While this trip was not in the schedule, it is happening nonetheless. I don't mind, I do rather like Alexandria (no, not the one in Egypt) but I had planned to spend Mother's Day with, ya know, my Mom.
But other duties called and like a good soldier, I answered the call. It's what I do.
So as you're reading this I am probably in the air, somewhere over the eastern seaboard of these United States heading for an airport named for one of my favorite Presidents. I will be spending some time in a city named for another of my favorite Presidents.
While I don't get to see my mother this Mother's Day, I do get to see The Nuke on my birthday. Just like last year. Difference being, there is no massive WWII aircraft flyover this year.
Well, that's alright. I hear those things are expensive.
Posting might be light, then again it might not be. One never knows with these things.
As to plans, Robbie Burns said it best...
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!
(Seventh verse of To a Mouse by Robert Burns - Source)
1815 painting of the Battle of New Orleans by Jean Hyacinthe de Laclotte of the Louisiana Militia based on his memories of the battle and sketches he made on the field. (Source)
Well, seeing as how Old Hickory will be coming off the twenty dollar bill in the not too distant future and seeing as how a certain song got stuck in my mind from way back in the day, I figured I'd give a tip of the hat to old General Jackson and the fellows who defeated the red coats back in 1815.
The Battle of New Orleans was an engagement fought between January 8 and January 18, 1815, constituting the final major and most one-sided battle of the War of 1812. American combatants, commanded by Major General Andrew Jackson, prevented the British Army, Royal Marines and a large Royal Navy fleet, commanded by Admiral Alexander Cochrane and General Edward Pakenham, from seizing New Orleans as a strategic tool to end the war. The Treaty of Ghent was signed on December 24, 1814 (but was not ratified by the US Government until February 1815), and hostilities would continue without the involved parties knowing about the Treaty, until January 18 when all of the British forces had retreated, finally putting an end to the Battle of New Orleans. W
Many of those British troops engaged in the Battle of New Orleans were veterans of the Peninsular War in which Sir Arthur Wellesley (better known as the Duke of Wellington) defeated the French in a long bloody struggle lasting from 1808 to 1813. The Duke would miss those veterans in June of 1815 when he faced a certain French Emperor on the rolling terrain south of Brussels. General Pakenham, a cavalryman and the Duke of Wellington's brother-in-law (his sister was the Duke's wife), was also a Peninsular veteran and saw a lot of combat against the French. He was killed in action at the Battle of New Orleans. Along with 284 of his men. American casualties were 13 killed, 30 wounded, 19 missing for a total of 62 casualties. The British lost 285 killed, 1,265 wounded, 484 captured for a total of 2,034 casualties. Now I'll admit to being a fan of Andrew Jackson, especially based on a story we were taught in grade school (back when one could be proud of our history).
I remember that picture from one of my school books. Heavens-to-Betsy but such a sight would no doubt set the hearts of today's snowflakes all aflutter, sending them off to seek a "safe place." No, not the grade school kids, heck, they'd get a kick out of it. Nope, I'm talking about college students.
During the Revolutionary War, 14 year old Andrew Jackson and his older brother Robert were captured by British soldiers in the Battle of Hanging Rock. The officer in command ordered Jackson to clean his boots. Jackson refused. The officer raised his sword to strike a violent blow at the boy's head. Jackson ducked and threw up his left hand. "It was cut to the bone, and a gash on his head left a white scar that Andrew Jackson carried through a long life that profited little to England or any Englishman." (Source)
Now that song I was talking about, loved it as a kid and still do. They just don't make them like this anymore. (From the Ed Sullivan Show in 1959. I may have actually watched it live, my parents were big fans of the show. Big fans.)
Oh yes, apologies to all my British friends. It was a long time ago and I'm sure y'all fell back in good order. (Tsk, tsk, Tommy Atkins runs from no man.)
I will miss the General glaring at me from the 20, but I've seen the photo of Ms. Tubman they plan to replace Old Hickory with. I wouldn't want to piss her off either.
General Andrew Jackson stands on the parapet of his makeshift defenses as his troops repulse attacking Highlanders, as imagined incorrectly by painter Edward Percy Moran in 1910. (Source) My sources indicate that the Highlanders were clad in trousers that day.
