After about 16 years of constant slugging, there are a few really cool rides that stand out. Here are the ones that come to mind:
A friend and I were in the same AF unit and often slugged together. He was a devout Christian and had a Bible study folder, which had special meaning to him. One ride he ended up leaving it in the car. The next day as we walked out to get a ride he told me that he would be waiting until the car that we had been in yesterday came by again; his Bible and study notes meant that much to him. I was impressed with his dedication, but a bit less confident in his chance of success, after all, hundreds of cars used that slug pick-up lane and all we had for a description was that we had ridden in a dark green sedan. God rewarded his faith, for my friend waited less than a minute when the car rolled up and the lady handed him his prized folder.
Back the day before an election some time ago I rode in a nice car, not quite a limo but spotlessly clean driven by a man for who English was not a first language. We talked very little, but eventually I asked him about the official looking card in the windshield that had the words "Republic of the Congo Car 1" printed on it. Turned out that the President of that country was coming for a visit and that he would be riding in that car. The driver asked me a single question in return "Are you going to vote?" I answered yes, that I almost always voted. Looking at him, I saw some emotions cross his face that I could not define, but I imagine that given the conditions at the time in the Congo that he had not yet come to grips with how it was in the US, where people may vote freely, without having their vote forced upon them as dictators around the globe have done for decades.
Rode with a guy who had a flat on the slug lanes. We pulled over, and the driver got out to change the tire. I hopped out and started loosening the spare. The other slug hopped out and helped with taking off the tire, and after I rolled the spare to the front with getting it on while I stowed the old one. When we had completed the tire change we were on our way, with a laugh as we talked about joining NASCAR since we already had experience in team-changing a tire. We were pretty fast changing that tire. Nice to see what a small group of strangers can do when they decide to work together on a common goal.
More election eve stories: On two consecutive election eves I rode with slugs who had spent quite some time in the White house, serving several Presidents. One had been there with Reagan, and could not say enough about the how classy and nice the Reagan's were to him and the rest of the "little people" on their staff. He told us about one Christmas party when the President made an appearance, which he indicated not all did. At the time, the gentleman's son was a very young boy, and was enjoying the party with Dad and Mom. The President saw them, went over to talk and ended up carrying the little guy around the party, much to the amusement of all guests there. This same slug noted that his least favorite couple in the White House were the Clintons, who treated everyone on the staff as being beneath them. The second "Insider Reports" also had enjoyed his time with the Reagan's, but told how snobby the Clinton's were. There had been a disagreement on how one of the staff, who this slug oversaw, had done his job. Clinton apparently loudly and obnoxiously demanded that the man be fired, which the slug said he refused to do since the staff member had carried out his duties properly despite what the President thought. Eventually the argument became fairly loud, and the slug told Clinton to fire the man himself, but that the slug would not do so. Another insight into the Clinton's personality was when they first arrived and Chelsea told a Secret Service agent to carry her bags in. The agent told her that was not his job, that he was there to protect her. She decided to push the matter and demanded that he comply. He told her that he would protect her but would not carry her bags, and the spoiled brat finally backed off. Not to strangely, I have heard a similar story about Hillary disrespecting a Military Officer during those years.
The limo. The limo is driven by a professional. I have been privileged to ride in those fine Lincolns several times over the years, and I think it is always with the same chauffeur. He is always impeccably dressed as a chauffeur, and his limo is always clean. The chauffeur does not allow passengers in the front seat. He does not play music, and does not talk or get distracted in any other way. There are mints in a little tray, a compliment to the thick plush seats that enfold us. He does not advertise, except by his professionalism and pride. He drives no more than the limit, and he does not drive hurriedly but rather smoothly, always a step ahead of any disruption on the road in terms of avoiding an uncomfortable response in the car. He seems to be able to sense any other driver driving stupid which sadly is a near daily event on the roads we travel here, and keeps us out of the way. His vehicle is a place of comfort, a place for feeling at ease, knowing that the man behind the wheel is a true professional and probably the most capable driver around.
