Curmudgeon Central

2009-05-10T22:36:00.000-07:00

Doesn't it make you feel good knowing that your Gov'ment is taking such good care of you?
Gasoline prices are over $2.25 again. Thank you Mr. President.
Sales Tax going up, Car licence plate fee have almost doubled. Yahoo...way to go Obama!
Income tax going back up...Tim Baby, you are doing good.

Mt. President...You published all of our secrets, closed a detention center and are now going after the previous administration. Just like Castro did...Bravo!
Speaking of Castro...opening up with a Communist country...Brilliant!!

I know I am sleeping better knowing that my country, my freedom, my constitution is being watched over by Obama, Pelosi, Reid,

I just keep one eye open and on my wallet.

Over Diagnosed

2009-03-01T08:57:00.000-08:00

There are people out there who say that a sure sign of creeping old age is the fact that you can remember clearly what happened 30 years ago but you can't remember what you had for breakfast this morning.
Now that works for me. Who in the hell cares what I had for breakfast anyway.

I do remember some of my grade school days. I wonder what it would have been like if back then we had all these mood altering drugs, pseudo syndromes and named disorders.
I think I would have at least qualified for some behavior modification. Maybe they would have given me a set of initials like ADD or ADHD. Nope...instead I got a rap on the back of the head with a ruler. You see, I would sometimes stare out the windows and stop paying attention to the teacher as she droned on and on about something. She would tell my parents at every conference that I was a "daydreamer"
Actually I was totally bored out of my head. But no special programs. No initials.
No fancy drugs. Just "whack".

Or how about this. I was always bullied in school. All the bigger kids took great delight in making my life miserable. I think it was my ears. Back then I had full grown adult ears that stuck out like to open barn doors. Some of my school pictures I looked like a 1949 Buick with its doors wide open.
Ron Allen took special delight in sitting on my back and flicking my ears. Left, right, flick, flick.
If that happened today Ron would have been yanked out of school, given some form of anger management class, probation and some designer drug to help control his need to pick on some one smaller that him. I would have been taken to a counselor and made to believe that I had some form of PTSD. Maybe some cool drug to calm my nerves and to help me sleep. Maybe even sent to a special class with special teachers with all the other special kids.
No. What really happened was the PE teacher got tired of watching this poor pathetic little kid get his ears flicked every day so he took him aside and taught him how to box.
The first time I bloodied Ron Allen's nose was the last day my ears were flicked. Ron turned out to be a pretty nice guy, opened a car dealership and was a pretty successful businessman. Neither one of us became mass murderers or any other menace to society.

So what's my point? My point is I think that society now days is way too quick to slap a catchy name to child behavior. Too quick to drug them into acceptable behavior. Too lazy to take the time to just accept the fact that this kid may be different or he may be marching to the beat of a different drummer. Too consumed by our own life to stop and watch as these students grow and learn at their own pace and style. It is really something to watch. A youngster learning something new. You would be amazed.

I wonder what life today would be like if the drugs and programs of today were available say a 100 years ago. What if Albert Einstein was drugged. What if Beethoven was told to stop daydreaming. Maybe the world would be different if Eisenhower and Patton were counseled about aggression and slammed into a special program for anger management.

But thats just me.

Gotcha

2009-02-16T23:16:00.000-08:00

Have you ever landed an airplane? Have you ever watched the big ones land. They rarely touch both wheels down at the same time. Everybody knows that to make a smooth landing you need to kiss the throttles a tad to smooth out the landing. Captain "Sully" made a perfect landing. Perfectly level. perfectly smooth. He did it in a very large aircraft loaded with 150 real people with absolutely zero power. 150 people walked away, or in this case swam away, unharmed. That is the kind of man you call hero. That is the man you put on the cover of Time magazine.

Who does Time like to have on their covers. Dictators from South America, Despots from the middle east and a Flim Flam man by the name of Barrack Husein Obama.

Barrack, No lobbyists in my cabinet, Obama. Has 6 so far and his cabinet isn't full yet. Gotcha

"I will sign no bill with pork barrel spending during my administration". The stimulus package he will sign today is all pork. 787 Billion dollars of pure bacon, ham hocks and sows ears. GOTCHA!

Here is some that I have found, just for your reading pleasure.

$8 Billion for a train to go from Las Vegas to DISNEYLAND!
$100,000 for doorbells in Laurel Mississippi. (I have flown in and out of Laurel Mississippi a couple of times...you could put a new doorbell on every structure in Laurel for $50 bucks.) Oh yea..it will create 2 jobs. GOTCHA!
And one of my all time favorites...$886,000 for a FRISBEE GOLF COURSE in Austin Texas. GOTCHA!

YOU CAN PUT LIPSTICK ON A PIG BUT IT WILL STILL BE PORK

This is insane! 1,100 pages of pork. Not a single lawmaker has even read it but it is going to be signed in Denver today by the Flim Flam Man. (he hasn't read it either)

Still in Training

2009-02-01T22:36:00.000-08:00

I was in Wal-Mart the other day and while I was waiting for the wife to finish her shopping I stepped into the local McDonald's. In there I was attracted to a table with 4 older gentlemen. They were sipping coffee and discussing the state of the world. Or traffic conditions around Grand Junction. Or who had the latest surgery and for what. As I listened it began to dawn on me that I had a long way to go before I was a real, card carrying curmudgeon. I am an amateur. A rookie. These guys were pros. In the time it took them to finish their coffee they had summed up the traffic woes, offered their own fixes to the medicare system and declared Obama as a pretty good kid without a clue.
There was some dissension. One of them thought another was on the wrong meds and it got pretty loud when they were talking about "Bill's" problem with going to the bathroom. This was right after Bill got up to go to the bathroom.
I also learned that they really don't give a damn about these bailouts and stimulus packages. They said they won't live long enough to pay it back anyway. As long as they still got their social security "the Kid" could do whatever he wanted. But they were sorry to see him get impeached so soon. (I think they had Obama and Blogoyavich confused)
But soon my wife found me and I had to finish my day. But as we were driving home It came to me. I am going to have to wait a long time before I learn the secret Curmudgeon handshake and get my super secret Curmudgeon de-coder ring.

I am a Curmudgeon

2009-01-25T17:29:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been trying to convince myself that I was not "political". This past year however, has provided me with so much humor and jaw dropping entertainment that I have to admit that I am, in some ways, political. But not totally.
I am totally a curmudgeon. I am required by the laws of curmudgeondom To cast my weary eyes on the happenings around me and to comment. If I fail to do so I will loose my status as a curmudgeon and my place around around the cyber pot bellied stove. So I will continue.

The American people are about to find out what the Indians found out a couple of centuries ago. Politicians speak with forked tongue.
During the campaign Obama spoke quite eloquently about his support for Israel. Now that he is MR. PRESIDENT, he has spoken about opening up the borders so that a free flow of goods (bullets and rockets) could enter Gaza. He stated that the Israeli's should pull back and stop hostilities. Just goes to show you the difference between campaign rhetoric and what they really feel.
This is nothing new. The political hacks have been doing it for years. If you don't believe me, ask any old air traffic controller what he feels about the "great" Ronald Regan.

Ask any Democrat a tough question and they will respond with "this country is facing the greatest financial crisis since the great depression"

Ask Obama what he plans to do with the prisoners at Gitmo..."this country is facing the greatest financial crisis since the great depression"

Ask why he is naming a tax dodger to head the IRS..."this country is facing the greatest financial crisis since the great depression"

You get my point.

The Republicans all stand around smoking their big stogies and mutter to themselves....this country must be facing the greatest financial crisis since the great depression"

Everyone should go to netflix and order "the Candidate" with Robert Redford. A very good political movie. We are witnessing a remake...Staring Barack Husein Obama as the Candidate.
I'm sure he will settle down and start doing some good things. But right now he is as lost as he can be.

And just in case he is a reader...A bit of advise. Watch out for that Pulosi woman and ban "dirty Harry" Reid from ever setting foot in the White House.

Point to Ponder:

Big 3 Auto execs show up asking for money in their personal Jets and Congress goes Ape...
Rich Democrats fly a total of 600 private jets into DC for the anointment er..Inauguration and there is nary a peep. (I'll bet that was some carbon footprint)

It's Snowing again

2009-01-09T11:27:00.000-08:00

As I sit and look out at the snow falling on my front yard I am trying to remember what warm weather was I thinking about when I chose to "retire" in Grand Junction. I say to myself "I'm getting too old for this #@&@."
It wasn't always that way. When I was growing up in southern Utah I loved the snow. Wanted it to snow forever. It would build up and build up until it was about chest high to me. Snow ball fights. Snow forts. And the HILL.
The HILL was on the main road leading up to Panguitch Lake. It would be closed in the winter due to deep snow. Which made it perfect for sledding.
It wasn't all that steep but it was about a mile and a half from top to bottom. You would not believe how many wipe outs you could have in a mile and a half.
Early on in the season when the snow was fresh and deep we would all gather with our Radio Flyer's and such and start the hike to the top of the hill. These days if I had to walk on level dry ground for a mile and a half I would be in intensive care. But the walk to the top of the hill was like a walk in the park to young legs.
Once at the top the flip of the coin to see who would go first. And away we went. Some sitting up like sissy's others laying flat in order to gain the most speed.
About half way down the road turned to the left and dropped into town. There was no danger of ending up in town but the road was usually plowed to that point and created a very sudden stop.
Usually we could only manage a couple of runs because the hike back up the hill was daunting. Sometimes my uncle or someone Else's uncle or brother would show up with a tractor and a long rope and provide a moving sled lift to the top and we could get 4 or 5 runs in. It was great.
Then we would all retire to the Bryce Canyon Cafe for hot chocolate.
Weekends in the winter were just fine.
Weekdays were the pits. We didn't have snow days back then. We were like the Post Office. We always made it to school. The bus drivers knew how to drive in the heavy snow. They were awesome. We hated them.
I remember staying outside in the winter until my ears hurt and my nose froze up. I would stand in front of the coal stove in our kitchen for an hour just to be able to get my frozen gloves off. These days if I walk from my warm car to my semi warm garage and dash into the house, I will stand in front of the heating register for an hour before my brain thaws to the point of coherent conversation.

It's snowing again. Global Warming...where are you when I need you? Damn, I'm getting too old for this #@&@.

Sometimes the news makes me laugh

2008-12-13T21:04:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the news makes me laugh. Sometimes it's a quiet chuckle. Other times it's a rib tickler. I laugh so hard I have tears running down my cheek. Here are two side splitters from my point of view.

