Updated from 2014: Le Carte es Merde

 

So, there I was....* Retired from the Air Force almost 22 years now. My first non-Air Force job was working in a school district providing IT support after teaching computer science for a couple years. Stayed there for about 20 years (qualified for a second retirement paycheck). Now am retired retired.  During the teaching years we also owned and profitably sold two wine related retail businesses which introduced me to some fine friends, two of whom owned one of the finest wineries in Texas.  In fact their 2006 Syrah was rated as one of 12 Excellent wines in the United States. We enjoy wine, so having friends in the industry has its perks. Unfortunately, since this is a rerun from 12 years ago, some things have changed, Gary, the winemaker in the pictures passed away a year or so ago.  Good Friend and we miss him.
 

Several years ago, the four of us decided fly to France and vacation with two other friends stationed nearby.  For various reasons, November had worked for our busy schedules.  Their harvest was over and the hectic activities in the crush have slowed down.  School had started and we'd gone through a couple of grading cycles so except for the occasional paper jam, most of the teacher technological panic attacks have slowed way down. So, November it is.

Destination--France.  Unlike Sarge, I've never been assigned to Europe and but thanks to a few TDYs, have been able to visit a bit.  Enough to want to go back. Paris, the City of Lights will be our base camp with day trips to various areas of interest around the country.

Vacation has arrived and we have arrived at CDG (AKA Charles de Gaulle Airport), transitioned to the train, then to the subway and have arrived at our hotel near the Ecole Militaire.  Check in was mercifully quick and we head to the elevator to go to our rooms.  The elevator was quaint.  You had a choice.  Either you, or your bags, could use the elevator, not both.  I go up.  Mrs. Juvat loads bags from below, then joins me.  "You Americans! This is not a bug, but a feature!"

Knowing that jet lag is minimized by staying awake until bed time in the new time zone, we go walking about.  

 

Given that this was the view from our hotel room, we decide on where we are going.

We spend the next couple of days exploring Paris with all the usual suspects.

We saw some pretty ladies.

Go to Church.

Drink some wine.

For some reason, this resonates with my twisted sense of humor.

Spend a lot of time consulting maps.

Even ask for directions.  This fellow was helpful.

We did not get lost. I've never been "lost", that position where you don't know where you are, nor how to get where your going, or even how to figure out where you were.  Nope never!

A low level fly by of a ROKAF runway was simply a matter of practicing airfield attack tactics.  Their calls on Guard questioning my identity simply confirm the effectiveness of my tactics.

Gratuitous Airplane Shot
Source RCGroups.com

 

I digress.  We have successfully navigated a very large city.  It is time to expand our horizons.  We decide to visit Reims.  As I said earlier, having wine makers as friends has it's perks.  We are going to get a private tour of Veuve Clicqout

 

Not usually a fan of Champagne, but this was excellent.

I wonder if they'd miss just one.

 

Successfully returned to our hotel, we plan the next day trip,  I'd always heard about the beaches in France, so we decide to visit one.

This beach is named for a town in Nebraska. Big Red One visited here. Quite a few decided to stay.

Returned from that trip, sobered, but emboldened of our navigational abilities, we decide we want to sample wine from the Loire Valley. We take a train to the town of Tours because that's what we want to do.( I know, "try the veal, I'll be here all week.")

Rent a car and drive to Chinon,  a French Castle astride the Vienne River near Anjou.

With drawbridges on either end, the castle has instant moat protection from an attack.  It was interesting, the gardens are beautiful, but it's time to find wine!  The castle gift shop has a map purporting to have all the local wineries on it.  I purchase it and we hop in the car and are off. The ladies are in the back seat and as good back seaters they have assumed the navigational responsibilities.  We get back on the road and they tell me to start looking for a major highway which we will cross.  We find it and do.  A defined starting point.  They tell me to drive for about 10km when we will come to a village.  We do.  "Take a right, 10 km to next village".  "Take a left".  "We should be coming into village named  xxx".  I can't find anything that says what village we're in at all.  Continue on in this manner for a while and finally come into a village on a river.  It's about lunch time, and we spy an Auberge.