It seems that our choices for the Presidential election have been "decided." I put that in quotes because nothing is "official" yet. (Again, in quotes as I assume that the puppet masters haven't really decided who they want yet. Yes, I am getting that cynical.) Some have bemoaned Trump's presumptive nomination to be the Republican Party's death knell. Nope, sorry, that was sounded some time ago. Think John McCain, think Mitt Romney, think John Boehner. The GOP came down with a deadly illness in this century and I don't think it will recover. The Democrats apparently have decided to be a progressive, socialist party now. I know, I know, an argument can be made for that having been true for a long, long time. I don't know, I don't consider myself to be an expert on politics. Perhaps I am simply becoming ever cynical as I get older. I fear the type of world my grandchildren may have to face when they come of age. A guy I have a great deal of respect for has made a pretty good case for Trump. The DiploMad has seen Shrillary and her flying monkeys up close and personal in his days at the State Department. She is no alternative at all. As to "the Donald," read a few of Lewis' recent posts starting here. He makes the man sound almost tolerable. Judge for yourself. As to Shrillary, I am reminded of a quote attributed to Sir Winston Churchill...
"If Hitler invaded Hell I would make at least a favourable reference to the devil in the House of Commons."
No, I'm not equating Shrillary to Hitler, though my distaste for that "lady" is close. As to Trump being the devil? I just don't know. I do know that if Shrillary (or through some twisted circumstance Comrade Bernie if he manages to overcome the odds) is one choice, I shall make the other. I may be holding my nose while doing so, but a vote for an independent or (Heaven forfend, no vote at all) puts one squarely in the camp of the Shrillary and her flying monkeys. Make a difference this Fall, though once again we here in these United States get to vote for the lesser of two evils. And remember what Captain Aubrey had to say on that subject...
A full size 'replica' of HM Bark Endeavour at Castlegate Quay in Stockton-on-Tees. (Source)
Apparently James Cook's ship Endeavour, in which he made his first voyage of discovery to Australia, has been found in the waters off Little Rhody. She was scuttled in 1778 during the Revolution along with a number of other ships to prevent access to Newport Harbor. I will be following this tale with a great deal of interest. The Daily Mail has an interesting article on the old ship here. She started life in 1764 as the civilian ship Earl of Pembroke and was later acquired by the Royal Navy and renamed Endeavor in 1768. She went back into civilian service in 1775 but was re-acquired by the Royal Navy for use as a troopship with yet another name, Lord Sandwich. (I always heard it was bad luck to rename a ship. What do I know? I was in the Air Force.) Eventually she ended her days, as many ships do, at the bottom of the sea. It will be interesting to see what they plan to do with her as she was a well traveled, historical ship.
That's all I've got today, I am under the weather both mentally and physically. But this too shall pass...
Nürnberger Rostbratwürste mit Sauerkraut(Eviyani Lubis Photo - Source)
No, this has not become a food blog. (No doubt that term is probably copyrighted by someone, I suppose one can string any random words together, capitalize the first letter of each word and BANG, somebody has probably copyrighted that. So I just wrote it as "a food blog." It's just plain English people. Move along, nothing to see here...)
Ahem, just thought I'd share that...
Anyhoo. Nope, not a food blog, pay no attention to the title or the opening photo, that's purely coincidence. Actually it's not coincidence but after Juvat's post yesterday I don't think I will ever eat again. Ever. Or for at least an hour after reading our junior co-blogger's latest post. (He's junior because he joined up after Tuna. Hell, in real life Juvat outranks both Tuna and I. But here, I'm the bull goose loony in charge. At least as long as The Missus Herself lets me...) Now where was I? Oh yeah, I'm not really here to talk about food today. Though I could talk about food for hours. I mean, anyone who has seen me would guess that I like my victuals. I am in no immediate danger of starving and... What's that? What about Juvat's post? Oh, you actually watched that video? Dear Lord, what is wrong with you? Didn't you read the preceding text? I mean what do you need, a great big sign that says
WARNING!