The Governor of Illinois was arrested by the FBI. Shocking! Everybody knows Illinois politicians are above reproach. Richard Daly...icon. Richard Daly Jr....Salt of the earth. Jimmie Hoffa...God's gift to labor. Blagojevich...uh..hmm...Flaming idiot. Allegedly somebody told him he was being bugged but he went ahead anyway and tried to sell Obama's vacated Senate seat. Oh, and he tried to extort $500,00 from a children's hospital before he would sign a bill giving the hospital funds for expansion. A CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL! I also understand that a major highway reconstruction project was being sold for campaign funds to be deposited. What's funny is that he really was being bugged and recorded by the Justice Department. The side splitter is that he maintains that he did nothing wrong. Illinois politicians...ya gotta love 'em.

Another chuckle.

It snowed in Beaumont Texas. It snowed in New Orleans. Record low temperatures all throughout the south. Crank up the air conditioner it's GLOBAL WARMING!

Connect the dots

2008-12-13T20:35:00.000-08:00

A debate has been raging in Washington about bailing out THE BIG THREE auto makers. Back in the 1970's Chrysler went to capital hill and borrowed 10 billion dollars. Lee Iaccoca promised Congress and the American people that the loan would be paid back. He was a man of his word. the loan was paid back with interest 2 YEARS EARLY!! So there seems to be no reason to question the "bailout". But wait.

In reading financial news, listening and watching money channels on TV it seems there is something there that is not quite jibing. Since the 70's Chrysler has undergone many changes, most noteworthy of which is the fact that they are almost a wholly privately held corporation. I'm not saying they are not in trouble. Instead I am asking why should we bail out a private company. Just wondering.

Ford Motor Company executives have stated that they think that their truck line will carry them and that they really don't need the money, especially if the Feds are going to step in and impost controls on their product. So why is the government pushing so hard to spend my money on the auto industry? Wait a minute! What about GM?

Ahhh...GM. General Motors needs the money. General Motors wants the money. Congress is purple in the face trying to give GM the money.

Part II

All of my readers (both of them) know how nervous I get about ONSTAR. The first article I wrote talked about your GM car sending you emails when it needed service. ONSTAR knows where you are at all times. With the navigation feature in also knows where you are going. Here is the newest wrinkle. At the request of law enforcement a signal can now be sent to your car and your car will stop. It will actually reduce the horse power of your engine until you can make little or no headway so a law enforcement agent can almost walk up you without even breaking a sweat. You can't get away.

9 out of every 10 GM cars are equipped with ONSTAR.

General Motors needs the money. General Motors wants the money. Congress is purple in the face trying to give GM the money.

Connect the dots.

Uh...I have a question

2008-12-13T20:14:00.000-08:00

Uh...I have a question.
So far President Elect Obama has made numerous appointments to his new cabinet. Some of the people I have heard of, some not. They are all politicians so I am just naturally nervous. But my question is...How is Obama going to bob and weave his way around Article I, Section 6 of the United States Constitution?

A follow up question if I may.
I don't believe that congress really intended to create a 4th branch of the Government with this massive TARP bailout, worth billions and billions of dollars. I mean, hell every American knows his Constitution...right? We wouldn't stand for that. Would we? But with almost every news outlet from CNN to FOX to ABC and more alphabets, there appears to be some hand ringing over the fact that over half of the money has been given out, but nobody knows where it went.
So how come the entire legislative branch of the government isn't being charged with dereliction of duty for allowing that to happen in violation of Article I, Section 9 of the United States Constitution?

For more thoughts on the bail out and the car makers, see my previous post

My Hat

2008-11-13T22:45:00.000-08:00

My lovely wife did a post about my hat and about veterans. It was kind of moving. She was right about me getting emotional whenever I hear taps or watch a ceremony honoring a fallen hero. She received a lot of comments on that post and every one of them was positive. To all of those commenter's...thank you. It was an honor.

There was a time. A very dark time when I couldn't even wear my uniform off base. The Air Force recommended that we change cloths before leaving the base. This was to protect us from the people we were protecting.
I have been spit on. Called baby killer. My car was vandalized. Some men in uniform were beaten and killed just because they wore a uniform.
It was a very sad and dark time in our history.
The men I served with. The men who volunteered to serve their country. They wore their uniform with pride. We didn't change into "civvies" when we left base. We left the base with our uniforms squared away. Looking sharp.
We weren't looking for accolades or brass bands. We were just proud to be part of the United States Military. To paraphrase Jack Nicolson in A Few Good Men..."A simple thank you would do nicely"
Now, 30 years later perfect strangers will walk up to me and say thank you.

I say again..."you're welcome, it was an honor"

Shelter me

2008-10-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

For centuries man has always sought shelter. Shelter from the elements. shelter from bad things, things that go bang in the night. The first thing the pilgrims did when they landed was to build shelter. They darn near starved to death but they had shelter.
Cowboys of the old west thought that the perfect vacation was a bed up off the ground and 4 walls to break the wind. Mountain men in the Rockies would build log cabins if they planned to winter in the hills. They would secure themselves inside for the duration, cook all their meals indoors and sleep up off the ground with as many furs as they could pile on. Seeking comfort from the elements and protection from bears and other nastiness.
Today, most of us live in comfort. We have 4 walls, a roof over our head. We have filtered, purified cool air blowing on us in summer and warm, dry air in the winter. So dry that we even invented machines to add moisture to the air. Sealed triple paned windows allow us to look upon our little world without having to venture out into the elements. So what do we do, surrounded by all this comfort? We go camping!
There we are again. Sleeping on the ground eating charred steaks around an open fire. Swatting mosquitoes, squinting against the smoke from a roaring fire that can be seen from outer space. Loving every minute of it? You bet.
I personally love to camp. I have done the motor home thing. It is a great way to get out and enjoy the "outdoors", meet other off beats and still sleep up off the ground.
At the other end, I have just put a sleeping bag down on the ground and camped. Somewhere in between is my favorite. I prefer a good tent to keep the elements away but I still sleep on the ground. My cloths stay dry. My food stays removed from critters. But no matter how hard I try, there is still that rock under my back while I try to get to sleep.
As a kid growing up in southern Utah I would often grab my sleeping bag, stuff some food into my official Boy Scout knapsack and head out for an overnighter or a weekender. My only companion was my ever present dog named Lady. She would range out ahead of me, chase a few rabbits and generally make sure the trail was clear of all dangers. At night she would always sleep curled against my back. Always alert.
I would wake up in the morning just before sunrise. Fix a little breakfast for lady and me and just enjoy the coming day. I always woke up fresh. No creaking bones. No stiff joints.
These days, just climbing out of my bed up off the ground requires planning. Making sure each and every joint is functioning before trying to stand up. Taking deep breaths of filtered, purified air and hobbling out to the automatic drip coffee maker. Turning the oven on to preheat to 400 degrees for a little breakfast and wondering...

Where the hell is my tent.

Beautiful Night

2008-10-12T23:18:00.000-07:00

I stepped outside a little while ago with our little Shih Tzu for her bedtime constitutional and the night was beautiful. The air was crisp with a hint of frost and the sky was loaded with stars. I remembered nights like this when I was flying between Wichita Falls and Dallas carrying air freight and mail.
We would climb out and away from the big city lights of Dallas at 4am and head northwest. Level out at 5,000 and get on the step. The "captain" would crawl into the back of the old Beech 18 and do his paperwork and leave the flight deck to me. I would turn down the instrument lights to their lowest setting and just marvel at the night.
Sitting up there alone with those big radials turning in perfect sync, air as smooth as glass and just stare at the stars. Sometimes the stars would appear to merge with the few scattered lights on the ground and it would seem just like you would imagine being in space would be with stars all around you. It would almost cause vertigo if you weren't careful.
All too soon it was time to get back to business and land at SPS.

God how I miss flying!

make it stop

2008-10-08T10:36:00.000-07:00

I have started and deleted one blog after another as I watch this circus (election) unfold. There has been so many topics that this old curmudgeon could comment on that my head is about to explode. Like:

We are in deep do-do in our financial market. We are bailing out banks, wall street, mortgages and so forth. Europe is doing the same. Swiss banks are in trouble. Swiss banks!! Every body is watching this. Everybody is talking about this. Does anybody notice that the Sheiks, mullah's, Omans in the middle east have been silent? That's because they already have all of our money. China is sitting quietly, patiently waiting for our crash because they own the United States and once we crash they can step in and foreclose.

Or this one:

Obama wants total health care for everyone. The government will pay for it. How? By taxing the rich and giving it to the poor. He will give 95% of us "masses" (his words) a tax cut. Figuring that 45% of his 95% don't pay any taxes at all, what will he do...cut us a check?

Joe Biden thinks paying taxes is patriotic. Calls the tax plan just being fair. Wealth re-distribution.

Try this on for size:

Socialism : A broad set of economic theories of social organization advocating state or collective ownership and administration of the means of production and distribution of goods, and the creation of an egalitarian society.[1][2] Modern socialism originated in the late nineteenth-century working class political movement. Karl Marx posited that socialism would be achieved via class struggle and a proletarian revolution, it being the transitional stage between capitalism and communism.[3][4]

I have a real fear that we are headed this way. And I fear we are being let by Obama/Biden.

Although, I really don't see Biden as a Socialist but more of a dupe for the Obama machine.

There are others, way too many to get into. Besides...who really cares.

I want it to all stop so I can go back to talking about things that really interest me...flying, golf, and just being a curmudgeon..

I, Robot

2008-09-30T23:14:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have read my blog about ONSTAR. I thought then that computers are going to take over our lives. Now I believe that they are trying to kill us.
There are stories in the news about getting wrong directions from your on board computer navigation system. One such story is about a guy whose on board computer told him to turn right. He did and was hit by a train.
Now I am wondering...did he make his computer mad? Did he not change his oil when his computer emailed him to do it? Did his computer try to commit suicide?
To all of you out there who have on board computers or ONSTAR....be very very careful.

Did you see the Will Smith movie "I Robot"

What ever happened to the good old fashioned city street map? I have used them for years. I can go into a strange city, where I have never been before and, if I have an address I can find it.
I have never felt the need to have an inanimate box talk to me, telling me that I should have turned right at the last intersection.

You ever notice that the computer voice is female?

Do computers get PMS?

