Winter is Coming

The Eagles Are Burned
Wojciech Kossak

I've just finished reading an account of Napoléon's retreat from Moscow in 1812. This account was from an officer who detailed the harsh weather, the collapse of discipline, the constant pressing from the Russians, particularly the Cossacks.

The French Army, though torn to pieces, with the troops starving, and slowly freezing to death was still dangerous. Every time the Russians tried to force a battle, the French fought savagely. The Russians suffered grievous losses but bit by bit the 600,000 strong army which Napoléon led into Russia was worn away, like snow on a warm spring day. Until nearly nothing was left.

The tan line going from left to right shows Napoléon's army as it proceeds to Moscow.
The black line going from right to left is the army as it retreats back to the Nieman River.
(S0urce)

Episode de la Retraite de Russie
Joseph Ferdinand Boissard de Boisdenier

Night Bivouac of the Grande Armée, 1812
Vasily Vereshchagin

From Moscow to Kaunas (in Lithuania) is roughly 570 miles*, imagine doing that on foot, in the dark of a Russian winter, with an army stalking you, keeping you moving, trying to kill you. No comfort anywhere as the inhabitants hate you and want you gone.

I've been out in the kind of cold Napoléon's men and the thousands of women and children who followed the army into Russia, experienced. Doing that day after day for over a month, in winter, is nearly inconceivable to me. That any of them survived amazes me.

Crossing of the Berezina
Felician Myrbach

Marshal Ney supporting the Rear Guard During the Retreat from Moscow
Adolphe Yvon

Legend has it that Marechal Michel Ney was the last French soldier to leave Russian soil at the end of the long retreat. Legend has it that he fired the last shot of the campaign, back into Russia. Apocryphal no doubt, but a good story nevertheless.

Brrrr...




* You can actually do a walking tour along the route Napoléon took into Russia, here.
And yes, it was rather chilly today compared to the last few weeks.

It's All About The Beer

So yeah, I ended yesterday's post with this picture, no details, just the photo.

Yes, that's Your Humble Scribe's computer desk and yes, that's the beverage I was about to quaff while writing yesterday's post, I did take a photo (for posterity dontcha know) and at the last minute threw it on at the end of the post.

The beverage itself, an American Porter from the Tree House Brewing Company up in the Bay State, was exquisite. It's called "Catharsis" and it is aptly named. Their website has this to say about this wondrous elixir -

CATHARSIS (American Porter - 7.4% ABV) - We are pleased to offer Catharsis, a rich and hearty porter ideally suited for enjoyment by the campfire as we transition to cooler months! Catharsis is brewed with an array of pale, chocolate, and roasted malts and hopped ever so gently with Warrior and Simcoe resulting in a beer with progressive attributes and a characteristic Tree House edge. We experience flavors and aromas of cocoa powder, fudge, and caramel balanced by a dark chocolate-like bitterness and a robust body. It is rich with flavor yet maintains an easy drinking complexion. It is our focused interpretation of what we believe a modern American Porter can be - it begs to be poured in a tall glass and enjoyed in hearty gulps. We could not be more excited to share it with you. Enjoy! $4.05 / can | Limit 12 cans PP

Pricey yes, worth it? You betcha!

"Catharsis" was not my first taste of Tree House Brewery's offerings, that picture above, the one on the left is called "That's What She Said." Now this one is a milk stout (you may have gathered by now that I'm a stout/porter kind of fellow) and was very, very good. Again, I'll let them explain it to you -

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID (Milk Stout - 5.6%) - A sneakily complex beer, "TWSS" exhibits flavors of milk chocolate, fresh roasted coffee, caramel, and even a hint of smoke. It is absolutely loaded with flavor for a 5.6% beer, and the inclusion of Lactose takes the edge off of the dry, roasty notes found in a typical stout. The adult chocolate milk shake. . . soft, creamy, and luscious while maintaining supreme drinkability - just the way we like it!   A beer that is notorious for converting ‘pale’ beer lovers to the dark side!

I particularly liked the description of an "adult chocolate milk shake," oh yes, yes it was. I recommend both of these brews for a good night's sleep, just one and you'll sleep the sleep of the just. I know I did.