We decide we'll stop and get lunch and ask directions while we're there.

We walk in the front door and are greeted, in French, by the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy. He was a busy man.

He speaks no English.  There are several, male patrons in the Auberge, one of whom comes up to us and says "I speak English!". Great,  I ask him if the restaurant is open and could we get lunch.  He says "I speak English! Your wife is sexy!"  Well, I think so, but....Those phrases seems to be his version of my fluency in 22 languages (the ability to order a beer and find a restroom, neither of which I particularly need at this time).

I pantomime an eating gesture and the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy takes us to a table.  A couple of minutes later, he brings out a terrine of something and cuts off a slice, placing it on my plate.  Points at it and pantomimes eating.  Now, I've eaten balut and lived to tell about it, I'm not intimidated.  I cut a piece of what is probably the innards of some long dead animal and commence to chow down.  The bar erupts in cheers and clapping.  Having passed whatever test was presented to us, we are now old friends,  Wine is poured, food is served and lunch goes on for quite a while.  At some time, I approach my new friend, (the all in one Maitre D'...) with my map and explain our situation.  With the wine consumed at lunch, my friend's English and my French are improving rapidly, or maybe it was the pointing at the map and scrunching my shoulders while lifting my hands.  In any case, We've communicated and he starts unfolding the map from where I had opened it to our supposed location. And unfolds, and unfolds, and unfolds.  Evidently, we are about 30 miles from where we thought we were.

I point to where we think we are, and he shakes his head and points at the location on the map.  I look at him quizzically and he responds "Le Carte es Merde!" (Google translate does a reasonable job on the statement.) 

I point to one of the bottles of wine we'd consumed and then pointed at the map with my patented "Where the hell are we?" gesture, and he points out where the winery is and the route necessary to arrive there.  We pay our bill, thank him profusely and get back in the car. Crank it up and promptly turn the wrong way.

I don't get very far when I realize my error and turn around.  Drive past the Auberge and the clientele is outside, bent over in laughter!

My friend the English speaker on the right

We manage to find the winery and taste some very fine Vouvray.

I am certain that should we find our way back to that Auberge, they will still be talking about the Americans that came to visit.

 

We had a great time, visited quite a few places I wanted to visit, drank some excellent wine and made a few friends.  In other words, an excellent vacation.  I highly recommend it.

 

Peace out, y'all! 

 

*Standard Fighter Pilot beginning to a story which may or may not be completely true! 

Updated from 2014, "Last Guy on Base"

 One of my favorite tales, and Sarge needed a break. 

So.  There I was…..*  It is the day before the start of an ORI (operational readiness inspection).  This event would serve as the wing and squadron commander’s report card as well as determine any future assignments/promotions in the USAF for them, ergo no pressure. 

Maintenance will begin generating the deploying aircraft first thing in the morning and as they are available, the squadron will deploy its 24 F-15Cs to Kwang Ju AB ROK.  The other squadrons are doing the same thing, although, they will only deploy to the Navy side of the base, a cost saving measure.  I prefer the deployment option, less distractions.

 On my last practice ride before the fun begins, I am flying an F-15C in a fuel conserving orbit somewhere in the low 30s with a mission to “protect” Okinawa from overflight by a Mig-25 that will supposedly make a run at the island. For this mission, the role of the Mig will be played by an SR-71 (nicknamed Habu, a venomous snake found in the orient.)

 

Habu (Source)

 

  Being based at Kadena, the SR-71 has to slow down and descend in order to land.  While doing that, they pass through the parameters a Mig-25 would fly on an operational mission in Korea.  The Habu Bubbas call it their “low, slow” profile.

  

Yeah, Yeah…..

 

Brian Shul* in flight
Source: en.wikipedia.org

An operational F-15 tops out in level flight at about 55K (centerline bag configuration, don’t know what it would be for the current two wing tank config). The SR-71 will be in the low to mid 70’s and in the high Mach 2’s. This mission’s success is a matter of arriving at a specific point in space at a specific climb angle with a specific energy state.  A lot can go wrong and has, but a missed intercept on an ORI is bad juju.