Ahoy

2008-09-05T23:06:00.000-07:00

There was a TV commercial that showed two guys building then sailing a small sailboat. It made me flash back to my sailing experiences.
One bright and sunny day on lake Wichita it was decided that I should learn how to sail. These people were really into sailing and needed a back up crew member for their Windmill. They had a number of different boats and they took me out on the Sunfish. A little, short, yellow sail boat that was big enough for one person to move around comfortably.
They towed me out into the middle of the lake with a little power boat. I thought they were going to get into my boat and give me instructions on how to sail. Instead once Mickey got into my boat he promptly stood up, grabbed the mast and tipped us over.
I swallowed half of Lake Wichita and came up swearing, wondering why these people hated me so much that they were trying to drown me and leave my body for the fishes.
Mickey explained that sailboats tip over and before you could really learn how to sail I had to learn how to tip the boat back upright. I said "##%$%^&**.

But he explained how I should swim around to the bottom of the boat. Once there I noticed a board sticking out of the bottom. (I later learned that is was called a DAGGER BOARD and the bottom of a boat was call the KEEL.)
Mickey told me to gather up the SHEET, the what? The rope for the sail. Oh. Yea the sheet.
I was told to stand on the dagger board and haul back on the sheet. I did this and VIOLA, the little boat righted itself.
I scrambled on board and sat there deep breathing, feeling pretty proud of my self and Mickey said "Tip it over and do it again".
This went on for about an hour but I started to feel confident with this part of boat handling so then we moved on with actual sailing.
I picked up pretty quick on pulling in the "sheet" to tighten up the sail to make the boat go. It was like making a wing out of a piece of canvas. I could make the boat go and I could make it stop. We were pretty much into the wind and I learned the basics on how to tack and guide myself towards a certain spot. This case being a buoy. I even learned the correct terminology.
Every time you were getting ready to tack you announced to the crew "Ready about" and then you swung the tiller (the stick that guides the rudder) and ducked. You ducked because the boom swung across the boat to the other side. You then gathered in the sheets and you were on you way on another tack.
Now let me tell you about doing this downwind.
When you are sailing down wind your boom is way out to one side and to change tacks you have to swing it all the way over to the other side. You announce to your crew (me) "Prepare to Jibe"
then you push the tiller, and duck. Really duck. That freaking boom comes across at about mach 2 and when it hits the other side it really throws the little boat out of whack if you are not quick with the sheets. Did I mention that sailboats tip over? When you do a flying jibe like that it doesn't just tip over. It crashes. You don't just fall overboard. You are thrown way out of the boat. I was a good thing that I spent the first hour righting a sail boat.
So for the next 30 minutes or so I practiced jibing. I would jibe. I would right the sail boat. I would jibe. I would right the sailboat. I did this until I thought I could handle it.
By this time I had spent more time in the water that in the boat and I was ready to head in. I took a bead on the docks and started in. A couple of tacks and I was feeling pretty good even if my fingers were wrinkled from being in the water so much.

The last maneuver I had to do before docking was a flying jibe. There was a small group of people on shore watching so I had to do it right.
"Prepare to jibe"....duck...Oh #%&@....
While I was thrashing around trying to find my sheet and swim around to the dagger board, my feet touched the bottom. I just said to hell with it and walked in to the docks, pushing my little yellow Sunfish. I tied it up and climbed up onto the docks. The small group of people gave me a nice round of applause.
Believe it or not, I went on to some fun things and won some bling. More about championship sail boating in another post. Stay tuned.

Now you're talking

2008-09-01T22:44:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought all was lost, John McCain pulls a rabbit out of his hat. Sarah Palin.
Who?
Sarah Palin, Governor of Alaska (of all places)
Some of you out there don't know me very well, but people who do know me will know what I mean when I say that this woman is perfect for Vice President.

I have never been much of a fan of your basic shrinking violet type of woman. I've always liked the type that would look good in a ball cap driving a pickup to a fishing hole.

Mrs. Palin is a hockey mom. She took her kids to their hockey games when they were growing up. She played hockey. I don't know if she plays golf, but nobody is perfect.

She is a life time member of the National Rifle Association (NRA). That means she can shoot a gun and that she probably owns one or two. She obviously believes in the 2nd Amendment. If she gets elected I really don't see her trying to come and get my guns. She hunts. She fishes. She is an outdoors person.

She believes that this country's energy needs can (and should) be taken care of right here in this country. she believes we should drill in ANWR. She believes we should be energy dependent on no other country. She agrees that we should take care of the environment but that there are some critters on the endangered species list that are put there by the wacko environmentalists.
But she knows that our technology has advanced so far that drilling for oil is or can be environment friendly.

She raised the capital gains tax on big oil in Alaska. Then turned around and gave every citizen of Alaska an $1,200 check.

She is married to an oil field working man. But that may be a problem. You see...20 some odd years ago he was arrested for DUI. (tsk tsk)

Her oldest son is in the Army and is shipping out to Iraq.

There is something that makes this country a little nuts. She announced that her 17 year old daughter is pregnant and is planning on keeping the child. The daughter is planning on marrying the father, just not right now. Now madam Governor doesn't sound like an anointed one. She sounds just like an ordinary American Mom. Right! I am willing to bet that everybody out there knows someone who is pregnant or has had a baby out of wedlock.

I believe that our forefathers intended our legislators and elected officials to be "Citizen legislators". To come from the "People" for the "People" by the "People". I don't think they intented this country to be ran into the ground by professional politicians.
Sarah Palin is of the people. She is a good person. She knows what the people want because she will listen to the people, not act like a professional politician and try to tell the people what they want.
Sarah Palin is the perfect pick for Vice President. If the Democrats want to play hardball with this woman...well...batter up. She will chew them up and feed them to the overpopulated polar bears.
Besides...She looks damn good in a ball cap, driving a 4x4.

Neighbors

2008-08-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

Due to some extended construction in my area, I have been driving out by another route. Through a fairly new development that is just a few years older than my neighborhood. The houses are like those in my neighborhood but the trees are bigger and the shrubs are thicker. I always felt good driving through. I couldn't figure it out. It was just a nice neighborhood. But there was something different about it. This evening it hit me. People!! Every time I drove through there were people. Little groups standing on sidewalks chatting. Or maybe 3 or 4 people sitting in lawn chairs on their (gasp) lawn sharing some libation and a few chuckles. This is a neighborhood of people who know and like each other. Just like the old fashioned kind you only get to see in vintage movies.
It seems that for decades the neighborhoods have been more and more uninhabited. The cities and towns that I grew up in were inhabited by people. Some you didn't care that much for but most of them were fine, friendly and outgoing people. My daughters were safe in our town because there were neighbors to watch out for them. (and report back to me). Neighbors would stand around and talk about local politics, prices of groceries and just friendly gossip. Share some lemonade or iced tea and just enjoy being outside.
I remember that when Dad, Barry (brother) and I were building mom and dad's new home we would start working early in the morning and by noon we would have at least 3 offers of help and a good 2 gallons of iced tea offered to us from the soon to be neighbors.
It's not like that anymore. The only time you see your neighbors is when their blinds separate and you see their eyes peering out to see what you did to make that loud noise.
I think I have discovered the reason that all of humanity has sequestered themselves indoors.

AIR CONDITIONING!! Yup. We have grown into a generation of wimps. Let a little bead of sweat dot our brow and we nearly go into cardiac arrest. It's not because we don't like our neighbors. Its not because we don't trust our neighbors. Its because we don't want to sweat.
Houses are built these days without the big front porch because we don't sit outside anymore. We don't want to sweat and lord forbid a bug might land on us.
It's time to start a revolution. Go get that lawn chair (I'm sure you still have one in your garage somewhere) fix up a pitcher of iced tea and go outside. Sit on you lawn and enjoy the outdoors. the fresh air. Wave to the next car that drives by. Say howdy to the next person to walk by.
If we could only bring back neighborhoods some of the more personal problems we have may be solved or at least put into perspective.
Wouldn't that be nice!

Politics as Unusual

2008-08-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

Ok. Imagine if you will that you are walking up the stairs to get aboard a Boeing 747 for a long overseas flight. At the top of the stairs you are greeted by a tall, good looking smooth talking guy in a captains uniform. He is going to take you flying. He will be in command of this huge aircraft with all of its needles and dials, bells and whistles. Oh boy. He looks like an airline captain. He talks like an airline captain. He even has the uniform. You strike up a conversation and you ask him how long he has been an airline captain.

"1 year and some months" he replies. You ask him how long he has been flying.

"1 year and some months. I just got my private pilots license last month, but I am a fast learner."

Decision time. You can turn around and get off that aircraft with all possible speed or you can say "wow. He is good looking in his captains uniform and he sure talks a good line. I think I will take my chances with him" and you go ahead and board. Before you take your seat you ask him what his name is.

"Barack Obama" he says and smiles.

Now I don't know about you guys, but that is the feeling I get when I see, hear or read about Mr. Obama.
Does he look presidential? Yes, kinda. ( I'm still curious to know why he doesn't put his had over his heart during the national anthem or why he says he is showing his patriotism by NOT wearing a flag lapel pin.)
Does he sound presidential? Oh yea. Until you stop and listen to what he is saying. Like wanting to increase profits tax on "Big Oil" and give every citizen of these United States a $1,000 check. Cool. Then Exxon will increase the cost of gasoline and that check will go right back to Big Oil.
Mr. Obama is (or was) against offshore drilling. He said it would take 7 to 10 years to affect oil prices. President Bush lifts the presidential ban on offshore drilling and in 7 to 10 minutes the price of oil (and gasolinge) started to drop. Barack is now re-considering his stand on offshore drilling.
Mr. Obama must have missed the part about the cost of oil being dictated by the futures market. His "year and some months" leads him to make uninformed and grandiose statements just to hear the crowd cheer and make young groupies faint. (move over Bono, there's a new rock star in town)

During his year and some months in the senate he voted "present" or not at all more times than he voted yea or nay. One vote in particular he voted to close a welfare office in Chicago. When a fellow senator called him on it and asked why he voted to close it Obama said that he didn't know he was voting to close the welfare office. Seems he wasn't even in the Senate when the vote was taken and that he had given his proxy vote to someone else. Sorta like an airline pilot asking the head stewardess to fly one leg of a trip. (1 year and some months)

I'm really not all that political and I wouldn't normally use my little blog here to rant about politics but I am scared by what is happening. We have a little private pilot trying to fly a 747 and an old 747 veteran who is old enough that he sometimes forgets how he got aboard that damn thing or what he had for breakfast.

Don't even get me started about all the Nero's in the house and senate who are on a 5 week vacation fiddling away while Rome is burning.

Musings

2008-04-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I will see something on TV that triggers a thought or brings back a memory. Out of the blue, for some dumb reason these things will hit me and they will just stay there until I talk about them or in this case...BLOG.