Now I'm not a beer snob, if a fellow likes his PBR, who am I to criticize him (or her for that matter) to each his/her own and the devil take the hindmost. Or something. While Guinness is often my beverage of choice, I like to try other beers as well.

I was introduced to these by my boss, Clayton, one of those awesome folks I've mentioned that make work such a pleasure. He's a young guy (about my kids age) but he's smart as a whip, possesses great common sense, and is a damned fine leader. Plus, he's given me two free beers over the past cuppla weeks. You gotta like that.

Anyhoo, he makes beer trips to various and exotic locations to purchase stuff that just can't be found in stores. Next time he heads up to the Bay State, I'm hoping to provide him some currency to bring me back more of the above. I've also got my eye on this beauty...

(Source)

Imperial coffee stouts, big fan, big fan.

Now I'm thirsty, talk quietly amongst yourselves, share your favorite adult beverage in the comments and I'll be back tomorrow (The Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise) with another post to entertain. (Hopefully.)

Now this tune seems damned appropriate... (The drumming is real good!)

Don't mind admitting, at work I'm one of the horses...

In Days of Yore

8-inch, 5.25-inch, and 3.5-inch floppy disks

Back in the days before the Internet, back when some military bases still had computers which could (and did) use punch cards. Back when, wait, what? These things...

(Source)

Yup, back in the Pleistocene Epoch, I was a brand new Air Force computer guy. They'd sent me off to college to be edumacated in the ways of the magical thinking box, a long tale, part one of which is here. I got through the tech school (bit of a vacation that) and wound up at Offutt AFB in Nebraska. A place I remember fondly. No, really.

At first they didn't know what to do with me...

"You just finished college and tech school? Why'd you go to the tech school?"

"Uh, I'm in the Air Force, they ordered me to do that."

"Oh."

Off to Configuration Management (CM) I went.

In software engineering, software configuration management (SCM) is the task of tracking and controlling changes in the software, part of the larger cross-disciplinary field of configuration management. SCM practices include revision control and the establishment of baselines. If something goes wrong, SCM can determine what was changed and who changed it. If a configuration is working well, SCM can determine how to replicate it across many hosts. (Source)

As the only software being produced by my little corner of the Strategic Communications Division (STRATCOMDIV. No, really.) was the Military Airspace Management System (MASM), which was done on the second floor (we lower orders dwelled on the first floor), and we first floor types were forbidden to go anywhere near MASM, there wasn't much to do on the first floor.

One thing we had to do was gather some data on something (I forget what), then take it to SAC HQ to load it onto the classified mainframe computer. Our data was not classified, nor was it, I discovered later, very important. It produced a report no one read. Ever.

Our other task was controlling the commercial software we used on our vastly overpriced IBM PC clones. Which you could buy off the government contract for $2000.00 or buy downtown (a better model) for $1000.00. Yeah, we jumped all over that. Not.

Anyhoo, I recall we had 20 PCs floating around for various reasons, mostly for word processing. Every now and then the department would buy new software for the PCs which we in CM would log in, make copies of, and control. As each machine had to have its own software we bought 20 of everything.

Now one day new software arrived, a lovely lady by the name of Gigi (actually her initials), was detailed to show me the whole process of logging in software, making copies, then loading it on the computers.

She brought me to this big closet on the first floor which was packed from floor to ceiling with boxes of software on 5 1/4 inch floppy disks. Hundreds upon hundreds of disks all in boxes, some from the manufacturer, some which were obviously copies which we had made.

I was amazed.

Kinda like this...
(Source)

Then I learned the horrible truth, there were actually only about five different software packages in there, four to five versions of each. As each version, back then, came on 10 to even 20 disks, there were a lot of disks for 20 computers. To make matters worse, for each disk they would make a "master copy" and a "backup copy." For each and every software package for each and every PC. One new software package for one computer could be 60 disks total, times 20 computers, times however many other software packages we had. To include a few compilers for the one or two people on the first floor who actually developed software.

"Uh, why not open one package, make one copy of all the disks, and use those copies to load the software on all 20 machines. I mean we do them one at a time, right?"

Gigi just kind of looked at me, like I was some kind of revolutionary nut job, then said, "The regulations require us to do it that way."