No, that wouldn't work? Ah, well. Actually I really thought about taking that video out and inserting a link to it. But the heavy hand of censorship has no place between colleagues. At least it shouldn't. Even if I am the bull goose loony in charge. Besides which I know there are those of you who would chase the link and perhaps accidentally blunder into that video. I thought it best to leave it in place. Even though I find myself quickly scrolling past it so I don't look. I mean, I've been in the Philippines and... No, I didn't try it. Never will, they can't print enough money to get me to try that. Yuck. No, no thank you. With that being said, I have been overseas and have partaken of the local cuisine in exotic and foreign places. I will not be covering that today. There are no videos of tentacles in sauce or... Sorry. Anyhoo. As to the title of the post and the corresponding photo. In German, "it's about the sausage" translates literally to "es geht um die Wurst." But no, it doesn't mean that at all to a German. In German that is a figure of speech for "it's now or never," or "it's crunch time." No really, you can read about that here. What, did you think I just made that up? Anyhoo. Language is something I enjoy almost as much as food. I have fancied myself as a bit of a linguist over the years, I can speak a smattering of a number of different languages. Usually I pick up enough to get a beer and get my face slapped. Don't ask. It's not a pretty story. Anyhoo. (I'm throwing a lot of diversions in here today so I can claim to be a diverse blog. Yes, I know that's not what it means.*) By the way, refrain from being clever in the comments with the content of the preceding paragraph. While I don't censor my colleagues here at The Chant I have been known to delete offensive comments. Except if Joe calls me a big stupid head. I'll allow that. Respect for one's elders, etc. etc. As to language, Peter of The Bayou Renaissance Man had an excellent post about language the other day. I learned some things I did. Like why they talk "funny" in old movies. But the coolest bit was about Appalachian dialects. You should go read that, now. Yes, we're done here. See you mañana. (Do I like bratwurst and sauerkraut? Of course I do. Like you had to ask...)
* Apparently I really don't know what that means. Have you ever had one of those days where you use a word thinking it's another word only to wake up the next day and wonder just what the Hell you were thinking? Yeah, that was me, yesterday. Why on earth did I confuse digress and divert? Who knows? I sure as heck don't. But I digress...
I've just finished reading "War for the Hell of it: A Fighter Pilot's view of Vietnam" by Ed Cobleigh. By virtue of being born in 1955, I missed participating in the festivities in South East Asia, so have no firsthand knowledge of its accuracy. However, getting my wings and fighter in the first few years after the war was over, and, since anyone with more than a couple of hundred hours fighter time than I, (meaning anyone wearing more than one silver bar) had flown in the war. Interacting with and learning from them, I'd say the author is the "real deal" and had been there, done that. In short, I thought the book was well worth reading. Poignant at times, downright insightful at others and told with a dry sense of humor throughout. It was very enjoyable. (No, I don't know Ed Cobleigh, although if he was using a nom de plume, I can think of several persons who might fit the bill.)
In any case, at one point in the story, he tells of going to Bangkok for some R and R, and decides to eat in a Thai restaurant. He decides to order a dish called "Thai pepper beef salad". Now, those of you that already know where this is headed, "Hush up". Much like Capt. Cobleigh, those that don't know will learn in their own good time.
"In what seems like no time at all the salad arrives on an oblong platter. The white china platter holds a bed of lettuce hosting a sprinkling of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers and strips of thin-sliced, rare roast beef. The salad is moistened with a clear dressing and garnished with bits of red, yellow, and green peppers. I can't wait to dig in.
The pretty teenaged waitress sets the salad and tea down, then asks in broken English, "You like?"
I reply that it looks very good, but she doesn't walk away as I expect. "
(Insert short jump in the narrative to skip over some narrative that won't fit with a family type blog. The young Captain has been cooped up away from female company with fighter pilots and flying combat for about a year. If you get my drift.... Back to the narrative.)
"The first forkful of salad tells me I have made a serious, perhaps fatal, mistake. What did they use for dressing on this salad, Napalm? This stuff is like eating a green veggie welding torch. The tender parts of my mouth are being cauterized, my tongue is melting. I am dying of chili overload. I have never eaten anything this hot in my entire life. I choke down the first bite and grab a gulp of cold ice tea. The tea affects the flame in my mouth like pissing on an oil well fire. In my agony, I steal a look at the waitress still hovering nearby.
She smiles and repeats, "You like?"