I hate pigs. I really really don't like pigs.
My grandpa had pigs. They were the meanest, nastiest psycho pigs on the face of the earth. I couldn't walk past their pen without one of them, usually a big nasty boar that had a personal thing about me, charging the fence snorting and grunting and just trying to get to me. I would walk from the house and I could feel his beady little eyes watching me. The closer I would get to his pen the more agitated he would get. Pawing the ground, snorting and grunting. Banging into the fence so hard I was afraid he would break through and eat me. I really hated that pig. Almost as much as he hated me.
Grandpa said we needed the pigs to make the farm work. We needed the ham and bacon.
You can imagine the glee I felt the day grandpa got out his rifle and walked down to the pig pens.
I have to admit. I really enjoyed the ham and bacon.

I wonder sometimes, while standing in the grocery store, what is so special about Virginia ham. Are Virginia pigs better mannered because they come from Virginia? Do they get a daily massage? Is their slop prepared by hand by some imported chef? I really can't tell the difference between a piece of Virginia ham and a good old hunk of southern Utah pig.

After growing up and moving away I thought that I would be done with pigs. Thought the closest I would come would be a good ham on rye or a plate of bacon and eggs. But that was not to be.
Fast forward to 1984. I took a job as a bartender in a red neck Missouri dive. A beer and shot kind of place. There was a shuffleboard table and a pool table. Of course there was the obligatory juke box blaring Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Linda Ronstat, ET Al.
Most of our customers came from a factory across the street. Workers would come in during their lunch and dinner breaks, buy a pint of whatever and sit in our parking lot to drink their lunch.
There were only two rules in this dump. Don't spit on the floor and Don't kick the PIG. Yup, the owner had a pet pig named Arnold.

Arnold didn't usually seem like the mean, nasty psycho pigs that I grew up with. He wasn't Radiant or Amazing like Wilbur from Charlotte's Web either. He was more like a big, dirty hairless pink dog that crapped on the floor and wolfed down any little piece of food that hit the floor. He pretty much had the run of the place. He really didn't bother the customers since most of them were in the parking lot. I wonder if there is a connection there? Anyway, things were normally pretty quiet around there until one day a hillbilly with long, dirty hair and blue farmer brown overalls walked into the bar. Around his shoulders was his pet boa constrictor.
Did I mention that snakes and pigs are natural enemies?
Arnold came in the back door, took one whiff of the air. Smelled snake and all hell broke loose. It was just like the days back on the southern Utah farm. That pig went totally psycho. He let out a loud, high pitched squeal and charged.
Hillbilly saw Arnold and knew what was about to happen. He jumped up and started to dodge around tables and over chairs trying to get away from psycho pig. The pet boa got all upset and started to hiss and wrap himself tighter and tighter around hillbilly as he was trying to make his escape ahead of the deranged pig.
He made it out the door in time but Arnold kept trashing the bar looking for the snake.
Now my mother didn't raise no fools. If anyone left in there thought the bartender was going to try to corral that pig they were as nuts as the pig.
Arnold finally figured out that the snake had left the building so he went charging out the back door looking for it. Once he was outside the heroic bartender climbed down from the bar top and locked the back door. Arnold was safely locked away. Hillbilly was in the next county. Peace was restored. I found a good, better paying job with no pigs.

Did I mention that I hate pigs

Proud American

2008-03-11T21:47:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago Michelle Obama made a statement, saying that for the first time in her life she was proud of America. She is in her 40's and now that her husband is running for President she is FINALLY proud of America?
This ate at me and ate at me until I started to soul search in an attempt to figure out when I became a proud American.
I remember being very young, seeing my uncle Bill come home from Korea. I felt very proud then. But was I just proud of uncle Bill or America?
Later on when we lived in Wendover and I would visit my dad at his work place and see the fighter pilots that would hang around the communications station in their flight suits and cool looking sunglasses, driving their F86 SaberJets, I was proud of them. I was proud of the United States Air Force. That would be the first time I was aware that I was proud of America.
My father was in the Navy. He fought in the Pacific during WWII. I saw his medals. I saw his mementos from the war. I was always proud of my father. He was a great and proud American.
Just being around him made me proud to me an American.
I joined the Air Force right out of high school. I was proud to do it. My chest swelled up when I took the oath to defend and protect the Constitution of the United States of America.
America is a great and wonderful nation. Some times Americans leave me wondering. I was saddened to see how the American military was treated when they came home from Viet Nam. All of us in uniform at the time stood ready to protect the very same people who would throw eggs and rotten tomato's at us. They would call us baby killers. Rapists. Murderers. But we were ready to stand and defend them and their right to say these things. Through it all I was still proud of America!
America is magnificent in it's achievements. We went to the moon. We walked on the moon. We lead the world in humanitarian achievements. We have smart, well educated doctors all over the world helping cure people of sickness. We airlift (US Military) millions of tons of food, clothing, medicine and other essentials all over the world. Every day.
I wept the day that Challenger exploded. I get tears in my eyes every time I hear Taps. And a military marching band makes my chest swell.
Am a proud of America or am I just proud of her heroes. Her achievers? The answer is I am proud of America, with her heroes and warts. I am proud of her Achievements and proud of her failures because they show that we tried our best. Even in her failures her heart was big.
So I guess I have always been proud of America. I am proud to announce THAT I AM PROUD THAT I AM AN AMERICAN.

Politically what?

2008-03-10T18:48:00.000-07:00

Some people think that all I have ever done is fly. Not true. For 20 years I was an Air Traffic Controller. For 15 years I was a fire fighter. For 12 years I was a Fire department dispatcher. Intermixed with all that I have tended bar at a real popular pizza joint, tended bar at a very upscale steak house and served beer and shots at a down and ugly dive. Worked as a roofer laying down hot tar in the middle of August. Sold new and used cars. I even managed to build, program and repair circuit boards.
These were adventures all. I learned a lot from these experiences. Some of what I learned has served me well in other adventures. Other things...well. You have all heard the expression "that's is more information than I really needed".
When I was a controller at Stapleton International, one of the things that was popular among controllers was "trolling through the terminal". We would take our breaks and walk through the terminal. Some of the freakiest people inhabited the airport terminal during the wee small hours of the morning. The man with a monkey stands out in my mind. He was a "hippie" type. Long hair (unwashed), black full beard, dirty farmer overalls and a greasy black hat. Sitting on top of this hat was an ugly, mean tempered monkey. That monkey would hiss and spit at anybody who got too close to his companion who would just sit calmly and let him rant.
Now the guys on my crew were never a bunch to pass up an opportunity to stir the pot. Ramon would hiss and spit right back at that stupid critter until it got so agitated that his owners hat would go flying, the monkey would rush Ramon until he hit the end of his chain. Then Ramon would dodge to his left, then his right, then his left....you get the point. The chain would be a tangled up, the owner would struggle like crazy to control his "pet" and Ramon would just walk calmly away like nothing has ever happened. Cruel? Maybe. Mean? yup. Funny? You bet. Could it happen today? No way. Why? Because number one, some animal rights activist would have the hippie locked up for having a monkey on a chain. Then they would sue Ramon for cruelty to animals (monkey AND hippie) and Number two, 14 waiting passengers would complain that Ramon was acting in a manner that was not "politically correct" They would point and screech, like Donal Sutherland in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers".

"Political Incorrect Political Incorrect Political Incorrect"

Political Correctness. Politically Correct. Two phrases and attitudes that drive me right up the padded wall. They are pushed by people who are so arrogant, self important, so self serving that they are hell bent to force their will on everybody else who doesn't think and act exactly like they do. Or the way they think you should act or think. You must speak a certain way. You cannot use the "F" word, the "G" word, the "C" word, the "N" word. pick a letter, there are 26 that you can't use.
What ever happened to "live and let live?". What ever happened to living life fun? There are wackos and weirdos amongst us and they are fun. Once in a while an adventure comes along but is ignored because of being politically incorrect. Not so back in the good old days. So I will continue to post my memories of days gone by and will definately be POLITICALLY INCORRECT

Stay tuned.

Mountain Flying

2008-03-02T14:08:00.000-08:00

During the course of my commercial training it was recommended that I take a mountain flying course. I was told that flying in the Rockies was way different from flying the plains. The person who recommended this to me was my then current flight instructor, and friend, who was valiantly trying to get me a commercial rating. What I didn't know was he was also an outfitter and elk hunting guide on the side. This I learned during the course of instruction while we were bobbing and weaving around hills and into little valleys while he kept a steady eye on the ground looking for elk herds. In spite of his apparent inattention he managed to teach me a whole lot about mountain flying. He used the "after the the fact" teaching method, saying things like "now you see what happens when you do that" or "you won't ever want to do THAT again" or just a simple "jeeeeeeeeeeze!!
Short field take-offs from a short mountain airport are guaranteed to get the juices flowing. Factor in the lodge pole pines at the far end and it is a real joy ride.
One trip in particular stands out in my fuzzy mind.
On a cold, clear, blue Colorado sky type of day we took off in the trusty Cherokee 235 on a cross country Denver - Gunnison - Aspen - Denver. We had planned to fly the valleys and canyons to Gunnison. Going up high and just flying over the divide never once entered into our minds. This was mountain flying. So we were going to stay low (9,000 - 12,000 feet msl roughly 500 feet agl)
It was a beautiful day. I was enjoying the flight. The air was crisp. The aircraft was purring. My instructor was busy with his field glasses. Just right. After a while Jim (my instructor) said "you might want to widen out around this next turn" and he went back to the elk hunt.
This "next turn" was when we were clearing one valley and turning into another. Not wanting to upset Jim and his crusade for the perfect elk herd, I widened my turn sliding out more towards the center of the valley. As I rolled out of my turn I glanced to my left and looked UP. There were dozens of people above me! One guy in particular was looking right at me. He had on mirror sunglasses. I couldn't grasp it at first. People. ABOVE Me.
Jim said "don't be rude...wave to them". So I waved. The guy in the mirrors waved back.
A ski lift! We had flown right by a ski lift. It probably seems natural to some people to fly past people sitting above you but it took me a few minutes to digest it. I moved further out into the valley.
We planned to land at Gunnison, check weather and re-fill the all important coffee thermos.
Gunnison airport sits in a valley at 7700 feet. It is surrounded by high mountains. We decided to land on runway 35. This is their shortest runway but not really a problem. It is a little disquieting though on downwind looking at a sheer wall of granite. I was getting a Little nervous and started to shade my turn to base when Jim told me to wait. I waited. and waited. I turned to Jim and asked if he was going to call the base turn or did he have a death wish. When he finally called for the turn it was almost a snap roll. I swear we were brushing our wingtip up against the cliff. But it worked out OK. There is a 200' offset threshold and Jim wanted me to get a good look at it and not try any crazy stuff like trying to land on the threshold.
We checked the weather. It was holding with just a few cumulus clouds building along the ridges. We filled our Thermos's and started out for Aspen. Just a short hop. Just over the ridge. The temperature had dropped considerably and the outside air temp during our climb out was around -25. As much as I loved the Cherokee 235 I have to admit the heater/defroster leaves a lot to be desired. We actually had to scrape the inside of the windshield. Credit cards are good for this. My feet were extremely cold. the moccasins I usually flew in were not designed for this kind of cold.
As we gained in altitude and turned toward the ridge and Aspen we were managing about 300 feet per minute. Not bad. At around 11,500 we noticed that the cumulus clouds were building at around 500 feet per minute. At around 12,000 we thought we might make it across the ridge. But then when you are sucking 12,000 foot air with very little oxygen in it little things in your brain pop up and say " yea, you can do it, keep going, keep climbing"
Jim put his hand on mine, which was white knuckling the throttle. I looked at his hand and wondered why his fingernails were blue.
He leaned over and yelled into my ear "TURN AROUND, DESCEND"
I did and as we were going back towards Gunnison and loosing altitude he smiled and advised me not to light a cigarette. He leaned back and did something that will always make me wonder about him. He opened the thermos of coffee.
Coffee that we had sealed in a thermos at 7700 feet. Opened at 11,000 feet the coffee had only one place to go. All over. But what we managed to salvage sure did taste good.
We decided to fly the valleys and return to Denver.
When we cleared the foothills and started our approach into Stapleton I seemed rather anti-climactic. I was bone tired. When I set it down on runway 26 it was more of an arrival than a landing. And yet the adrenaline was not quite out of my system. After putting the Cherokee to bed I just sat in my truck and thought about the flight and was very very happy that I was a pilot. I looked upon non pilots as mere mortals. I had been to the Rockies and back. It was a good day.