 

Source: www.flickr.com

As I was remembering details about this and researching, I came upon this article which talks about the maneuver I’m going to perform.  It is called the Rutowski climb profile and is all about energy management.  If you’re into complex math, go read the article.  Some of you will undoubtedly be able to figure out the equations.  Fortunately, there was a diagram I basically remembered.

Source

I’m orbiting at Position C on the diagram.  Once GCI determines the target is inbound and reaches commit range, I will begin flying the rest of the profile (C-E), trying to arrive at E with my nose about 45 degrees up, still above the Mach, at launch range and about 45K’.  If I meet those parameters, I will have enough nose authority to keep the target illuminated for the time of flight of the missile(s).  There will be 4 in flight.

 

This is actually an ASAT test launch, but the parameters are basically the same.
Source: commons.wikimedia.org

Since the SR-71 is travelling at about 1NM every 2 seconds, there is no time for error.  

 

Source en.wikipedia.org

Commit range is about 250nm.  I will turn hot at 350NM. Once I’m pointed at him, I will begin accelerating in Mil Power while beginning a slight climb to gain as much total energy as I can prior to commit. (Total energy is airspeed and altitude.)  At 250NM, I will go Max AB and begin a zero g dive.  This eliminates the drag caused by the aircraft’s lift and maximizes the velocity I can achieve, while minimizing the altitude (potential energy) loss.  At 150NM, I begin a 4 g pull to a 45 degree climb and maintain that throughout the remainder of the intercept.  Oh, and by the way, the F-15’s radar only goes out to 200NM, so while in the midst of this maneuver, I have to locate the target and lock on.  GCI’s radar sweep is too slow to control the intercept.  The closure rate will cause them to tell me to pull too late for a successful intercept.

As I said, there’s a lot going on and no room for error.

I get the call to turn hot, and am now on the attack vector, I’m just under the Mach and in my slight climb around 35K.  I get the commit call, light AB and push over.  I’ve got the radar run out to max range and get the first contact there.  I get the lock on and, Mother Bear, this guy’s fast!  By the time the radar is settled in, he’s about 180.  I’m well above the Mach and down to around 27K.  150NM and pull.  45 degrees set, through 30K, 35K.  Everything looks steady, target is steady in the HUD (a good sign, if he was moving up the HUD, that would mean I was behind on the intercept). 

Coming through 40K, I suddenly feel as if a large nail has been shot through my jaw and into my skull.  The pain is blinding and getting worse!  I roll the aircraft what I think is about 180 degrees and begin a pull to get the nose coming back down.  I recognize the symptoms from altitude chamber training in Pilot Training.  I've either got air trapped in a sinus or a tooth.  In either case, I’ve got to get the aircraft down below the altitude the incident occurred as quickly as possible.

As soon as I get below 40K, it’s as if someone flips a switch, the pain switches from incapacitatingly sharp to dull residual.  I call “Knock it off” to GCI and the SR-71 and tell them I’m RTB.  As I continue to descend, the pain continues to abate, so I come down initial and land.  Get back in the squadron and find the Flight Surgeon.  He runs me through an X-ray, nothing wrong with my sinuses, so sends me off to the Dentist.  I've got a cracked filling on one of my molars.  No problem.  Drill it out and replace it.

Later that evening, I get a call at home from the Dentist.  “I’m not sure I got all the air out.  We should probably try an Altitude Chamber ride first thing in the morning.”  Well, there went my deploying in an Eagle!  Oh, and by the way, I’ll know if he didn't get it all with a repeat of this morning’s episode.  

 

Source: commons.wikimedia.org

I’m in the altitude chamber, watching the altimeter climb.  Just me and the technician in the box.  35K, 38K, 39K, 40K, 41K, maybe……42K BAM!  Holy Crap this hurts!  I don’t even have to say anything; the tech can see it in my eyes.  We start back down. 