I manage to gasp, "Yes it's very good."I take another bite and things only get worse. My vision is going blurry. I am breaking out in a fever, my upper lip is dripping with sweat and curling with pain. I can feel my heart pounding in protest to the abuse I'm shoving down my throat. Passing out is not out of the question. Another swig of tea helps a wee bit, enough for me to notice that the slinky hostess has joined my pert waitress to enjoy the show of a farang dying a fiery death by Thai Salad.
Discretion dictates that I give up this spicy torture and order something else, perhaps a quart of green tea ice cream and yes, there is such a dish. But I am not going to give up that easily with the flowers of Bangkok womanhood watching. I force an anguished smile and press on eating as another dark-haired girl joins the gallery."
...He finishes the salad....
"My waitress reaches for the implements of torture and asks once again, "You like?"
All I can do is nod affirmatively. It is a bold-faced, or rather a red-faced lie.
She smiles and goes on, "I never see American man eat this before."
That is really comforting, If I could talk, I'd thank her.
She finds one lone bit of red chili left on the empty platter and points to it. "Not even Thai eat that!"
It's a good thing I was reading that passage on my iPad (they just work!), as I had just taken a swallow of Rum and it was forcibly ejected through my nose. The case managed to protect it. But..... I identified with him, knowing exactly what he was going through and why, even recognizing his thoughts. That could have been me! I have previously related a story of Bones and I being thrown to the wolves invited to a high level party with local Korean dignitaries in conjunction with the Team Spirit exercise in which my squadron was participating. A great and wide variety of Korean delicacies were consumed (as well as a VERY large quantity of Johnny Walker). Much face would have been lost if Bones or I had declined a taste. My good friend Mr Walker quickly provided the courage to try them all. To be truthful, from what I remember of the evening (not an awful lot), the food was excellent. That was not always the case. There was the time the Juvats were deployed to Cope Thunder. Opposition aircraft were provided by the Philippine Air Force. The Mid Exercise Friday night involved a get together with our Filipino comrades. They provided the food, we provided the beer. As myself and another member of the Juvats (let's call him Al) were the youngest, we were selected as the "tasters".
All was proceeding well, as courses were served and beers consumed. After several rounds, the waitresses bring a platter full of eggs. I'm a little wary, as the first Friday night at Kunsan, I'd been given a beer and a raw egg and told to eat it, shell and all. I managed somehow to get that down and, more importantly, keep it down. Hoping to not repeat that experience, I hoped these were hard boiled eggs. I asked the waitress, "What is this?" To which she replied, "Balut!" I ask my Filipino counterpart, "What's Balut and how do you eat it?" He mumbles something and taps on the top of the egg shell, peels off a portion of the shell, tilts it up to his mouth and swallows the contents. I take a few swallows of Beer, (Ok, I drained it and asked for another), tapped on the egg, peeled off some shell tilted it to my mouth and swallowed the content. Fermented, fertilized Duck Embryo is the most awful tasting thing on earth! OMG!
Not got anything to do with Balut, but thought it was a cool picture Source
But the honor of the Juvats was intact, although any other memories of the evening were chemically expunged shortly there after.
After transitioning to the F-15 and returning to the Far East, I had the opportunity to lead a contingent of Pilots, Jets and Maintenance personnel to Chitose AB on the Island of Hokkaido. The objective was to determine if a USAF F-15 Squadron could operate from a Japanese Air Self Defence Force (JASDF) F-15 base with a minimal American presence.