Hot Irons

2007-11-21T08:09:00.000-08:00

I was reading my wife's post about ironing sheets, smoking irons and buying new irons and I wanted to make a comment. But, it turns out I had more to say on the subject than space would allow. So viola...a post for me.

I can remember when I was real young watching my grandma and my mom ironing. I was real young but I can still see grandma heating up her irons on the stove. Yup, on the stove. She had two cast iron irons and she would heat up the irons, use one until it cooled then put it back on the stove and take the other one and continue. Now, I don't know if grandpa would ever ask to have his sheets ironed or not, but if he did I can imagine the look he would get. Back in those days we didn't have permanent press or wrinkle guard. All our cloths came fresh off the line. And very wrinkled so mom and grandma ironed a lot. They did finally buy an electric iron. A big black thing with an electrical cord that was fabric covered and had white stripes in it. Our cloths still came fresh off the cloths line but now they could iron a shirt in one shot. No more swapping out. Oh yeah, the iron was NOT a steam iron. Mom would keep a cup of water next the the ironing board and use her fingers to sprinkle water on the fabric.

When I got older, about Boy Scout age, mom taught me how to iron. I learned how to iron pants and shirts. I used to enjoy ironing. When I grew up and joined the Air Force I was the only guy in the barracks in Italy that wore pressed utilities. All the other troops wore theirs right out of the dryer. They walked around looking like a stack of dirty laundry while I had on a crisply ironed uniform.

I never, repeat, NEVER, ironed sheets.

Un-Written Rule

2007-10-20T21:43:00.000-07:00

The original Rules For Operation Of Aircraft contained 25 simple, silly maybe, but simple rules. Rob's Rule #1: DO NOT TAKE THE BOSS'S NEPHEW FLYING.

I was flight planning a trip from SPS to Laurel Mississippi to take some much need oil well parts to a company doing off shore stuff. I was looking forward to the trip. I was going to be a long, night cross country in beautiful weather. I was flying a rugged Piper PA32 (Cherokee 6) Then the boss walked in with his nephew. Seems that his nephew had "an interest" in flying and would like to go with me. What could I say...

I looked at this guy and it was all I could do to keep from groaning out loud. He had on slacks, an oxford shirt (with button down collar) a cardigan type sweater and (I kid you not) "penny loafers". Central casting's "Joe College" of the 60's.
When I flew a trip like this I usually wore Levi's, Boots (sometimes moccasins) a western shirt and a denim jacket. His cloths aren't what made me groan. It was the PIPE!
Anyway. I did the pre flight walk around with him practically stepping on my heels. We climbed aboard and cranked her up. Taxi, run up, take off and climb out were normal. In fact the entire trip to Mississippi was un eventful. I mean REALLY un eventful. People who know me know that I don't talk a lot. This academia reject made me sound like a real chatter box. Probably 4 words, 4 syllables, the entire trip. I was obvious to me that his interest in flying did not include airplanes. He just sat there, puffing on his pipe and drinking my coffee. MY COFFEE. We got to Laurel and I was sure glad there was somebody to meet me and help me unload. Joe college just walked away and puffed on his pipe and stared at god knows what. I had to really yell at him to get his attention to let him know it was time to go. (I sometimes wonder why I tried so hard to get his attention)
On the way back I decided to land at Shreveport to fuel up and refill my thermos. I love coffee. I drink coffee a lot. Coffee is my friend.

Alarm bells missed.

During the climb out from Shreveport the nimrod in the right seat tapped his pipe into the teeny tiny ash tray thoughtfully provided by Piper. I saw him do it but was involved in getting out of SHV traffic and contacting approach control for flight following. I did hear him mutter "oops" but it went right by be at the time.
5 or 10 minutes out my eyes started to burn and the cockpit started to fill up with smoke. Joe Cool next to me looked down at his feet and screamed like a girl, He then went into his hero mode, grabbed my coffee, MY COFFEE, and dumped the entire contents onto the smoldering carpet. All of my fresh coffee. Dumped onto a smoldering carpet right next to the fire extinguisher.
The rest of the trip was miserable. The whole inside of the airplane smelled like wet, burned carpet. Every time he moved his feet I could hear the carpet squish. I didn't have a single sip of that fresh Louisiana coffee. Louisiana Coffee is wonderful to drink, but it stinks to high heaven when dumped onto smoldering carpet.
When we got back to SPS and parked the brainless wonder, college reject who screams like a girl, just walked off, got into his car (Ford Sunbeam) and motored off without so much as a thank you. Just as well.
The next day the boss asked me how it went. I didn't say a word. I took him out to the old Cherokee 6 and showed him the coffee soaked burn spot on the carpet. Since it was on the right side of the aircraft I didn't need to explain.
I never saw "nephew" again.

Lessons Pay Off

2007-09-30T09:42:00.001-07:00

Not long ago I read with some dismay about a beautifully restored C-45 that had crashed in eastern Colorado.
The C-45 Expiditer is the military version of the good old Beech 18. I love the Beech 18. It ranks right up there with the DC-3 as some of my fondest hands on memories. I only have 1.5 hours in the right seat of the DC-3, but it was an experience I will never forget.
Anyway, I digress.

The Accident investigator found two pools of oil on the ramp where the old Expiditer had sat. They also found that the right engine oil drain was open and the left was partially open. Cause of the crash was listed as catastrophic failure of one or both engines. Oops.

Rule #2, Regulations for Operation of Aircraft (1920): Never leave the ground with the motor leaking.

There are times When engine failure is totally unexpected, but a simple walk around should have seen an oil pool. Engines fail. That's a fact. That's why from day one in pilot training, emergency landings are practiced. Airline pilots with thousands of hours regularly climb into a simulator and practice emergency procedures over and over and over until they become second nature. Because you never know.
I got a call one morning from my Chief Pilot/Flight Instructor asking if I wanted to go with him to take N87Q to Oklahoma City for it's annual. I had a fews days off so naturally I jumped at the chance. It would be some good multi-engine dual.
Pre-flight was normal. Oil was up (and no leaks). We even double checked to make sure nothing was loose in the cabin. Engine run-up went without a hitch.
wind was calm and it was a perfect day to fly. Take-off was as good as I could make it and climbe out began as routinely as one could expect. I was feeling good.
BAM...the left engine sucked a valve and decided not to work anymore. My heart jumped right into my throat. My brain shut down. My body just instinctively started working on it's own. Hands grabbed controls pulled props back on left engine, fuel shut-off, hard right rudder. "get it under control!!'
After a few seconds my brain kicked back in and I emediatly violated Rule #8 "in case the engine fails on takeoff, land straight ahead regardless of obstacles.
Had I landed straight ahead I would have been in downtown Wichita Falls. I started a right turn back to the airfield and was reaching for the mike to declare an emergency when the Instructor said "we are going to the maintenance facility anyway, let's just keep going". So, being totally convinced that he knew everything about flying, I got to fly to Oklahoma City on one engine thereby violating Rule #25: If an emergency occurs while flying, land as soon as possible."
My flight instructor made the landing at OKC without a problem and without telling the tower about our condition.
Now, flying cross country on one engine is not something I recomend as a daily routine but it proved to me that all of the emergency simulations I had done in the past WAS important and that it really did become almost automatic. I am also firmly convinced that next to raising 2 girls, this incident was dirctly resposible for the begining of the end of my full head of hair.

You have got to be kidding!

2007-09-09T21:05:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me know that I prefer the older, more comfortable things in life. That is not to say that I am against everything new. I like computers OK. They have made every facet of life a lot easier. I mean, trying to figure out income tax percentages with a #2 pencil and a Big Chief tablet is not the easiest thing I have ever done. Starbucks now has a drive thru service. Nice! I even have a cell phone, However I still don't like to see people drive while chatting. But I saw something advertised on TV today that was just too much. Way over the top.

OREO PIZZA!! Give me a break!

I accept Pizza with cheese in the crust. I don't like it but I accept it as a pizza.
Pizza cut into "dipping strips" OK, I can see that. But Oreo pizza? I'm sorry but Oreo's belong in milk or crushed up in ice cream. NOT ON PIZZA CRUST!!

Pizza Hut, What are you thinking???

