call and I will answer. I wonder why they would want someone like me, and then I really wonder if they don't know the other people would be better than I -- there is a reason that I do well on a prison island, in the library helping patrons with their needs.

I made a choice - picking the most educated and difficult to work with, and the least educated and almost slow to understand but very willing to work. After making my choices, notifying and talking and working the remainder of the day I think I should have taken one of the other applicants - since his testing and interview weren't the best but I liked watching him work with others and solving problems - the fellow with all the education is already trying to influence the environment, me and the crew - and I only want him to shelve and shelf read right now. Well, I do know the names of the two also rans, and the one that impressed me with his work, and I did some talking to him about how he could have done better in the testing and interview - you only get one first impression, but after that you build a reputation.

Just a short tale about truth or perceptions...

I was once important, and because I had a position and voice I was expected to spout the Party Line, and could have if I didn't worry about Right and wrong. But when questioned I would tell the truth, and that bothers the cowards and the fools. I couldn't believe Oliver North wouldn't talk to Congress, he was a Marine and able to charge enemy machine guns, why would he be afraid of Congress? Lucky me, I only had to charge machine guns and write letters to Presidents and Congressmen and Senators, but since I never counted they weren't bothered.

One day in my attempting to wright a wrong, by beating it until it straightened out, I was found to be in error - seems I had written a letter to a General way up the Chain of Command (in an Army of OPEN DOOR policies at every level - like whistle blowing) and he didn't understand, and asked the fellows between us what the problem was (with me, of course, not with the Command). What was wrong, as I saw it, did not get reviewed nor changed, because it was only my perception of a problem. But now I was exposed and marked for destruction, and the gloves were off. Destroying me isn't easy, can be done but isn't easy. Since I really didn't self-destruct and take the honorable way out of wenches, wine, weed and AWOL: they waited and talked to me and poured it on a bit more waiting to hear me complain again. And I did complain again, I am trained to attack into ambushes and burst through them, don't stand around in the killing zone that is only dead meat there.

After a few more pointed counsellings and some written instructions on my future conduct it became clear there wasn't much of a future for me. I put in my retirement papers and cooperated with the Command structure quietly to smooth my transition out of the Army that wasn't ever going to fight a war again - the last remaining Superpower didn't really need warriors, just more yes men and business majors. Now, and back then, there are a lot of fine soldiers and officers - but they aren't always in charge nor around when one needs them - they are usually at work making war and building a better world, not doing powerpoint and gathering statistics and talking to the media. Rock on! Anyway, all my required by regulation paperwork for my retirement had been submitted and since I had over twenty-seven years of service, much of it overseas (that depends on what you call home, folks) and sometimes in combat central of some American Political opportunity, they were going to allow me to retire - I just had to provide them with a letter describing the reasons I was choosing to retire before my current overseas tour was over.

Ah, I then made a mistake, I looked at my reasons and decided I could do a "The Top Ten Reasons to Retire" and I did. Reason Number Ten: and all the way to Reason Number One: and it was in proper military letter format, with my unit, date, my signature block on it and addressed to the Headquarters that had insisted I write it. I handed it to the clerk for faxing and he glowed with promised potential - he not only sent it to that headquarters, but all his clerk buddies to laugh over, all over Europe. Or that is my story, for sure I was called up on the carpet again, to be told what a terrible fellow I was because of my attitude and what I had written. I would only get a lower level service medal because I wasn't one of the good guys. Ah, yes, the feeling of failure was supposed to descend upon me - but I felt freedom, take my family and flee - they never loved me anyway. Expendable, replaceble parts, worn out.