Of course, being a royal pain in the ass, I wanted to actually see that "regulation." Which she got a copy of and showed me. Turns out that it wasn't an actual Air Force regulation, it was a local policy, not even a unit policy but specific to our department, first floor only of course.

"What idiot wrote this? It's stuff and bloody nonsense."

So off we went to see Mitch, a retired Air Force chief and our section manager. Gigi explained things to Mitch, who sighed, gave me an "are you going to be a pain in my ass for the next three years look," then took the policy and read it.

"Where did you get this Gigi?"

"Remember last year when you had Lieutenant Dumas*, write a procedure for software backups? This is it."

"Oh dear, this is pure nonsense, who told you to use this?"

"Uh, Mr Leerdoll** said to use it."

"Okay, Gigi, go make those copies and start installing the software on the machines. Make just one copy. Okay?"

"Okay Mitch." And off she went.

"Not so fast Goodrich. I want you to redo this policy. This one is nonsense."

"Certainly Mitch, I'll get right on it."

I did and the new policy went into effect. It also said that only the latest and the previous versions of the software need to be kept. All others should be destroyed. (Heaven forfend that one of the troops might take an old copy of Word Perfect home!)

While that little episode gave me a rather good impression of Mitch, later that year he had me go to a meeting in his stead and take notes. So I did. My high opinion of him rather sank after this.

"Goodrich, I saw the notes you left on my desk."

"Okay, great. I wrote down what was discussed and the actions we're responsible for and..."

"They're in the wrong format."

"Uh, what?"

"They should be written up as a memo for record with the date, time, and location of the meeting and who was there."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"With all due respect Mitch, no. You asked me to fill in for you, which I did and which the colonel was pretty mad about, yeah, the note on the bottom says call him, ASAP. You have the information you need. I am not your secretary, nor am I the company effing clerk."

"We'll see about this." And off he went.

I could hear the colonel yelling at Mitch from two offices down. The man was most unhappy. Not long after that I got promoted and sent to the second floor. As I was now an E-6 Tech Sergeant and the two E-5 Staff Sergeants were always fighting over who was in charge, it was thought to throw me into the mix.

I had never been so happy to change jobs within the same unit.

And no, I never did put those notes in the "correct" format.

Always the rebel.

Sláinte!

* The "s" is not silent.
** Not his real name, but damned close. Bit of an idiot he was.

Coat and Tie Required

Fair Use

Well, I wasn't going to talk about shoes today (disappointing, yeah?), somehow I wound up thinking about dress codes and the like. A topic I'm sure Beans will expound upon at length in the comments. Or not, he seems to have a mind of his own.

As to the angry mob in the opening photo, those folks were outside The Chant's regional headquarters in Transylvania demanding to know why Beans hasn't posted lately. They also wanted to know who this felină urină însoţitor fellow was. As I didn't speak the lingo, I had to confess to my people out there that I had no idea but would make inquiries. Yes, they asked the same of LUSH but when I said, "boss's daughter," they all nodded and dispersed.

Nepotism, they understood.

Oh by the way, the guy at the left front? He must be management, he looks pissed off and isn't wearing a tie. The guy right behind him is his brother-in-law, one of the hundreds of vice presidents corporations have. (Well, he might be a government guy, hard to tell the difference.)

Anyhoo, dress codes. When I first embarked on this civilian gig I wore nice slacks and shoes, and a nice button down shirt, short-sleeved in summer, long-sleeved in the winter. (In spring and fall I would mix it up, based on temperature.) For some months I went on like that.

Then I heard of this "casual Friday" concept. Seems that many folks would wear jeans and maybe a t-shirt on that day. Also seemed that many managers of a higher station owned nothing but a single pair of "mom jeans." Which of course, they wore on Fridays. (Hhmm, I did a search on "mom jeans" using Google, seems that their search algorithm has gone completely brain dead. Google search worked much better not that long ago. No doubt the nannies have stormed and taken Google HQ. To be fair, a Duck Duck Go search also sucked. Attractive women in jeans is not "mom jeans." Even if the lady is a mom.)

But I digress.

One day I decided that I would wear jeans to work, on a Friday, because I could. When a colleague noticed, he asked me what was up, I told him that I had decided to participate in "casual Friday" as it seemed the right thing to do.