Watch out...Have fun

2007-09-08T13:21:00.000-07:00

When you are driving down the highway, you always stay on the right side of the road. When you are at Wal-Mart you instinctively walk on the right side of the isle. In Sailing, the Starboard (right) tack has the right of way over a vessel on a port (left) tack. In Aviation, the government has written volumes on who should give way to who, under which circumstances, day or night, and on and on and on. Every Department of the government has a room full of lawyers who do nothing all day but sit around and write rules and regulations. One half of the room will write down a simple rule. The other half will say..."yes, but what if...." (for Mandy it's "YABUT") Then the first half will add another paragraph. Then the other side of the room will say...."OK. But what if..."and on and on it goes. After this process continues for a pre determined amount of time, they weigh the paper work they created. If it is of the right weight they will forward it to a "SELECT COMMITTEE" for further review. If and when the committee comes to an agreement the publish a small 50 or 60 page section to an already full blown regulation that defines the right of way rules.
This process is a far cry from what the Civil Aeronautics Board used back in 1920.
Let's drift back to those thrilling days of yesteryear and imagine Clyde walking down a hallway one afternoon. He is running late. He has a tee time and 3 junior G men waiting for him. He sticks his head into Farley's door and says "Farley, write me a regulation about right of way rules for Aviators."
"OK Boss" replies Farley. (the lowest man on the totem pole in the 5 man bureaucracy)
Old Farley whips 2 sheets of crisp white paper and a thin piece of carbon paper into his trusty American Standard type writer and rule number 12 was born.

Rule 12 in the Regulations for Operation of Aircraft:

"If you see another machine near you, get out of the way."

This rule seemed to work pretty well for a time. But alas, the government started hiring more and more lawyers, the smile bureaucracies grew by the rule of 10, the CAA morphed into the FAA. It must have been the best of times back then when all you had to do was fly. Get the wind in your face and fly. Kick the tires, light the fire and fly. (don't forget your hankie)

Rule 6 in the Regulations for Operation of Aircraft

"Pilots should carry hankies in a handy position to wipe off goggles."

When I grew up

2007-09-03T16:04:00.000-07:00

Some of the things I wanted to put in my posts included flying stories, weird facts, conspiracy theories and just plain wander about in my memories. Stupid politicians may or may not show up but there are so many....enough.

I can't remember when I started wanting to be an Air Traffic Controller. My father went to work for the CAA right after WWII. He was in flight service. They called it "Radio" back then. When we lived in Wendover Utah I would ride my bike out to the old air base where dad worked and I would take him his lunch. It was so cool. All those teletype machines and radio's talking a mile a minute. Maybe that's when it started. I would stare in amazement while dad would transmit weather reports via Morse code. So cool.

When we later moved back home to Bryce Canyon, the radio station was much newer and had more sophisticated equipment. Aviation was growing up. Dad didn't use Morse code anymore. He sent all of his weather observations via the teletype and radio. He taught me how to take the temperature, dew point, wind direction, cloud cover, etc. I would then type very carefully all of the information onto a tiny strip of paper, making a bunch of holes. He showed me how to load the teletype tape into the "sender" and wait until it was time to transmit BYC. I would push the send button and watch as the teletype hammered out what I had typed.
By then, I was hooked.

Then in 1956 a TWA constellation collided with an United DC-7 over the Grand Canyon. President Eisenhour Spent Billions to upgrade the air traffic control system. He established the FAA. (Federal Aviation Administration). Dad was promoted, moved to Phoenix and was given the title of Air Traffic Controller. During summer vacations he would take me to work with him. Just by watching and asking a lot of questions I soon learned enough about non radar enroute air traffic control to KNOW what I wanted to do with my life.
I buckled down in high school. Started getting good grades so that I could join the Air Force and become an Air Traffic Controller. I became a control tower operator. Later I would learn the ins and outs of Radar. Precision approaches. What a rush. Bad weather, sitting in a cramped orange and white checkerboarded trailer bringing USAF fighters down through the clouds and right down the centerline to a safe landing. Every single controller I know has a huge ego. The ones with precision approach experience have the biggest. Our egos grew in direct proportion to the amount of adrenaline we generated during a shift. We had some pretty weird ways of bleeding off the adrenaline. (but thats another story).
Well, that is about it for this trip down the lane. Probably no one cares, but I like putting it down.

Weight & Balance

2007-09-02T17:42:00.000-07:00

There was an old saying I saw once hanging on a bulletin board in a base ops once. It said "when the weight of the paper work equals the takeoff weight of your aircraft you are ready to go"
In 2007, it doesn't seem to me like there is that much more paperwork than when I was flying regularly. Maybe less, what with hand held computers, hand held GPS, on line flight planning and blueberry's or blackberries to help with the trip. This might be a good thing. Less really is more. Especially when it comes to regulations and rules.
If all the rules and regulations concerning airplanes, pilots, controllers and airports were loaded aboard a 747 cargo it would not get off the ground.
When Uncle Sam decided to regulate aviation back in 1920 a set of regulations was published and distributed to all the pilots in the country. It was 1 page. Type written (on both sides of course) and it listed all of the regulations the intrepid pilots were to abide by. There were 25 of them. They were thumb tacked on bulletin boards and put under glass on some back office desk.
Then, like now, the regulations didn't seem like they were written by fliers, or anybody connected to aviation. For example:

Rule #21. Pilots will not wear spurs while flying.

Pilots back in the 20's did wear riding boots, riding pants, leather jackets and silk scarfs. But honest...they took their spurs off before getting into their ship. Some bureaucrat probably saw one pilot before he took off his spurs and decided to make it a rule. I am sure that one of these days a bureaucrat will spot a young pilot getting into his Cessna with his ball cap on backwards and he will come up with a rule by which all pilots must wear their ball caps with the visor forward. Of course it will become rule #FAR 91.500025.667 paragraph 821 and will add 4 pages to the existing manual.
Well...I have vented enough for one evening. To anybody reading this post who loves flying and being around airplanes, remember Rule #1, (January 1920)

"Don't take the machine into the air unless you are satisfied it will fly" Duh.

p.s. Stay tuned while I examine all 25 of "Regulations for operation of aircraft" first published in January 1920.

2007-08-11T21:24:00.000-07:00

After reading some blogs written by young men and women learning to fly, I got out my old log book and started flipping the pages. Taking a trip down memory lane if you will. I am certainly jealous of these youngsters just starting out. Feeling the rush for the first time. Wishing I could be with them and watch their faces as the flight unfolds. Feel again the light footed walk across the ramp after a particularly good or exciting flight. I am also a little concerned.
In a way they have many more challenges facing them, what with A airspace, B airspace, control zones, TCA's and so forth. They have much better, or at least more high tech, to help them with these challenges. I was at the airport not long ago and had many opportunities to gaze at some of the high tech instrument panels being placed before the general aviation pilot today. flying a single engine aircraft today is like flying PlayStation. Everything is computer generated graphics. I was chatting with a pilot (young) one day and he was talking about way points and GPS and graphic displays that show his course, true course (track) and winds and temperatures at altitude. I asked him if he had an E6B. I have never seen a more blank look.
And here is where I start getting concerned.
I wondered to myself what would happen to the panel if they encountered ST. Elmo's fire and all their graphic displays suddenly went blank. It can happen. It did happen to me. Night time en route from SPS to DAL. Tstorms all around. Static electricity discharges. St. Elmo arrived. Nothing but static on the radio and my VOR was haywire. I am starting to get nervous. But I still had visibility and I knew where I was and where I was going. Then I started to see a weird kind of blue glow and the static was getting worse. I had heard about St. Elmo's fire but had never seen or experienced it. I was freaked. Then there was this loud pop or a zap, like what you hear when you walk across a carpet and touch a door knob and get a static spark. The radios got quiet and the VOR steadied up and (just like I knew what I was doing)...there was Dallas Love.
I mentioned this encounter because I am curious. What would a static discharge do to a computer chip or the graphic display? I'm sure they would be OK. Wouldn't they?
But let's leave that alone.
The young people just starting out still have the same joy and excitement of learning to fly that Orville and Wilbur discovered.
Some aviation authors describe an old and experienced pilot by describing the lines around his eyes from gazing into the far blue for many years and many miles. They rarely mention the laugh lines around the mouth. These are put there by the joy of flying. They never loose their love of it.

I never have.

Alone At Last

2007-08-05T08:42:00.000-07:00

Reading another blog about flying I was reminded of my first solo. It came as a surprise to me because my instructor didn't warn me it was going to happen. We were at a little uncontrolled field in southern Oklahoma shooting touch and go's when he told me to make a full stop. Now, I am still in the dark at this point because he sometimes would do this to answer the call of nature. He climbed out of the old C-150, grabbed his cigarettes and said "do 3 touch and go's then come back and get me."
Have you ever gone into a room and stopped and wondered how you got there? My brain shut down. My throat got dry. The next thing I remembered was sitting in take off position wondering how I got there. I hoped that I had checked for traffic. (oops)
Then, power up, release the brakes, a little rudder and here I go.
The first solo is a whole series of surprises. Surprise No. 1: The C-150 was not as small as I thought. Without the 200 pound instructor sitting next to me I could actual move my arm without any interference. Surprise No. 2: Without the 200 pound instructor sitting next to me that little airplane literally jumped into the air.
Ok, I'm up. Throttle back and level off at 1500. Damn. Ok 1800 will work. Left turn to cross wind. Why am I at 2000? Oh! Ok! I'll get it. Left turn to down wind. Looking good. Power back. Add a little flap. Turn base. Yea! Now I'm flying. Turn on to final. Surprise No. 3: Without the 200 pound instructor sitting next to me It doesn't descend like I was used to. Oh well, I wonder if my instructor will accept a low approach as a touch and go? Probably not. My brain finally kicked in and after the not so low approach I managed to get down and do my 3 touch and go's. I was giddy. I was grinning all over my face. I was a PILOT.
RULE #1: After doing 3 touch and go's, DO NOT FORGET TO PICK UP INSTRUCTOR. I was only about 5 miles from the airport when I remembered this rule.
When I got back to the airport and taxied up to him I was relieved to see him laughing out loud. He climbed aboard and said that at least I came back for him. Seems like one of his other students left him and he had to wait for hours to get back to home base.
When we finally shut down and was back in the Aero Club he signed my log book "OK to solo". I made it. Now the fun begins.
Over the next 700 hours there has been hours of boring holes in the sky. Some scary moments, some down right funny moments, but none will be as memorable as the .5 hours that ended with "OK to solo"

Memories

2007-07-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

I was drifting through some interesting blogs just the other day. these blogs were recommended to me because of one of my interests is flying. I came across several by new pilots and pilots in training and the memories I have of my first 100 hours came rushing in on me. I decided that I would share some of these with every one of you who visit my blog. (both of you).
My first flight. Lowry AFB Aero club. January 1964. Cold clear skies that are pretty common in Colorado. The day was about 15 or 16 degrees. I was shivering pretty heavy during the walk around. The instructor was explaining everything he was doing but I was shaking so much I don't think I understood what in the hell he was saying. I thought he was speaking to me in a foreign language. Looking back I believe that I was shaking out of nervousness, not the cold.
Well, we climbed aboard that old beat up C-150 and cranked it over and the adventure began. The air was smooth as glass. My eyes were glued to the instrument panel and the instructor kept talking in that foreign language.
After a few long minutes I tore my eyes away from those instruments and looked out the windshield at the foothills of the Rockies with a blanket of January snow and BAM! I was hooked on flying forever. suddenly the instructor started speaking English. I warmed up and stopped shaking. Then I had the controls. My instructor said just make a few easy turns, which I did. Left, right, left, right. I was having a ball. (I would worry about those pesky pedal on the floor later)
Then it was over. We landed on runway 08. Taxied back to the Aero Club. I walked out of there with a brand new flight log with .6 hours of flight time. And a new passion. Flying.