Dragons are cooler than flowers when painted on a Fighter Source
So, we deployed 12 aircraft 18 pilots, a Flight Surgeon, a Maintenance OIC, a Maintenance NCOIC, and 12 crew chiefs. All other support would be provided by the JASDF. It was a great exercise and I was in charge of it! We land at Chitose, and I'm met by the JASDF Wing King, who speaks even less English than I speak Japanese. Well, this is going to be fun! A little later, I get stopped by the NCOIC, who happens to mention that one of the crew chiefs speaks fluent Japanese. I tell the NCOIC thanks and that I may be "borrowing" him from time to time. That young SSgt saved the exercise. But, that's not the story. The Maintenance OIC was a brand new Lt, fresh out of Maintenance School, this is her first deployment. She's from the Rural South and is not accustomed to high falutin' fixin's like raw fish. Part of the JASDF support of the exercise is quarters and meals. Quarters were a somewhat refurbished set of WWII quonset huts. Meals were in the JASDF enlisted dining hall. The quonset huts were serviceable, but spartan. I thought the meals at the dining hall were quite good. There was a variety of Japanese foods at each meal and they seemed to rotate daily. Some were excellent, some....not so much. Much like an American Chow Hall Dining facility. After a few days, I noticed the Maintenance LT was kind of "out of it". I asked her what was wrong, and she said she wasn't feeling well. I told her to see the Flt Surgeon, and she mumbled something and walked away. Later that day the Flt Surgeon and I were up on a sortie and, on RTB, I was bored since he was flying the jet, so asked him if he'd seen the OIC. He said he had and that she hadn't eaten since arrival. Seems she didn't like Japanese food. I stopped by her office after landing, and explained the realities of the situation. Success of the exercise relied on trust of the other party by both parties and that could only be enhanced by fully participating on an equal footing. That included eating their food. I explained that I didn't expect her to go all native about it, but she could at least eat the Miso soup, or maybe even just the rice. I then explained that 2 weeks was too long to go without eating without some physiological risk. If I or the Flt Surgeon thought she was endangering herself or anyone else, she would be sent home and a replacement requested. No further problems with the Lt's appetite were encountered. Later in my career, while stationed at Camp Smith, HI, I led a team that deployed with 3rd MEF to Cobra Gold. 3rd MEF Commander and Staff were the JTF Commander and Staff for the Exercise. My team was there to augment that staff with expertise they didn't have. The exercise was a month long and the HQ was in Chon Buri a town about 45 miles ESE of Bangkok. The team was billeted in a small hotel within a few blocks of the facility being used as the JTF HQ. It wasn't spectacular, but it was clean, comfortable and most important for sleeping in Thailand in the Summer, air conditioned. The team pretty much filled up the hotel, so the manager asked what our work schedule was so that the restaurant could accommodate. One thing I'd always heard about the Thais was they were very polite and would go way out of the way to be hospitable. This trip confirmed that for me. I told the manager (Owner?), when we would need breakfast and dinner and that most folks would take lunch where/if available. The next morning, we're up early for breakfast and the menu has a fairly American line up of items. Eggs, toast, bacon, coffee. Unfortunately, the eggs were runny, (something I've got a strong aversion to dating back to my Balut encounter), the Toast and Bacon burnt (yes, Virginia, it is possible to screw up Bacon!). The coffee was surprisingly good however. OK, I think this is probablythe first time for them and the cook. We'll give them the Benefit of the Doubt. Dinner is spaghetti. No one can screw up Spaghetti, right? Except it's Vienna Sausages (because Sausage is Sausage and Vienna is relatively close to Italy, right?) sliced into almost meatball size with ketchup over some kind of noodle. Rinse, repeat the next day. Breakfast is the same. Dinner is pizza. The crust is so thin it would make a tortilla look like a layer cake. The sauce is ketchup, and there's something that vaguely looks like cheese on it. The grumbling has started. The exercise is not going well, so I don't have any time to handle the chow situation, nor do I have anyone I can tell to handle it. But finally, after about 4 or 5 days of "American" Food, the manager stops by my table and asks "Mr. Juvat, how are things going? Is there anything I can do for you?" I reply, "Not really, everything is excellent in your hotel and the food is superb. I appreciate your trying to make us feel at home. But one of our exercise objectives is to try to gain an appreciation for our hosts and their culture. Since it's difficult for us to go downtown to restaurants, do you think it might be possible for your chef to provide traditional Thai meal options for Breakfast and Dinner?" I watch as a wave of relief rolls across his face when I said that. "Of Course, Tomorrow we'll have a traditional Thai Breakfast. Thank you!" Best breakfast I'd had in quite a while. Dinner was equally as good, and included ThaI pepper beef salad, which I ordered. When the waitress delivered it, the manager came over and asked if I'd had it before. I said no, but, being from Texas, I liked spicy foods. He said "Good, you'll like this..." "But, even Thais don't eat these!" as he pointed to the peppers.