To his credit, and mortal risk, the Dentist is waiting at the chamber door when it opens.  I ask him what’s next and he says root canal.  Perfect!  Can this day get any better?  I call the squadron and tell them I’m not going to be flying an Eagle up and what are the Airlift departure times?  They tell me they’re all today.  I ask the Dentist when he’ll be done with the root canal.  I can’t fly in anything, until tomorrow morning. 

 

 

Coulda been this, instead....
Source: en.wikipedia.org

I get this.
Source:commons.wikimedia.org

Now, what?  I ask the squadron to find anything going to Korea tomorrow, and then go have my root canal.

I find out there’s a C-130 leaving for Kunsan first thing in the morning and I make arrangements to be on it.  

Wake up the next morning with the command post calling asking me to swing by the squadron to grab the mission planning computer that had somehow been left behind.  So, I’ve got my A-3 bag with my gear, and I’m going to carry a late 80s era CPU?  That would be ok, if I were getting off the 130 at Kwang Ju, but I have to take a taxi from Kunsan to the bus terminal, get on a bus to Kwang Ju. (Google Maps shows that to be 5 hour plus today, the roads weren’t as good back then).   Hail another cab to the airbase and then flag someone down to catch a ride to the squadron.

I drive by the squadron, and the entire building is empty.  Nobody around at all.  My squadron is in Korea, the other squadrons are on the other side of the base.  I am the last man standing.  I grab the CPU and depart for the MAC terminal and get on the 130.

I make it to the Kunsan bus terminal, (in flight suit), get my ticket to Kwang Ju and actually find the right bus.  I’m struggling a bit trying to get all the stuff going in the right direction, when a ROK Army Enlisted guy takes pity on me, comes up and offers to help.  I ask him to carry my gear. (The computer is No Forn**.)  He does and on arrival at Kwang Ju, hails the cab and tells them where I need to go.  (My ability to order a beer and find a bathroom in Korean being of no use to me at this point.)

I arrive at the front gate, the SPs let me in and call the squadron.  The bread truck arrives and I load all the stuff on board and am climbing in, when the siren goes off.

  

Airfield attack, condition black!  Welcome to the ORI, Juvat! 

 

* I knew Brian as a member of my squadron at Holloman.  A good guy, excellent pilot and an exceptional instrutor.  Received an assignment to the SR-71 after Holloman.  He passed away in 2023.   

 

** NoForn- Not to be used nor inspected by any foreign nationals, friendly or (especially) not. 

Time Flies

OAFS Photo¹

When I heard that the Reverend Jesse Jackson had passed away. I noted that he had been born in 1941, my first thought being, "Wow, he wasn't that old." Then I saw the report mentioned that he was 84 years old. So he had lived a good, long life.

I don't think of the 1940s as being all that long ago, probably because I spend a lot of time reading about World War II, which ended eight years before I was born. (VE day was exactly eight years before my birth.)

After all, I'm pushing 73, which doesn't, from my perspective, feel all that old. Though my knees and back are probably figuratively "rolling their eyes" at that statement. My brain is still pretty young-thinking, my body usually does feel its age. Especially after rough-housing with my grandsons Roberto and Finnegan.

Time flies, neh?

I had the thought that I had retired from the Air Force some 25 years ago ...

Nope, it's 27 years ago as of May. I retired from Raytheon 14 months ago, and I spent 25 years there.

Robert Duvall, one of my favorite actors, passed away this week as well. That one hit close to home as he was younger than my mother! I'd like to say that Mom is still going strong as she heads towards 96, but she's not. Not really. She's forgetful as hell, can't hear to save her life and is far too stubborn to consent to having us get her hearing aids. She gets by, day to day.

Getting old ain't for sissies.

Brad Arnold of Three Doors Down died back on the 7th of February. While not a huge fan of their music (I only own one album, and that's a greatest hits album) I did enjoy their music, and their energy.

I love that band for the simple fact of this video ...

I need to get more of their music.

Life comes at you fast, enjoy it while you can.

Peace.

¹ F/A-18F clock given to me by LUSH. Time, in this case, does seem to fly literally.