"Seriously?" he queried.

"Why not?" I replied.

"Why not wear whatever you want whenever you want, screw The Man. We're software developers, the customer expects us to be a bit weird, if we look too corporate, we'll lose our credibility!"

So I wore jeans that very next Monday. Which set The Missus Herself off.

"What are you doing?" she wanted to know.

"Uh, wearing jeans. Why?" I asked knowing what was coming.

"You should dress for the job you want, not the job you have." she said.

"But this is the job I want..."

"Are you insane?" The love of my life wanted to know.

"Probably, why do you ask?"

"You're an idiot!"

"And your point is?"

As you might gather, that went nowhere. I continued to "toe the line" for another couple of years. Then the software work kind of dried up for a bit, so they made me a software tester. On the midnight to 0800 shift.

I was in Seventh Heaven.

No managers, no incessant phone calls, and automated corporate emails which we could simply ignore. All the big boss cared about was getting the job done. He summed up his dress code thusly - "Clothes will be clean and in good repair and will cover all the naughty bits. Oh, no shorts, I hate shorts."

There ya go, simple, direct, and to the point.

Now I'm an integration tester, I think we're supposed to wear pants. At least...

Yup, we see that all the time...

What the Heck is a Cordwainer?

(Source)

Uh, what the heck? What the fire truck is that? More shoes Sarge? Really?

Language alert...

Yes, more shoes, but no jelly donuts. Though I am currently a disgusting fat body, I am working on it. I try very hard to avoid jelly donuts and unlocked foot lockers. Just sayin'...

Anyhoo, Sunday's post had this comment...

Cordovan, sure I know what that is, a type of leather, or something, but the precise definition was not available in my databanks, only this...

No wait, that's "Corinthian leather" and I'm quite sure the Marine Corps doesn't make shoes out of old Chrysler New Yorker seat covers. Furthermore, I was sorely disappointed to learn that there is actually no such thing as "Corinthian leather"...

Yup, a marketing gimmick, seems the leather actually came from someplace in New Jersey, I'm with you Captain Kirk, what a kick in the family jewels to learn that.

Anyhoo, I digress.

It seems that back in the day, Marines wore shoes made from horses' asses. No, I don't mean shoes made from shoe clerk types in the Pentagon, nor do I mean shoes made from politicians, and/or used car salesmen. No, let me 'splain...

Shell cordovan (or cordovan) is a type of leather commonly used in high-end shoemaking. Cordovan is an equine leather made from the fibrous flat connective tissue (or shell) beneath the hide on the rump of the horse. The leather derives its name from the city of Cordoba, Spain, where it was first produced by the Visigoths in the seventh century, and later also by the Moors. It is a difficult and expensive leather to make, and in the late 19th and early 20th century was mostly used for razor strops to sharpen razors in barber shops. More recently it has been increasingly used for shoes, wallets, and watch straps due to its aesthetic qualities and exceptional durability. Shell cordovan has a unique non-creasing characteristic. Because it is made of connective tissue, it is smooth and lacks the pebbled effect of leather derived from animal skin. (Source)

Leather made from a horse's butt, from Spain, invented by Visigoths.  Well, that is kind of cool...

Visigoths
(Source)

Now the Visigoths were the western branch of a group of Germanic tribes known collectively as Goths, the eastern branch were the Ostrogoths. Not to be confused with this lot...

(Source)

So yes, the Marines used to wear Cordovan leather shoes, including the enlisted Marines in WWII, ya know, the Big One, Dubya Dubya Two. Apparently, some consider shell cordovan to be the "King of Leathers," and this article makes a pretty decent case for that.

So I learned that on Monday (laboring on Labor Day, taking one for the team...). Something else I learned, when I nearly used the word "cobbler" in the title, thinking in my vast ignorance that that was a fellow who made shoes. Oh dear, I was so effing wrong.

A shoe cobbler is a person who mends and repairs shoes. The profession has been around for most of human history. Some people assume that cobblers and shoemakers (called cordwainers in England) are the same profession, and while that may be true today, it wasn’t always so. 

