It's the Little Things

OAFS Photo

After finishing dinner yesterday, I had the urge to take a picture outside, in the dark. Why? Well, because I can and the photo might serve as the opening to a post. So, out I went.

The temperature was 28°, by no means cold by some standards (like Wisconsin or other northern tier states) but it's cold enough for me. No wind, which was a big plus, the wind off the water being a constant thing here in Little Rhody, nor was there any precipitation. The weather guessers said "snow showers possible" overnight and the air did indeed "smell like snow¹." But a slim chance is what my nose told me.

I do like the camera on my cellphone (Android for those who fixate on such things) and I was not disappointed last night. No flash was needed as the camera lens managed to suck up enough ambient light to take the shot (I had the camera set to auto for the flash, let it decide) and what came out above pleased me.

The photo has a rather ghostly aura, yet the faded green of the backyard comes through.

You might notice that our Wellington arbor (that thing betwixt the shed and the fence in the background) is leaning back a bit. Well, back in December we had some rather high winds overnight - one of those nights where I lie awake wondering if my roof will still be there when the sun comes up² - and the thing just kind of leaned back. There's enough surface area in the thing that a 60 mph gust will have an effect!

I've been meaning to tilt it back up again. The legs aren't set in concrete (as the specs called for) as The Missus Herself and I do have some experience with anchoring stuff in the yard with concrete then having to dig it up, dispose of it, then fill the hole, once we tired of the item (or time and the weather ate it away). Nope, it's anchored much like a tent would be anchored, stakes driven into the dirt and zip ties. Stood up pretty well I think.

I'll straighten it up soon, when I feel like it.

So yeah, the little things.

Walking out to get the mail today I could hear a couple of wee birds down the street, chirping away as if the winter was nothing to them. Oh, I'm sure they feel it, but there are birds which winter in Little Rhody. It sure isn't as cold here as it is further north.

Just hearing the wee beasties made my heart sing, those who ignore Nature don't know what they're missing.

Driving to Worcester (MA), where all three of the progeny went to college, is about 60 miles, mostly uphill, and into a whole different meteorological zone. It can be 50° here in Little Rhody with the sun shining and be 20-something in Worcester with a driving snow. I've seen it. (For those who know the Colorado Front Range, think blizzard in Denver while playing golf in Fort Collins, I've seen that too.)

Now I grew up in Vermont, saw subzero temperatures as a callow youth (-40° was the record, and that's with no wind at all), when I retired I did look around the area I grew up in for work, but there wasn't any of the sort I was looking for. Had an interview and then an offer in Little Rhody for exactly the work I was looking for and moved here in August of '99.

All hands were braced for a New England winter when we got to December. Turned out to be rather mild, all things considered.

Now last winter was rather cold here (again, not Wisconsin cold), I seem to recall the average from December to February being in the 20s, so far it's tracking the same this winter. Cold enough that you need a good coat but not so cold that you need to dress like you were in, let's say Wisconsin.

When I was getting ready to retire, people asked me if I was going to move. As the house is paid for, repeat paid for, I thought it would be insane to move.

"But don't you want to move south where it's warmer?"

"I already did."

"Huh?"

"I'm from Vermont, this is south to me."

And really, it was colder in Maryland at Christmas, and for the last couple of winters they've gotten more snow than we have here in Little Rhody. I'll take this, for now.

I can handle cold, I have a problem with hot ...

Yup, I lived on the Mississippi Gulf Coast one summer, one long, hot summer.

Thinking about that keeps me warm enough.

¹ Those who know, well, they know what I mean.

² I can't say enough good things about the fellow who did my roof, chap named Marino. He's retired now but he did a few roofs in the neighborhood, and they've withstood the test of time. Back in 2003 I chose someone cheaper and guess what, you get what you pay for. First wind storm and I had shingles all over the back yard. That was about two months after I had it done. I should have gone with Mr. Marino the first time! I was smart enough to go with him the second. Who says I can't learn from experience?

Retirement, Day 16

OAFS Photo

That opening photo was taken last Saturday, the 11th of January. It wasn't a lot of snow, but so far this year I've seen more snow than last winter. Which I don't mind, seeing as how I don't need to go out in it if I choose not to.

I'm enjoying this retirement thing, probably way more than I should. But heck, I've always been kind of lazy, I'm a "work smarter, not harder" kind of guy. And if you can afford it, why work at all?

I know, I know, gotta stay busy somehow otherwise the mind rots and the body weakens to the point that staying alive isn't really worth it any more.

I've become rather domesticated as of late. Doing laundry, doing dishes, helping out around the house where I can. I mean, I've got the time, don't I?