Old Times, Good Times

Family Photo

That's Your Humble Scribe on the left in the photo, striking some odd pose as is my wont. Behind me is my oldest kid brother The Olde Vermonter, he's the one who posted this old (circa mid-60s) photo on the Book of Faces. Moving further to the right there is my maternal grandfather (technically step-grandfather but we didn't view it that way, then my Dad. In front of him are milk cans which Gramp used to collect maple sap, which was then boiled down to make maple syrup. Behind the grown-ups is the sugar house, where all the boiling of sap took place.

Scurrying about in their usual excited frenzy at having us boys visit can be seen Bimmy, part beagle, part bird (more on that in a bit) and traveling out of the picture is Tippy, just his hindquarters and tail made the photo. Tippy was mostly collie, probably other breeds mixed in there, but he looked mostly collie.

It's been over fifty years since I've seen those dogs and I miss them still. They were loyal, affectionate, and terrors to the local woodchuck population. Gramp didn't like woodchucks for the damage they'd cause to Gram's garden so he was an active participant in culling the woodchuck population.

That aside, those two dogs would go crazy when our car would pull up to the farmhouse. They would dash back and forth barely standing still long enough to get petted, yipping in excitement, their happiness showing plainly on the canine faces. Eventually my Mom would tell us to separate ourselves from Tippy and Bimmy and go say hello to our grandparents.

Now I refer to Bimmy as being "part bird" for the simple fact that when he ran, his ears flapped up and down. Pretty standard for a floppy eared dog, I know. But when we'd ride the tractor up to the pasture, Tippy and Bimmy would run behind, Bimmy's ears going up and down for all the world like he was trying to get airborne. So "part beagle, part bird."

Those dogs were devoted to my grandparents and to my Uncle Hank, gram's brother, who also lived on the farm. But one day Gramp told us that the dogs loved us kids above all others. To demonstrate he took us all outside.

He pretended to start coming after us, as if to hit us, and quick as you like, Tippy and Bimmy placed themselves between us and him, snarling, prepared to attack if anyone dared to lay hands on us, including the man they spent a lot of their lives with, day in, day out.

As I get older, I remember times like those more and more. I can remember the smell of the smoke from the sap being boiled, the wood waiting to go into the fire, the mud, the snow. The spring sunshine just starting to make the days a little more pleasant after a long winter.

I remember my grandfather, not a man to express his feelings with words, more by deeds. My Dad, always trying to teach us boys not to be idiots, he had his work cut out for him with me! Mom and Gram in the kitchen cooking and/or baking something.

I remember those two dogs every day. The love they had for us, their excellent companionship and especially their energy. I miss them.

A lot.

A house is not a home*

 

Another repost from 2017, brought back quite a few memories, virtually all good.  So...Here we go. 

A few years ago, El Viejo Sargento de la Fuerza Aérea wrote a tome which posed a question "Home is?" and contained some excellent points and even better commentary.  Both of which are usually the case. That article prompted this one a few years ago, and it triggered some fond memories.  Since we're covering for Sarge and Family's vacation, I thought I'd republish it.

Two of  the points Sarge brought up stuck with me and caused me to think.  (I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again,  that's always dangerous!)

The first point was a Home is not a building.  The second was, to paraphrase, "you can't go home again".  Meaning returning to the site of a previous dwelling rarely provides a return to your memories.  

I view a house in Fighter Pilot terms (of course) as a Rendezvous Point where the crew debriefs the day's mission, refuels, performs maintenance, reloads and rests for the next days mission.  

The dwelling is important to the extent it facilitates those responsibilities, only.

That having been said, it also serves as a focal point for any memories one has of that point in their life.

Fortunately in this day and age, it's not difficult to revisit old homesteads.  It's even easier if you remember the address.  Type it into that creepy (and getting creepier) search engine and off you go, delivered within seconds to your old front door.

So, that's how I spent the day yesterday (Well… a few years ago!)