At one time, shoemakers/cordwainers were the skilled artisans tasked with making shoes out of brand new leather, while cobblers were the ones who repaired shoes. In fact, cobblers were forbidden from working with new leather and had to use old leather for their repairs. The difference between the two trades was once considered so vast, it was a serious insult to call a shoemaker a cobbler (the latter of which, not so coincidentally, is a term that also means to work clumsily or bungle). 

The shoemaking and cobbler trades were forced to merge around the beginning of the 19th century when the introduction of mass manufactured shoes left shoemakers out of work and having to accept lower paying repair jobs. (Source)

Now about those cordwainers, seems they have their very own ward in London (not far from St. Paul's), with a rather nice statue...

(Source)

So there you have it, we all learned something new today, well except for you "happy few" who already knew about shell cordovan and cordwainers. If you did know, have yourselves a jelly donut, I'm pretty sure Pyle has more in his footlocker...




(Just don't let Gunny catch you!)

P'Cola

So, to recap, last week I decided to change the subject, so we (few, we happy few, we band of...bloggers...to paraphrase Shakespeare....badly) would return to our roots.  All 5 of us are no further than 1 generation (Beans) away from Aviation.  Specifically, Military Aviation.

We had, IMHO only, spent an inordinate time discussing ships, in the recent past.  Now, I've got nothing against ships.  I even like traipsing aboard them on a warm Summer Day in America's SouthEast with the temperature in the low 100's and the humidity in the 80's and 90's.  (I like the cold shower in the hotel room thereafter also.)

I even like sailing on them, preferably with an all inclusive drink package.  How come the Navy doesn't have that option?  'Tis a puzzlement.

Anyhoo, I wanted to talk about airplanes, so I did.  The day after visiting the Alabama Battleship National Monument, Mrs J and I woke up cool and refreshed.  After breakfast, we reembarked in the juvatmobile and headed further east, crossing very shortly thereafter into the State of Beans.    8 miles later we turned off the Interstate and headed for the coast, as the Naval Aviation Museum Website has a very specific instruction that if the visitors do not possess a valid DOD ID card, they must enter from the western gate to the base.

Well, Mrs J and I both have valid IDs.  However, mine, which was renewed the last time I visited a military facility (Wright-Patterson AFB),  is very underexposed.  Making my face unrecognizable.  Mrs J, well,  is within a month or two of a major birthday which will render her current ID expired.

So, prudence dictated entering as if we didn't have valid ID's.

Pulling up to the gate, and handing the ID's (with my driver's license JIC) to the gate guard, he took a look at each, looked at us, rendered a very Marine like salute, which I returned, and he waved us through.

I miss that exchange of greetings, yes I do.

A short scenic drive later, we're at the museum.  The museum has only been open for about a half hour when we arrive, so parking isn't a problem.  Walk in, show our ID's again and begin the show.

One of the first aircraft is the SBD.  The aircraft that, IMHO, changed the course of the war in the Pacific in a few short minutes on June 4, 1942 at Midway.

Among my favorites.

As I'm walking around taking it in, (there's no barrier around the aircraft in this museum, I liked that.) I hear the first notes of the National Anthem being played.  I turn and face the music and while doing so, I notice every one else is also.  (No overpaid thugs taking knees on national TV in view.)  Seems there's a retirement ceremony happening there.

But...It seemed appropriate to the setting.

I'm sure the security measures visible here made the SBD virtually Murphy proof.

Behind me was an F6F HellCat.  And a future fighter pilot.  (Talking with his hands, struttin' like he owns the place...).  By the end of the War, the HellCat had a 19-1 Kill Ratio and a new HellCat was rolling off the production line every hour 24-7. 

Meanwhile the retirement ceremony is going on.  First out of the door, is a Navy Commander.  I glance over, he's in dress whites, the whole shebang.  But does have Wings, so I kinda listen to the spiel.  He commanded such and such squadron, flew in the gulf, flew in the 'Stan, so many combat sorties...This went on for about 5 minutes then "Attention to orders..." and another one's out of the service.

I know how he felt.

F-4F WildCat (you can see the retirement ceremony in the background)

Meanwhile overhead, another favorite.  OK, I'll be honest, I'm fascinated with the War in the Pacific.  Spent a lot of time there, read a lot of books about it as a kid.  I'm going to have a lot of favorites in this museum.