Wednesday morning (yup, I'm starting to notice that the days tend to blur together, good thing my watch tells me what day it is) The Missus Herself made us a nice breakfast - pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Which gave me another opportunity to try this ...

Source

I tried a dollop on a small bit of pancake (last time I tried it on a small bit of bacon), let's just say, it got my attention. Perhaps a bit much all by itself, so I put regular maple syrup on my pancakes.

The first bite was good, but it was missing something. So I put the Maple Mayhem on with the regular maple syrup, not a lot, just enough to notice. It was good, damn good.

When we finished eating, there was a mess of dishes, pots, pans, and the like, and me having nothing on my calendar thanked The Missus Herself for breakfast and pitched in to clean up without being prompted, without being asked, nope, I just did it.

I mean why should I get to lay about all day? She's earned the right to kick back as well. Heck, if it wasn't for her I don't know where I'd be now. Probably not as well off as I am, provided I was still alive. (I can be pretty stupid on my own, I need what ya might call "adult supervision" from time to time.)

All that being said, I am working on Part 2 of the prequel/prelude to Almost a Lifetime and I'm weighing my publishing options on the latter. Seems Barnes & Noble has a self-publishing thing as does Amazon. Other options might be in play as well. But you'll know when I do which one I go with.

For now I'm enjoying being retired. Doing what I want, when I want.

It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.

The Sting of Winter

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"Take him over there!"

The Sanitäter was fairly confident that the wounded soldier would be okay. Though his lower torso was badly torn up, mostly from fragments from the spare barrel container the bullet had hit before going into him, he was certain he'd gotten all the metal fragments out. The bullet had gone completely through the man. He'd patched him up as best as he could, but he needed to get back to a field hospital.

As they started to move the man onto a stretcher, the Sani heard the man groan, "Kurwa, to boli.¹"

"You're Polish?"

One of the stretcher bearers groused at the Sani, "So are we going to stand out in the cold while you two chit-chat?"

The wounded man looked up at the man who had probably saved his life, "Silesian actually. We're an odd bunch of Poles and Germans all intermixed. Name before the Great War was Stellmacher ..."

The Sani chuckled, "Which in Polish is Kołodziej. You lived in Polish occupied Silesia then?"

"Ja, had to learn Polish and German at school," then Kołodziej gripped his side and groaned.

"Yes, that's going to hurt until a surgeon cleans up the wound. Your war might be over."

Nodding to the stretcher bearers, the Sani moved on to the next man.

Mládshiy serzhánt³ Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov wiped his runny nose on the back of his sleeve. His greatcoat was so filthy he doubted anyone would notice. He cocked an eyebrow when two of his three men re-joined the squad.

"Where's Kusma Zakharovich?"

One of the Ukrainians, Efréĭtor Petrenko shook his head. "Poor f**ker took out a German machine gun and its two crewmen, then some more Fascists came up and shot him before he could get away."

"Beriya's dead?" Kazankov was shaken. Beriya had been with him in Finland, now he's dead?

"Damn it, I told you to be f**king careful, Nazar Danylovych!"

"We were, but the Fascists came up very quickly, usually they go to ground and assess the situation before moving. Whoever was leading the other side is either very quick on his feet or very lucky."

Krasnoarmeyets Kyrylo Ihorovych Antonyuk spoke up, "I'd rather be lucky than good."

"Idi na khuy⁴, Antonyuk." Kazankov snapped. Beriya's death hurt.

Leutnant Jürgen von Lüttwitz watched his men closely as they pulled back from the front line. The battalion was going into reserve, division command was trying hard to give the men time off the line, but casualties were high so the respite would be brief.

The men looked bedraggled and exhausted. Winter in Russia will do that, he thought. Most of their casualties were upper respiratory problems and frostbite.

He heard footsteps in the snow behind him, turning he saw his company commander, Oberleutnant Ferdinand Busch.

"How are the boys doing, Jürgen?"

"They're tired, Sir, but game. A few days rest, some hot food, and maybe some fresh clothing and dann will alles in Butter⁵."

Busch chuckled, "That's something my old grandmother liked to say."

Von Lüttwitz smiled, "Mine as well."

¹ F**k,that hurts. (Polish)

² Stellmacher is the German word for "wheelwright," kołodziej in Polish.

³ Junior Sergeant (Russian)

⁴ Go f**k yourself, Antonyuk. (Иди на хуй - Russian)

⁵ German equivalent of "right as rain" - Then everything will be fine.

A New Year

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"Hey Gentile! Get your ass over here!"