I played hooky from work on Friday. Well, I guess it's not technically hooky when you're sick. And I was REALLY sick. A naaaaasty stomach bug ran through the whole house- the Minnow earlier in the week, then the Teenangster on Thursday, and the wife and me on Friday. I got it the worst- splitting headache, sore throat, stomach cramps, chills, aches, cold sweats, and two other parts of my body trying to turn themselves inside out- The Full Meal Deal, although I didn't get to keep the meal. It came on late Thursday night just as I was heading to bed. Just cramps and a headache though at first, which made for a terrible night's sleep.
My mom, a lifelong nurse, admonished us kids to always be a good patients and treat nurses with the utmost respect. So despite my feeling like death, I was determined to care for myself and avoid the "woe is me" card that I could have played. Actually, I couldn't have played it at all since my wife was just as sick as I was, so there was no sympathy to be found.
I actually felt better after I lost my dinner around 5 AM- in epic fashion if you ask me- loud, violent, and with extreme prejudice. Fortunately I was able to keep my eyeballs in my head, but it was touch and go there for a minute or two. I think I strained a retinal nerve. The doc said the prolapsed esophagus should heal up on it's own in a day or two.
After that, I was exhausted and decided to lay back down to catch up on some of the sleep I missed from the night before. But nooooo, apparently the stomach cramps wouldn't have any of it. Once I went more than 45 degrees nose low, the rudder shaker kicked in and waves of pain buffeted the fuselage. In past bouts with cramps I had been a little dehydrated so I took the tiniest of sips to see how it would sit in my stomach. No problem. Time to step it up. Unfortunately I followed the sip up with a rather large gulp. Fortunately I was already in the bathroom. I held my hand over the troubled eye socket just in case.
I had a sore throat the entire day. It was quite apparent as I could feel the scratchy soreness that couldn't be soothed. Apparently I needed a reminder though because I had to swallow every five seconds just to see if it still hurt.
Whatever it was- the flu or some sort of norovirus-zika-malaria-ebola plague combo, it seemed to have settled down later that evening. But after the pain and nausea tapered off, I didn't really feel all that good. I'm not sure if I got better, or if I just got used to being sick.
Earlier in the day I texted my boss to let him know I wouldn't be in. I really hate calling in sick, especially on a Friday. It just doesn't have good "optics." He make a joke about me just wanting a three-day weekend. I cringed when I read that because there's a grain of truth in every joke. Not on my part, but he's thinking that I might be goldbricking. Nothing to be done about that of course, other than to play up just how sick I was when I go back in on Monday.
I used to never get sick. I was like some sort of Immuno-Ironman. Somebody with tuberculosis could cough in my face and I'd shake that off like it was nothing. Now, if a kid with a cold sneezes two doors down, I'm practically needing a heart-lung transplant. I've been out sick 3 times in the past year, after never using a single sick day in the 5 years before. A side effect of getting older I suppose.
Now that's its over, I feel like I've lost a day. I tried to Netflix and Chill as the cool kids say, catching up on House of Cards, but between the cramps and bathroom sprints, I just couldn't pay attention, and I kept dozing off anyway. I got absolutely nothing done, but there's always tomorrow.
It wasn't a whole lot better the next morning as things were still a bit "fluid," but the main issues were resolved- amazing how coffee can be such a healing elixir. I realized that for the first time in probably 15 years that I had gone a day without a cup of coffee. I didn't eat anything either, other than some crackers. Maybe there's a bright side- I might have lost some weight. I once ran into a co-worker who I realized I hadn't seen in a while. We didn't know each other well, and he was much thinner than the last time I had seen him. I asked if he had lost weight and he said he had...because of the chemo. Talk about awkward. Nevertheless, he looked great.
I wonder if some enterprising doctor could come up with a new weight-loss scheme. "Hey doc, my high school reunion is coming up. I was hoping you could prescribe me two weeks of dysentery." Need just a touch up? How about a week of Hep C? Ok, I realize I have a sick mind, but it's a side-effect of the pandemic running through my family.
Drugs and Booze- my kind of cure! Motherjones.com
By late afternoon I was essentially back to normal. My wife opted to try the old standby- rest and fluids. Me? I powered through, tackling some of those chores I had put off.
Now I just need to call the CDC and a NEST team to come in and decontaminate my bathroom.
*ALL STOP, ENGINES BACK FULL. Apparently Netflix and Chill is a euphemism for sex. No, I just wanted to watch some TV and relax. Damn you cool kids- does everything have to be about sex?!