Yep, another one, but, I mean really, who doesn't like a Corsair?

OK, Quiz question #1  What is this aircraft and what was it used for in WWII?

TBM Avenger

This was painted up with some special livery.

No...it isn't his actual aircraft.  That one is in the bottom of the ocean off Iwo Jima.  The future President was rescued by a Sub (USS Finback, SS-230) and actually endured a depth charging before being returned to safety.

Another of my favorites, an F8F Bearcat.  Several still flying on the Reno Race Circuit.

Meanwhile the retirement ceremony is still going on.  This time it's some civilian.  His award citation indicated he was in charge of some aspect of bureaucracy at the base.  Had been there for, well, ever.   Had saved the country by ensuring that every screw on the base was completely accounted for and only issued when a dire emergency happened.

Or something like that.

This eulogy (well,  I was dying) went on past the WWII exhibit, past the early jet age, past Korea and halfway through Vietnam.

F7F TigerCat

The F7F was initially requested in June of 1941, but never made it into combat in WWII.  I had built this as a model as a kid and thought it pretty cool.  It was armed with 4 20mm cannon and 4 50Cal machine guns as well as 2 1000LB bombs.  After the war, it was transferred to the Marines and used for CAS and night interdiction in Korea.

Just for scale, Mrs J is 5'4".  Big engine, big plane.

Quiz Question # 2  Specifically, what is this aircraft and why is it unique?

Another Bad Guy Aircraft.  One may be surprised to know that not every Japanese fighter was a "Zero".  One may also surmise this one is a "George".

F2H-2P

Made it into the Jet Age.  This model of the Photo Banshee was an improvement over the earlier model in that it had 3 cameras in the nose.  This meant the pilot could get pictures in one pass that in the earlier model would have required 3 passes.  Less passes = less chance of meeting the golden BB= more chance of reacquainting yourself with your family.

F3H Demon F7U Cutlass

Rear view of the F3H F7U.  Just to the left of the engine, that's the aileron speedbrake (It looks like a swim fin).  The rudder is the vertical thing left of that. The left wing is the vertical line outside the rudder.  This is a fairly big aircraft to have such small sized controls.  Just off hand, I'd say it wasn't very maneuverable.  (Really got to keep better care of my notes, thanks for the corrections.)

Oh, look!  My favorite view of a Mig-15. In front of me and in gun range!

Nieport 28 and a Fokker (and he's flying a Fokker D.VII...I always wanted to use that line....Sorry)

The Museum had some WWI aircraft also.  Thought their handling of the early (very early) beginnings of Naval Aviation was educational.

SB2U Vindicator

And....Finally.....the retirement ceremony is over.

Just in time for Quiz Question #3  What are these and what are they used for?

By now, we need a small break and decide to visit the Cubi Club for Lunch and took a look around.  When the Big Guy decided the US needed to leave the Philippines and blew up Mt Pinatubo, the Cubi Club was torn down and restored at Pensacola.

Lunch was nothing to do back flips over, but it was OK.  Looking around the bar at the Plaques was fascinating.  Although it was only Navy and Marine Units, I recognized several from various exercises/functions around the Pacific.  I even recognized a few names.

I felt at home.

Call signs are a thing of wonder, aren't they?

Tuna's ride.

A-1H Skyraider

Again, Mrs J as scale.  I think this is a BDP-1 (BDP being Navy speak for Big Darn Plane).  OK it's really a SP-5B Marlin.

OK, Quiz Question #4 (So Sarge gets at least one right) what Aircraft is this the Cockpit of?

Apropos of nothing whatsoever.

Recce version of one of the coolest planes ever.

A-7E Corsair II AKA "SLUF"  (Short Little Ugly F****er)

So I'm viewing this, and two guys, who are obviously off duty, but on Active Duty, walk up and look it over.  One says to the other, "Obviously, some CO left his keys in his car one day at work."

I laughed.

I HAVE seen this picture several times, maybe not this close, but this angle.  It's a wonderful feeling.

After ordering lunch, we heard jet noise outside,  Low, Loud and Fast Jet noise.  AKA the Sound of Freedom.  Yep, the Blue Angels were practicing.  I'd wondered why the museum had emptied out as we were waiting for Lunch.  Ah well.  It was nice to hear them overhead.