Flavio Gentile shook his head, why did they insist on pronouncing his name wrong? But here was neither the place nor the time to correct the big sergeant who seemed to delight in tormenting the Italian kid from Philadelphia. Gentile jogged over to the sergeant.

"Yes, Sergeant?" He knew better than to call the man "Sarge," that drove him nuts.

"Yeah, the shitters over in 1st Platoon need cleaning, you go handle that."

"Uh, I'm in 3rd Platoon, can't 1st clean their own shitters? Sergeant?"

Staff Sergeant Vince Magnussen bristled, "Look Gentile, I say jump, you ask how high. I know which f**king platoon you're in. I owe Nelson over in 1st a favor, you're the favor. Now get your ass over there."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Gentile wanted nothing more in the world than to knock Magnussen's block off, but he had no desire to spend time in the stockade either. So for now, he'd tolerate the man. After all, like his buddy Marchetti said, "Training'll be over in a few weeks, why piss anybody off? Save it for the Krauts and the Japs, whichever way we wind up going."

Marchetti was right, Gentile wished that Magnussen was one of those guys who liked to take his trainees out behind the barracks for a little extra training. Shed the stripes, all that man to man stuff, but Magnussen was a coward, he hid behind his stripes.

Every muscle in Stephen Hernandez's body was aching. He was used to hard work but the twenty mile forced march with full gear was much harder than he had expected. Along with the other members of his training platoon he was down on one knee, wheezing like an old man.

"Come on ladies, back on your feet. We need to set up a bivouac."

The men looked at each other, a bivouac, they'd been expecting trucks to take them back to camp.

"Sarge?"

"You do know what a bivouac is, Anderson."

"Uh, yessir, but aren't we going to ..."

"Thinking again, Anderson? What did I tell you about thinking Private Anderson?"

"Uh, I'm not good at it, Sarge?"

"Zackly, now get your shit together. Pitch your shelter halves, get digging a latrine trench, and get set up for the night. This is a field exercise, we march out, do some training in patrolling and such, sleep a couple hours, then march back to camp. Questions?"

Groans went up from the men, but they got to work.

"This is some shit, huh hermano?"

Hernandez turned and grinned at his "battle buddy" Juan Vaca. "Yup, classic Army shit, vato."

Hernandez wondered how his family would react to all of the Mexican slang he was learning and using. There were a quite a few Spanish speakers in the Army, but very few Spaniards. When in Rome ...

The Sanitäter rolled Kołodziej over onto his back, "Easy Jan, it doesn't look too bad, might even be a Heimatschuß¹."

Jan Kołodziej grimaced, no doubt the Sani thought he was being kind, thinking that Kołodziej was German rather than a Pole conscripted into the German Army. But at the moment he didn't really care. They'd never seen the Russian who had spotted them. Guy was a good shot, his first round had killed Paulus outright, his second had gone through Kołodziej's left side, having been deflected by the spare barrel he carried for the machine gun.

Anything to get him away from the vicious fighting against the Soviets would do. With luck, maybe he'd go to the big hospital in Warsaw. At least he'd be back in Poland. But it was a hell of a way to welcome in a new year.

¹ A wound which gets you sent home. Bad enough to require medical care not available at the front.

It's another Manic Monday

 

My apologies to the Bangles.

Well....This was a heck of a week.  Not quite as "heck of a week" as it was from Dallas north to the North Pole, but heckish enough.

Woke up Friday to 33 degrees, a lot of rain and a wind chill in the teens.  Got 2 1/2 inches of rain that day.  Normally, that's a cause for celebration.  We had to wait for that party opportunity while asking the Lord to keep it from freezing.  Nobody and I mean NOBODY, knows how to drive on ice especially not Texans.  Fortunately, the weather guessers had given enough early warning and we had stocked up last Monday.  Went to HEB Friday midmorning for a few "nice to have things" to put on our shelves (that's my secret phrase for Wine).  Suffice it to say there wasn't a lot of food stuff on any of the shelves.

Yes, Beans, there was a good supply of wine.  No beer though, this IS Texas.

Got through Friday and Saturday, didn't have to, nor want to go anywhere.

Sunday, woke up at 6 to go to early Mass (0730), cold as all get out, a little frost on the wind screen, but the roads were dry and ice free.  Not hard to find a pew at church though.  Got out of church and the highly accurate truck thermometer read 45, so maybe the worst has past.

One can hope...and pray!

So, juvat, enough bitchin' about the weather, it sucked all over.

No more weather bitchin' Aye!