Life is a box

2007-02-27T18:14:00.000-08:00

For quite some time now my daughters and wife (A Chelsea Morning) have poked fun at my woodworking projects. They get a hoot by laughing at my Boxes. And now their influence is spilling over onto my son-in-law and future son-in-law. Granted they neither one would laugh right out loud but I see their looks.
I'm here to explain, not justify or excuse my projects, just explain where , why or even how this came about. No it's not a guy thing ! It is in my genes.
Growing up I was just like most of the other little kids around. Absolutely adored their grand father. I lived for the day he would look at me and smile that small little up turning of the mouth corners. Looking back I see where we were not rich. We weren't poor, but money was hard to come by. When things broke, we fixed them. If we couldn't fix 'em we didn't run out to the hardware store for another...we built another. If a new widget was needed around the farm or house we made it. Probably couldn't buy exactly what we needed anyway. My grand father was a carpenter. The house they lived in, the house I was born in, was designed and built entirely by my grandfather. In grandma's kitchen he built in bins that folded out and held flour, sugar, salt. The first "lazy Susan" I ever saw was built by grandpa in grandma's kitchen. My grand parents house had more storage built in than any modern cracker box. There was not a single wasted inch. He had an amazing collection of little boxes that held nails, screws, planes and all sorts of little things any good carpenter would consider essential. He built boxes with drawers. Boxes with cubby holes. He even built himself a shoe shine box that held all of the polish, rags and brushes and a place to lock the shoe in place while he shined it. If the family needed it or even thought they needed it...he built it.
If I need someplace to keep papers, nails, staples or tape measures...I build it. I build it for that one particular need. Nothing else. If I need something else I build it. Function specific!
So now you all can see that I come by it naturally. I was born to it.
Also, when I am out in my garage/workshop cutting, gluing, sanding on a box my mind clears and I am concentrating solely on my little box. All the other thoughts and worries go away for a little while and I relax and "chill out"

Plus I get a cool new box.

P.s. I have a birthday coming up. I need some more wood

Wild and Crazy Ride

2007-02-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

I was a teenager living in Arizona. I loved the outdoors. Loved to hunt and fish. Usually I did these things alone. Seems like I have always been somewhat of a loner. A personality fault or personal preference one or the other. I had my share of friends. "High School buddies". We all have had them. Some endure and become lifelong friends while others are gone at graduation. Howard was a High School Buddy. One weekend one summer Howard and I decided to go hunting. We packed up our "desert car" with enough food and drink to last a month even though we were only going for the weekend. We had our trusty hunting rifles and plenty of ammunition. We were ready.
We arrived at our chosen camp site just a couple of miles above the Pima indian reservation, set up camp and started out on our hunt. We didn't care what we were hunting. We were HUNTING and that was what mattered. I shot and killed 4 empty tin cans (Maneaters every one) and Howard killed 2 "No Hunting" signs. We were exhausted. We went back to camp to eat and call it a day.
There is a rule among hunters. No loaded weapons in camp. No exeptions. So I unloaded my rifle and stretched out on my sleeping bag to rest up. Howard was unloading his rifle when it went off. It felt like he had hauled off and kicked me. The look on his face was of sheer disbelief.
We decided that I maybe should see a doctor. It took us about 15 seconds to break camp and load up the desert car and bug out.
Let me back up and talk a little about the "Desert Car". She was a 1948 Oldsmobile convertible. Howard and I paid $50 for her and spent numerous weekends getting her running. She didn't have any fabric in her top but we didn't care. We were in Arizona after all. At one time she had been owned by a para palegic who had fitted her with hand controls for gas pedal and brakes. It was a real kick to sit up on the backs of the seats and drive around using just the hand controls. Oh, and she didn't have headlights either.
Anyway, back to the desert.
When we had everything loaded up in the desert car we took off. If we stayed on the roads and went around the indian reservation it would have taken an hour or more to get to civilization so Howard decided to cut across the desert, through the reservation and into town the back way.
Two problems. One, there were no roads. and Two, we didn't have any headlights and it was dark. To me these were problems. To Howard...no big deal. Off we went clattering and banging through the night. Howard sitting up on the back of the drivers seat, throttle wide open, steering with one hand and holding a flashlight in the other. I was laying in the back seat wearing a 16 year old's version of a tourniquet around my thigh and praying that I wouldn't die in a car wreck. Everything was going pretty good until we became airborn and landed in a dry creek bed. I ended up in the front seat, Howard landed about 10 feet in front of the car, still holding the flash light. We were totally stuck. Howard decided to run to the indian police station and get some help so off he went. I was left with the car. I was surprised at how dark it gets in the desert at night and how clearly I could hear the coyotes yowling. I knew they could smell my blood and that any minute they would attack. But not without a fight. I hobbled around to the back of the wrecked desert car, retrieved my trusty rifle and stood guard, hunkered down in the back seat. That was how Howard and the indian policeman found me 2 hours later. Asleep on guard duty.
The trip from the creek bed to the city limits was fairly uneventful. The Scottsdale PD and an ambulance were waiting at the city limits and I was taken to the hospital. The docs at the hospital decided it would be better to leave the bullet alone than to try to dig it out. So that is why, to this day, I have a bullet in my leg.

Is life really better?

2006-11-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

I think it is time I sat down, lit my pipe, put my feet up on my cyber pot belly stove and muse a bit.

I've heard parent say that they want their kids to have it better than they did when they were growing up. They interpret this to mean more toys, bigger toys, more expensive toys. Yet, they laugh and way that when their kids get all those nice gifts all they want to do is play with the boxes they came in. Is there a message in that? Do they really want big expensive, elaborate toys? Do they really want to play with someone else's imagination or do they want to use their own?
When I was growing up I played cowboys and Indians, with real Indians. Sometimes the Indians won. Nobody was offended by the word "Indian" There were no ACLU weenies telling us we couldn't play cowboys and Indians. No lawyer told us it was supposed to be "cattlepersons and native americans.
We would make toy guns out of old wood and wood cloths pins (stolen from our mother's cloths pin bag hanging on the cloths line). They would shoot big rubber bands we would make by cutting up old inner tubes. We had boat loads of fun. We didn't have some Govt. Agency coming along and telling us it was too dangerous and to get rid of our guns or they would take them away. No psychologist ninny telling us that by playing with toy guns we were going to grow up into violent adults.
No. What we had was family. At the dinner (supper) table the family would all sit down (no TV trays) and share our day with each other. We could laugh at each others mis-steps, tease each other and sometimes receive sage advice (often hidden in a funny story) from loving and caring parents.
Growing up, we were all hunters. We all had guns. Real guns. We were taught how to use them by our fathers and grandfathers.
What we didn't have was a rash of school shootings. What we didn't have was constant drive by shootings.
Yeah, we had disagreements. A little pushing and shoving, maybe a bloody nose or two, then a hand shake and it was off to find more Indians to shoot with rubber bands. (for some reason I always hated being General Custer)

I'm Back

2006-08-13T12:19:00.000-07:00

It's been some time since my last post. I really have been busy. In July I started a new job. It's a great job. I am learning a new skill and honing old skills. I am learning how to take something that is well worn or abused, take it apart and make it like new, or better. The bonus?? It's on AIRPLANES. Fancy, custom interiors on executive type airplanes.
As anyone who knows me will attest, I LOVE AIRPLANES. I flew extensively in my earlier years. I would check out an airplane and go flying just for the hell of it. Just to relax or go to lunch in a city 200 miles away. I even owned my own Cessna for a while. But, as with all of life's pleasures, it just got too expensive so I had to give it up.
My new job allows me to at least be around aircraft. Touch them. Walk around inside of them and make an old, worn out lady new again.

Radom Musings

2006-08-13T11:56:00.000-07:00

At what point did Americans become losers? At what point did we stop trying? Did it all start when we decided that terms like "Failure" or "Failing" we politically incorrect? Or was it programs like "No Child Left Behind". No Child Left behind...now there's a cluster that is designed to kill Any incentive to actually learn. Why should a young student work hard to learn how to read or add a column of numbers if he or she knows that they can advance anyway. Whether he meets the standards or not.
Standards. Now there's a good idea gone bad. Education systems all over the country have adopted standards. The students are tested to see if they meet the standards. If a school scores high they recieve more money. If they score low they are shunned, tsk tsked in the local papers and admonished to bring u their test scores. Am I the only one in this room that sees what is wrong with that picture? If a school is struggling to meet those arbitrary standards (who decides what the standards are any way) they should be the ones getting the extra cash. Cash to buy more teaching aids, hiring more teachers, reducing class size.
So now teachers are teaching the test. Never mind there are no life skills involved. Just get those scores up.
What if little Johnny or Joannie can't get it? Don't pat them on the head and say "nice try, enjoy life" then pass them along to another grade and another poor teacher. Why don't we try saying "you have failed the 8th grade. You are being left behind". Maybe, just maybe we would again raise a generation of achievers (winners) and not a generation of underachievers (losers) who feel they are entitled to the trophy, even though they didn't even suit up for the game. Feel they are entitled to the top paying job even though they don't have the skills or qualifications. These "underachievers" should go into politics.

Politicians. Now there's a fine example of Americas best. But that is a subject for another post.

Global Warming

2006-07-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

"The sky is falling the sky is falling"...No wait..."The globe is warming the globe is warming".
The recent hot weather that has hit most of the country this past few weeks has brought out the global warming, greenhouse effects, killing mother nature freaks. I only have one thing to say.

Check your "blackberry, Blueberry or whatever else you use to hold you place in this world, or check an old fashioned calendar. You will discover one thing. One thing will jump right out at you

"IT'S SUMMER! IT'S JULY! It always gets hot this time of the year.

3 months from now we get to hear about the coming ice age.

Mo Money

2006-07-07T15:09:00.000-07:00

While looking over all the posts about "if money was no object..." I thought I would just add my 2 cents worth. (pun intended Bev)

1 thru 12. I would go through everybody's lists and buy them everything they wanted.