My parents bought this house soon after they got married, so this is the first place I ever lived.  We lived here, in Novato CA, for a couple of years while Dad was flying F-86s at Hamilton AFB.  I don't remember anything from that particular stay, but we did return when I was in 3rd grade and Dad was on a remote to Thule Greenland.  They had bought the house for $5K in 1954 and sold it in 1963 for about $20K thinking they were richer than Croesus.  I'm sure it's valued at way more than that now.  The two  memories I have of this house were of my favorite Aunt babysitting us while Mom and Dad went off for a few days to get "reacquainted" on an R&R from Thule.  That memory involves TV Dinners, learning the principle of a lever by forcefully pushing my sister's elbow down while she was bringing a spoon full of cream corn towards her mouth.  This taught me a few things, a bit of physics, cream corn makes a mess, and my Aunt knew some pretty salty language.  The other memory was of November 22, 1963.

After the first tour in Novato, Dad was transferred to Naha AFB on Okinawa, followed by assignments to Radar Stations in Montana and North Dakota.  The only recollections I have of these homes were cutting my knee falling off a bike (the scar on my knee is a reminder), and sledding off the roof of our quonset hut house and down the snowdrift beside it. Since the sled was actually my snowsuit, and Mom had thrown the dry ice that the meat had been shipped in out in the yard. I learned the cohesiveness of dry ice when it comes in contact with the backside of a snow suit. I also learned how cold your backside gets and how long it takes to get back into the house. I’ve never forgotten that lesson. Unfortunately (?), neither site is still in existence.  

After those tours, Dad went to Thule, and we went back to Novato to be closer to Mom's family.

Returning from Thule, Dad wanted to become an astronaut, so went to the University of Oklahoma to get a Civil Engineering Degree.  

They purchased this house which was way out in the country.  I was entering Kindergarten and my recollections of this home were of a large Bull on the other side of our back fence which my mother counselled me not to cross and sitting in our swimming pool (the plastic ones for kiddies you can still buy at Wally World) and having Mom bring me some Kool-Aid.  

The house isn't way out in the country any more.

Degree in hand, Dad was assigned to Ent AFB, Colorado Springs, still working Air Defense Warning stuff.  They bought a house on the western outskirts of the town, almost to Manitou Springs.  There were but maybe a dozen houses in the development at the time.  Being a little older now, I have bit more memories of the place.

I remember mowing that lawn and I remember Dad and I planting that tree.  Sometimes, you can go home again.  I also remember the view out the living room window (top window to the right of the front door.

Pikes Peak was usually covered in snow.  I blame Al Gore.

Following that assignment and with Vietnam heating up, the Air Force needed pilots again (still?) and Dad was released from Durance Vile and returned to flying.  His assignment was as a T-38 IP at Webb AFB Big Spring Texas.

I was starting 6th grade, I would graduate from High School on this move. The house below was one of only 2 duplexes and one single on Webb during WWII.  At that time, the single was the Wing Commander's, the two duplexes (4 abodes) were the other O-6's running the base.  When we got there they were 5 O-3’s (with large families) in them.  A whole housing area was built when the Vietnam War dictated the need for more Fighter Pilots. Unfortunately we were not assigned to them. But… the advantage was the youth center was about 50 yards behind our house. That was a very big attraction for the youths of the base. However, this was the late 60's, yes, they were old and a bit run down and we survived there for 4+ years.

This picture was taken in 2023 not much different in the ensuing 50 years

Again, you can't go home again.  Webb was closed down in the post Vietnam Drawdown and between that and the fuel crisis, Big Spring went into an economic depression.  The base is now home to several correctional institutions and base housing is used to provide quarters for prisoner's families.  Hence, the very run down picture above.

I've been told that while the economy has improved in the last few years, the town is still a difficult place to live.  That having been said, this house definitely fit my definition of a home.  The road the picture vehicle is traveling on (below) is the site of the most effective demonstration on Newton's Laws of Motion ever bestowed on man (or boy).

Additionally, one Christmas, I received a Daisy BB gun.  No red ant was safe after that!