We've passed a large stumbling block in the last week or so.  We've hired a broker and have started the process of selling the property.  Mrs J's bout with the Big C was the final straw.  Living in the country with an excellent "See 'em comin'" view was wonderful over the past 25 years. However, the realities of getting older and the potential need to get to a hospital or worse get somebody to come and take you to a hospital in time to make a difference, rules against living in the country.  So...since there are a lot of people moving here from a state out west and seem to have quite a lot of cash they need to invest lest Uncle Sam claim quite a bit of it, we decided to talk to a broker.

We were very surprised (on the happy side) when he quoted what he thought a fair price range would be.  Should that come to fruition, we will be able to afford a bottle of wine or two.  Yes, Doctor H, in moderation, in moderation.

But, we've got a lot of work to do, cleaning junk out of places we had completely forgotten about,  The realtor was quite adept at finding them and pointing them out.  Apparently the reproduction rate of junk is much, much greater than that of Rabbits.  

Quicher Bitchin', juvat!

Enough bitchin', Aye Sarge.

So, we're going to lease a large dumpster (one that gets picked up on the back of a truck) and start loading it up.  Maybe we should also hire an archeologist in case we've got some ancient Incan artifacts, who knows?

The other, equally big and time consuming, project is what are we going to move into?  We intend to move to the College Station area, which is about 200 miles east of our current location.  MBD, The Rev, MG and Leon' live there.  That's the Family we need to be close to, just in case.  (Little J, LJW and Miss B are stationed overseas, so not an option.). We'd like to be somewhat out of the city, but not too far.  We'd also like to have a bit of acreage so we can keep the horses, as well as the 5 dogs and two cats.

To complicate matters, there's probably going to need to be an interim rental house to live in between selling (and more importantly closing on) our current house and closing on our new property.  The 2 horses, 5 dogs and two cats gang also adds to that complication.

So...a lot of pondering gonna go on as we get ready for this transition.

It also seems like PCS'ing in the Military was a heckuva lot easier than moving as a civilian.  I could be wrong, but it sure doesn't seem like I am.

Finally,

Just because I know this guy and sang a lot of his songs, including this one, as a member of the Juvat Boys Choir. That famed (maybe infamous) organization provided musical entertainment/roasting at going away dinners at Kunsan.  Good Times!

So, for your musical enjoyment, "Ain't no Fighter Pilots down in Hell" By Dick Jonas. Enjoy!

Peace out y'all!

Jumping the Gun?

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Many of you might be saying, "Ah ha, the Muse is back, the story continues." And you wouldn't be wrong.

But it's going to be by fits and starts for a bit, it won't be twenty, or more, posts in a row developing and continuing the story I began way back in June of 2020 (wow, that was a while ago). I want to take this slowly and deliberately.

I was rereading some of the old book and realized that I really missed those characters I created in Almost a Lifetime and the new characters in the prequel, part one (yes, I really need a better title).

I will say this, reading Almost a Lifetime should be first, but it doesn't have to be.

I wanted to know more about those men (and the very few women in that book) so I started writing the prequel. Which introduced a number of new characters (even a couple of women central to the story). I like these new folks and want to do them justice.

That won't happen by rushing things. Slow and steady wins the race.

In other news ...

Yup, still retired, still enjoying life.

Celebrating 47 years of wedded bliss with The Missus Herself today. Didn't have a big ceremony on that day, in fact, there was no ceremony at all.

We went to Seoul, did a bunch of paperwork in a number of offices (American and Korean) and at one point our guide through the process turned to me and said, "Oh yeah, congratulations, you're married."

"Well shoot, did I miss something?"

"No, that last paper you both signed, that was it."

I rather wish we'd had some sort of ceremony, but after 47 years, still being married to the love of my life is enough for me. (Finding someone to tolerate me that long is probably a miracle of some sort.)

We went to dinner at Longhorn Saturday night (she has a baby shower to go to today), had a nice soup, excellent steak, and of course the company was incomparable.

That and the NFL playoffs beginning ...

Sorry, it's family tradition to go into the "Playoffs? Don't be talking about ... playoffs?" shtick everytime the playoffs are mentioned.

But yeah, the playoffs are on, so I'm watching. I do loves me some football.

Christmas, 1941

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Cadet Nathan Paddock stepped off the train into the bitter cold of a December day in New Hampshire. The weather had been miserable all the way from New York, drizzle and fog were most prevalent. He had hoped to see snow on the ground for Christmas, but it was not to be.

America was at war. In the two weeks since the attack on Pearl Harbor things had settled down somewhat. Initially there had been frantic activity in the nation, people howling for revenge on the perfidious Japanese, but not at West Point, The cadets knew how woefully unprepared the Army was for total war. It would take time to get ready. Time, Paddock wondered, if events would afford.