Left the museum as Mrs J had an appointment with Pass and ID to get a new ID card.  Drove over there,  got the card with minimum hassle, drove to the Class VI store and bought a bottle of Bruichladdich Islay Barley on sale for $34.99.  I'd gotten tired of paying $30 a round for Single Malt.  Got back to our hotel room just in time.

Single Malt, in a chilled glass, minimum rocks and Florida Liquid Sunshine coming down by the bucket.  The perfect end to a very good day.

So we've reached the planned extremity of our excursion and will begin the trek back home the next day.  Learned a lot about things I used to know very little about and heartily recommend each of the facilities we visited. We had a great time.

Cheers All.

Clothes Make the Man?

As the nuptials of The Nuke and Tuttle approach, a decree came down from on high that Your Humble Scribe, not having sufficient decorative apparel for such an occasion, must be taken forth and directed to acquire sufficient habillement for the occasion of his daughter's wedding.

As much as the Sarge would like to wear his old uniform to the affair, after all Tuttle will be in uniform, perhaps even mess dress, it seems that the bloody thing has shrunk since it was last worn in 2006, upon the occasion of The WSO's commissioning into the United States Navy. I guess thirteen years hanging in the closet has had a deleterious effect on the material.

Damned the bad luck.

Without the benefit of uniform to fall back upon, it must needs be desirable for the Sarge (that's right, moi) to obtain an actual suit. The Missus Herself declared that the standard outfit of navy sport coat and khaki trousers were insufficient for the solemn duty of "giving my daughter away." An ancient custom I'm sure, I have done it once before when The WSO got hitched to Big Time some nine years ago. (For that occasion blazer and khakis were "fine" as the wedding was at a golf course and a number of naval aviators would be in attendance. Surprisingly they didn't wear their flight suits, though I'm sure they wanted to.)

As to the "giving away" bit, apparently The Nuke decreed that she desired both parents to walk her down the aisle and toss the reins over to Tuttle at the end of that walk. Hhmm, looking at that last sentence, I can see why The Nuke wants Mumsie on hand to control the baser instincts of her pater familias. After all The Nuke was in attendance at her baby sister's wedding and perhaps recalled her father asking The WSO, in a faux-Asian accent, "Where is your farm?" Causing The WSO to nearly lose it, it was quite a struggle for her not to laugh and to give the appropriate reply. If you have ever seen (and remember) the film Tropic Thunder, you might know what I'm talking about.

I may have also threatened Big Time with serious bodily harm should he ever harm my daughter in any way, shape, or form. Which occasioned an odd look from the justice of the peace presiding, and a slight chortle from the bride.

Anyhoo, I digress.

Now I have never owned an expensive pair of shoes before, those shoes in the opening photo (being representative of one of the two pair I purchased on Friday last) meet the classification of "expensive" in my book, your mileage might vary. One pair is in black (to honor the SWOs out there, and black goes with anything), the other being brown, as can be seen above. (Which, I am assured, will look simply marvelous with my dark blue suit.)

The black ones look just like those above only, as you may have guessed, are in black leather. Most comfy are these shoes and, truth be told, I was in need of a pair of shoes that would actually look out of place on the sideline of a sporting event. My all-round, go to shoes for the past twenty something years look, to me, rather like coach's shoes. They are comfortable and you can run in them. Can't do that in those pictured above. Well, you could but I suppose it would ruin 'em.

So shoes were purchased, as were shirts, ties, and suits, two suits to be precise, one in black, one in blue. 'Tis only the second and third suits I have owned where the jacket and pants were made of the same material. I had a lovely dark charcoal pin-striped suit some years back, but I was a smoker back then and a stray ember burned a small hole in the pants at some semi-formal affair I attended back then.

Bloody things also shrunk in the closet. (Mayhaps I should look into lining my closets with some anti-shrink substance, do they make such a thing?)

At any rate, Your Humble Scribe shall be suitably caparisoned when the wedding occurs. I also have a "back up suit" as well (buy one get one free sort of thing), so I am well-equipped for semi-formal events in the immediate future.

But the one in October is the one that matters. For this happy couple -

Lovely aren't they?