My Buddy and My "fort" is just to the right of the dark phone pole in the cedars.  We spent a lot of time out there.  I wonder if my secret stash of Mr. Hefner's magazine are still out there?

Left Big Spring after HS graduation and went to Lubbock to get some edumacation, then UPT in Del Rio, LIFT at Holloman and F-4 RTU at Luke.  Nothing really homelike about any of them.  Lots of friends, but no family.

Same with Kunsan. Lots of Friends, but no family.

Arrived at Moody AFB, Valdosta by the swamp, GA, and the day I arrived I met the woman I eventually married.  

No, the fence was not there at the time.

 

 

 

 

 

For a lot of reasons, NONE of which I'm going to share, this was very much a Home to me.  It also was where I received my introduction to the evil that is Fire Ants.  Bastiges!

Following a very nice assignment with almost (but not quite) as much flying as I could stand, we received orders to Holloman as a LIFT IP.

At this point, Mrs Juvat and I went eyeball deep and purchased our first house.

The overhead view of the courtyard reveals the brick patio as well as the center fountain, Mrs Juvat and I installed ourselves.  The back patio provided an excellent and, at the time, unobstructed view of the mountains.  Now,  not so much.  Housing stretches to the base of the mountains.  

This assignment was followed by my tour in the Eagle.  Lots of memories there, but only one about our house.

Returned from there, to Leavenworth KS where I received (wait for it...) ARRRRMMMMMMEEEEE Training, Sir!  Lot's of memories there, mostly of getting "reaquainted" with my wife (who'd stayed at Kadena for a year) and getting to know my now 1 year old daughter.  My son and I were both glad to have them....Home!

Apparently, there hasn't been a pig roast there in 25 years. I find that odd, we did it regularly. Made us pretty popular with our neighbors though.

We followed that assignment with a tour in Hawaii.  Lots of memories of that home on Hickam AFB.  Sailing and the Hale Koa, feature prominently in most, although Waimea Canyon is a fond family memory.  May have to share that one, sometime.

But, all good things must end, and one must pay one's dues, as the next and last assignment was to the Northern Virginia Penitentiary for Wayward Fighter Pilots.  Not a lot of good memories related to the assignment, but we do have some good memories of family time together.  Having my son instruct me on a Scout Camping Trip on the proper setting up of a tent in the dark, in the rain, features prominently.

Add caption

This was the second home Mrs Juvat and I bought,  comparatively quiet, yet within a reasonable commute time (if you could take the HOV lane). It had a pretty steep hill down the back which was a pain to mow, but fun to sled down, as long as you remembered to bail out before reaching the fence.  Similarly, the road slopped down to the home, with was fine until it iced over.  Fortunately, we were on the side of the cul-de-sac, rather than in the house immediately to the left of this location.  Snow plow ended up in his living room one icy morning.

Which brings us to our final transfer, the one out of the Air Force and into civilian life.  Not having a job when we arrived in Texas, we decided on a rental at first.

Secluded and quiet, it was a nice place to decompress after leaving the Pentagon.  We affectionately refer to it as "Scorpion Manor".  Seems it had been vacant for quite a few months before our arrival.  The light area in the upper left of the photo is a rock pile.  We made our first acquaintance with the denizens of that rock pile the first Saturday we occupied the place.  Saw them almost daily thereafter.  

Yes, their sting stings! No, they won't kill you (unless you're allergic to bee stings).  However, after a while, Mrs Juvat said "enough".  So it is written, so it shall be.

Lots of good memories here in this Home, and hopefully, soon we'll be constructing a new house that we can also turn into a home.  (Site will be in the vicinity of the loop next to the barn on the far left side of the photo.)

 And, as of now, this is our current abode, the dark spot in the top left.  Lived on that property for nearly 26 years. Lived in this house for 5.  Looking to sell and move to College Station to be with Family and that will be that in the moving requirement of living.

 

Peace out y'all! 

 

* To prevent the copyright Nazis from griping, this post's title is also the title of a Dionne Warwick song as well as the movie for which it was written. Neither or which have any bearing on this post.