13. Since my Daughter is buying me a motor home and the wife is buying me my Harley Davidson, I would buy me a Cessna Turbo 210. There is plenty of room for my golf clubs and I could be in Goodland in 3 hours, play a round, have dinner and be home before dark. Sweet.

Be Afraid, Be very Afraid

2006-06-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

Well now here we go. Deja Vu all over again. I was seriously hoping that it wouldn't strike again, at least for a while. I do know now that this affliction is not fatal. It causes severe, tremedously painful head aches (note: buy SAM sized bottles of Ibuprofen) painful stomach pains (heartburn) and causes men to mutter under their breaths and walk around in circles babbling incoherent foreign phrases.
What is this affliction you ask? WEDDING PLANNING.

Men will come to realize that their checkbook is their most prized possession. Their opinion is asked for only to provide comic relief for the planners. Men are required to write the checks and do the heavy lifting. Life as we know it is put on indefinite hold. The world now revolves around the bride to be and her mother

To make life easier, stand in front of the mirror and practice looking genuinely interested. If the proposed wedding gown is the most hideous thing on the planet, you must look impressed and say things like "it's very pretty" or "I really like that long trailie thing". Utter just one negative and your life will become hell on earth. So practice, practice, practice.

Never mention that it's too expensive. Never complain about all the bride magazines your mailman is now delivering in a large truck. Try to find a corner in your garage or workshop and get really really small. (you can't have mine--it's taken)

Take 2 prilosec OTC, with a double shot of bourbon and endeavor to persevere.

My Father

2006-06-17T14:27:00.000-07:00

My father was quiet. My Father was strong and he was gentle. He was an unassuming role model. He was respected by those who ever met him. He was a teacher with even knowing it.
While I was growing up I thought my dad was a stiff necked old jerk. As a teen I thought he was so far out of it that he didn't have a clue. I hated him when he took my car away and grounded me for ---gasp---skipping school. I was furious when he cracked down on me and actually made me study and get good grades and graduate from high school.
I thought I was getting even with him when I enlisted in the Air Force and left home. I completely missed the look of satisfaction and pride on his face.
After 8 hears in the service I was amazed at how smart and wise he had become. I miss him.
He had a way of looking at things and finding humor in the most ridiculous things, like teenagers with spiked hair and so many body piercings they set off metal detectors from a block away. Instead of sneering and looking down on them he would make some funny remark and act as if he knew that the kid would one day be a CEO of some high tech company. One of his favorite past times was to set in the Boulder Mall (the center of the universe for nuts, whacko's and crazies) and just watch the show. He called it a free circus side show.
My father respected women, but absolutely doted on my mother. According to him she walked on water, hung the moon and never ever did any wrong. This attitude made him even more attractive to other women. He had women practically throwing themselves at him. Like water off a ducks back he just ingored them. He used to say "why go out for hamburger when I have steak and champagne at home".
My father never pulled his punches. He would tell it like it was. If someone was being rude or an ass he would look them in the eye and tell them they were an ass. Yes, on more than one occasion he looked me in the eye and told me I was being an ass. He had a nick name given to him by his co-workers in the Air Traffic Control Center. They called him Iron Head or Old Iron Head.
When I went to work for the FAA and moved closer to home we started to spend more time together. We played golf together. Golf with my dad was like an 18 hole, 3 hour stand-up comedy show. (More about that in some future post)
We went fishing together. Many quiet hours spent together dissecting and curing the woes of the world. He was a sailor and was pleased when I learned to sail. But he was ecstatic when I sold my sailboat and bought a fishing boat. I kept the boat on Lake Granby west of Denver and made him his own set of keys so he could take her out anytime he felt like it.
We became very close when we were building his retirement home. Many thumbs hammered, many knots and bruises later we had a beautiful home for him and my mother. They designed it together with family and grandkids in mind. They were going to spend their golden years there.
My father died less than 6 months after moving into his dream home.

June 18th is Fathers Day. A day of the year where sons and daughters buy funny cards, ugly ties and useful gift certificates for their fathers. I don't do that any more, but I honor my father every single day of the year by trying to be what he was.

Golf is good

2006-06-12T18:12:00.000-07:00

The 2006 annual golf tournament is in the record books. The last putt has dropped, the last steak consumed and the last drop of sunburn lotion used up. A good time was had by all. There are some conclusions that I have drawn from my 3 day experience in glorious Goodland.

1. Sugar Hills golf course is one of the prettiest in the country.

2. I still can't hit my 3 wood.

3. I am an amateur curmudgeon. There were some real pros on the course this year. One of them was in my foursome on the 2nd day. He didn't like anything that was going on. On the course or off. He let us know how he felt about how slow the play was. Why we always had to wait to tee off. It was ruining his game. We heard "how can anyone take so long to find a lost ball" and "why would anyone need to stand over their ball that long just to hit it."

Golf is supposed to be a gentleman's game. At least that's the way I play it. I try not to upset the other players in my group with my grousing. I keep all the bad words to myself. (usually). This pencil neck complained loud and long about everything. "Play is too slow" "Tee's are too far back" (boo hoo) Handicapping was done wrong. (Only if you don't think the USGA knows how to handicap) Not enough food at the (free) lunch. Too hot...Too windy. On and on and on.....

I am working at being a good curmudgeon, but after playing 9 holes of golf with this mouth I can see that I have a long way to go. Stay tuned...I took notes.

On a happier note. 45 holes of golf is always a pleasure to me. Good shots, bad shots or missed putts and lost balls...It's always a good day on the golf course. And playing Sugar Hills with my Father-in-Law is double good. Between us we managed to win $120 worth of prizes (even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes). Over all I would rate the golf scores as awful but the experience was awesome. I am looking forward to next year. We'll get 'em next year.

Emergency Services

2006-05-28T06:27:00.000-07:00

PART I
I spent many years as a volunteer fire fighter. When I first joined the department we had a very old International Harvester pumper and a not so old Dodge brush truck. We were very basic and very cash poor. So cash poor that we only had 2 sets of SCBA's. These were reserved for the officers who would proudly don their equipment and lead a team of very brave and/or very dumb, un protected firemen into the smoke filled building.
As our community grew so did the Fire Department. It now has 2 stations, 4 state of the art pumpers, a ladder truck (squirt) various rescue trucks and a couple of ambulances.
The volunteer has changed also. From of bunch of dedicated men and women doing their best to fight fire in blue jeans and hard hats to fully protected, well trained FIRE/RESCUE responders. One thing that hasn't changed. Fire Fighters the world over are 100% dedicated to helping People in need. As the world grows more populated there are so many more ways to get hurt. Fires involving Multiple structures or 1,000's of acres, traffic accidents involving dozens of cars and victims and more hazardous materials than you can shake a stick at.
Fire departments all over the world regularly train for these incidents. Thousand of lives have been saved over the years by these dedicated people. Often a store clerk or farmer who stepped up and volunteered. Or a highly trained professional who shares the same dedication to helping people in need. In the immortal words of the world famous Cable Guy...They "Get ER Done"

PART II

How did the Katrina disaster get so screwed up? Because the Department of Homeland Security has handling it. The Department of Homeland Security is a great idea as a security service. Homeland Security should not be used as a disaster team. FEMA should be completely separated from Homeland Security. FEMA has the knowledge and resources to mitigate any disaster. Using the fire services "INCIDENT COMMAND STRUCTURE" they can respond and systematically and methodically take an out of control situation and bring it under control saving lives and reducing property damage or loss. Then incident command structure has worked for years. Why? Because it is simple. The only thing that changes is the size of the incident. As the incident grows resources are simply added. The one thing that should never ever be added to this tried and true system............POLITICIANS.
Where do we get these resources you ask?...Go back and read PART I

It Knows Where You've Been

2006-05-27T07:56:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the commercial on TV where your car sends you an E-mail to let you know it needs attention?

I wonder what your car is doing when it's not e-mailing you. Perhaps it's surfing the web. What if it's in a chat room telling every one where it went today. Or checking out some X rated web site. Who's monitoring your cars on-line activities?

ONSTAR

ONSTAR monitors your vehicle. It can tell where you are, where you're going and where you've been. It knows when your airbags have been deployed and can even call 911 for you. How does it do all of this? It uses satellite signals. Very high tech. Satellite signals that can be monitored.

What if Homeland Security decided to monitor ONSTAR? Wow! They could track the bad guys. They could tell where they are, where they're going, where they've been and when their getaway car needs service.

Cell Phones

2006-05-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

The other day while sitting at a stop sign I came within a foot of being run under by a big Chevy Suburban. This big SUV was driven by a woman who was more interested in her conversation on her cell phone than where her tank was going. I honked my horn and she actually looked out the window and swerved to avoid contact. I received a dirty look from her for interrupting her important conversation to call her attention to the fact that she was driving a car. You have to ask...Is talking to someone who you just left or are just about to meet so important that you risk reeking havoc on the population with a ton and a half projectile.

A few days earlier as I was driving around town I had to stop for a pedestrian. This pedestrian hand in her right hand a shopping bag. Under her right arm she was carrying some books and notebooks. Her left hand had a cell phone. Pressed firmly to her left ear. She was wearing the standard college uniform, Sweat shirt, funny wooden shoes and baggy warm up pants. What made this all stand out to me was that with every step she took her baggy warm up pants slipped further and further down. But she was not, by god, going to interrupt her conversation to fix the falling trousers. By the time she got to the other side of the street she decided that discretion was more important than the grocery bag. She set the bag down, hiked up the errant warm ups and continued on her way, still carrying on her conversation. But not before showing all of 12th Avenue that she was also wearing a pair of red, butt floss undies. Now you have to ask....Never mind.

I guess keeping in touch is a big deal.

Don't call me...I'll call you

Saving The World

2006-05-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

When I was young and growing up in a small, very small town in southern Utah, I would go into the general store to get something and I would see all these old men setting around just talking, smoking pipes or cigars. I wondered what they were talking about. What would a bunch of old farts have to say that was so important that it would occupy their whole day?

Now I know. It was the 1950 version of blogging. We don't have general stores anymore. Someplace to sit, smoke and generally save the world. WalMart would go into orbit if a bunch of old codgers lit up, put their feet up on a plastic McDonald's table and started discussing politics or what their neighbors were doing last night. Now every where you go it's "NO SMOKING", "NO LOITERING" "SHOES AND SHIRT REQUIRED" . Political correctness wasn't even heard of. God forbid if anyone is ever offended. I wanted to grow old and be one of those old codgers that were fixing things. Making things right. But, alas, this is the 21st century. So now I am a blogger (Not to be confused with people who dance in those wooden shoes) and I want to create a blog page that will give old codgers and curmudgeons an opportunity to lean back, put their feet up, light up and help me save the world