He wanted to leave the Academy and enlist, a couple of his classmates already had. The upperclassmen urged them to stay, but the perceived need to do something, anything, was strong in the younger cadets.

"I tell ya, Paddock, there's no sense rushing off to get killed. Hell, they might even accelerate the courses here because one thing a bigger army is going to need is officers, lots of officers. Wait, get your education."

Burt Thompson was a "Cow," a second classman at West Point, he was one of his company's sergeants and Paddock looked up to him. He'd asked the upperclassman for advice on staying or enlisting immediately. It had been his advice to talk to his family before committing one way or the other. Christmas break was upon them.

"Don't make any rash decisions, kid."

Paddock heard his name called, he looked up, it was his Uncle Bill.

"Ain't you a pretty picture, Nate. That uniform looks good on you, course, I can't say I like the gray, you kinda look like a Johnny Reb."

Paddock blushed then laughed, Uncle Bill had been a Marine in the Great War, he still limped from the wound he'd received in the Argonne Forest. He was also, like Paddock's father, a keen student of history.

Paddock was enveloped in a bear hug, it felt good to be home.

Paddock saw his Mom's eyes glistening in the light of the family Christmas tree. She was happy to see her only son, but she was sad as well. She knew that her much loved child might have to go to war, and soon.

"You sure you won't have another slice of pie, Nathan?" she asked.

"Ah, no thank you, Mom. If I eat anymore, I think I'll burst."

"Alright now, you go on to the den, I'm sure your Father and Uncle want to hear all about West Point."

Paddock didn't think so, but he went anyway, he wanted the advice of both men.

His father was adamant, "You will, under no circumstances, leave West Point to enlist. Are you out of your mind? The Army is going to need officers, good ones."

Uncle Bill stirred, "Your Dad's right, Nate. If you enlist you'll just be cannon fodder, a rifleman. Stick to the schooling, I knew a couple of West Pointers during the war. Good men, one of 'em didn't come home, the other won himself a bunch of medals, but more importantly, he helped his men survive, got them home in one piece. I'm with your Dad, stay."

Paddock sipped his coffee, it felt strange to be here, at his parent's house, sipping coffee, when a large part of the world was at war. Soon the United States would be sending men out to fight as well. He wanted desperately to be a part of that. But he knew his father and uncle were right. If the Army needed him now, they knew where he was.

And so that was that, he'd stay at West Point.

Leutnant Jürgen von Lüttwitz, took a last sip of the potent beverage Schütze Dessauer had managed to bring all the way from France. It wasn't great cognac, but it was probably the best cognac within ten kilometers of their dugout. He doubted there was any cognac at all in Leningrad, the city they were besieging.

He pulled his blanket tighter around him, though the dugout had a small stove, it didn't take much to be reminded that he was in Russia, hundreds of kilometers from home, at Christmas. He missed his family and hadn't heard from them in a few weeks. Mail delivery could be difficult at the front, he knew that. But nothing? In weeks?

He was more concerned with his men, none of them had received any mail in the same time period. Morale was a fragile thing, people couldn't conceive how much a single letter could raise spirits.

At that moment a figure came through the heavy curtain sealing the entrance to the dugout, "Jürgen, are you here?"

Von Lüttwitz shook the blanket off and stood, "I'm here, Herr Major."

"Bad news, I'm afraid, I couldn't find anything to bring for Christmas."

Von Lüttwitz laughed, "There's some cognac in that canteen," he gestured towards the small table next to the stove, "help yourself."

Major Kurt Hassel grinned, somehow his boys always seemed to manage.

"Prosit!" Hassel offered as he took a swig of cognac.

Von Lüttwitz tipped his empty cup to his battalion commander, "Prosit, Herr Major."

Stephen Hernandez felt totally out of his depth. He was on a crowded train headed, as near as he could tell, east. Had to be east as the land was rolling and there seemed to be nothing for mile after mile. He figured they had to be in Kansas, they certainly hadn't gone west through the Rockies.

The Army had put him and a couple hundred other new recruits on the train, they were off to basic training. Where? He had no idea.

He decided to catch forty winks, one thing a teacher had told him stood out.

"Stephen, when you get to the Army, sleep whenever you get the chance. Trust me, after a while you'll be able to sleep anywhere at any time. Do so, you won't regret it."

As he settled back in his seat, he glanced out the window. There were no lights and nothing to see anyway, just the vast spaces of the Great Plains. He fell asleep wondering where he was going. Wondering if he'd ever see home again.