People who know someone you know. A couple of years after I retired I was slugging home talking with the two people in front. They were not in the Service but knew several people who were, and had moved to our area not that long before. They had lived near a major heavy lifter base several years before and had known some of the aircrews. On the off chance that we would both know the same person I threw out the few names of people I had worked with in that community and sure enough, they knew a guy who had been in the same organization I was for my last assignment. A low order chance in a big world, but it sure was fun. Not long ago heading to work I had the pleasure of meeting a guy who had worked for one of my best friends, MG (Ret.) Chris Anzalone. We started off talking about some talentless music star's antics that were being reported, and somehow moved on to our Air Force careers. Of course when he mentioned that he had been at an EF-111 Raven base I had to mention that my first assignment was helping to bring the Raven through the final stages of T&E (Test and Evaluation) and soon he was responding that yes he knew Chris and that like me he thought of him as a top-notch kind of person and had had the privilege of working for him. Small world in some ways.
The guy from the Philippines. I have written about my Dad's time in the Philippines. One day riding home the driver was up for some chit chat and eventually mentioned he was from there. I mentioned that my Dad had been there during the war, and he responded that his Uncle had been in the Philippine Army at the time, and like my Dad had been a POW. They probably never met, but to have met someone whose family fought in the same battles that my Dad did was somehow cool.
The teacher from Africa. This gentleman's first language is not English, but he speaks our language better than many who were born and raised here. He was born in Africa, in a country that for many years saw much of the horrible war that we hear about if you can dig deep enough into the stories that captivate our so called news sources. You know, the important stories about some two-bit "celebrity" who has no talent other than showing skin or spouting uninformed political opinions that are so much more important than those about the war being fought using child soldiers for control of natural resources to make the winner rich while many of the people will still live in conditions that are poor beyond what most of us can imagine. When I was privileged to meet him he was a teacher in one of the schools in Washington, coming home from work after a long day. He was tired, already recharging himself for the next school day knowing that it would certainly drain him again. According to the teacher the stories you hear about how bad the DC school system is are true. They often fail to teach their students anything useful for making a decent living, and no it is not that they are underfunded (they spend more than almost any state in the country per student) but rather because they are not being run right, because the money is spent on the wrong things. So every day this teacher has to go in and do battle with the school administrators to make common sense decisions to help teach the kids. He also has to battle many parents who have become speed bumps to progress for their kids, since they no longer understand the value of their kids really learning, instead thinking that somehow only the grades are important, not that their little darlings actually knowing what was taught is important, and so they argue for their kids' grades instead of having their kids earn the grades. Just getting to his car from work is sometimes dangerous because of the gangs that often roam unchecked while we dither about their civil rights. And so an entire city of failure is kept in existence. Anyhow, the teacher is passionate about his work, and very "pro-American values" of hard work and patriotism. This might be because of what it was like for him before he came here. As a child, he was raised by his mother, because his dad was taken to fight in the war and never came back. His mother is a strong, wise woman who insisted that her children study hard so they could make something of themselves. Even though they had to move several times to avoid the war, moving on foot carrying what they could, she insisted that they learn, that they improve themselves. He recalls crossing newly-fought on battlefields, some where the dead were so numerous in places that he could have stepped on the dead without having to touch the ground. He recalls times when they found shelter and feared to move because of nearby gunfire, or because the enemy might have been near. Eventually, they found a better place to live, and his mom sent the kids back to school, and later he was able to immigrate to the US. He does not have much respect for anyone who does not push their kids to get a good education, to work hard for what they get, to improve themselves. He remains my most impressive slug driver.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Stories: Slugging
Slugging is what keeps me sane here in the greater Washington DC area. To this day I am thankful for one of the greatest gifts ever, given to me by my friend Chris A. lo these many years ago. That being the "how to slug" knowledge. Oh, most of you do not have a clue as to what "slugging" is?
Slugging is a non-government interfered with system set up by some very intelligent people when the Earth was still young and dinosaurs ruled our planet that allows the most efficient use of the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lanes on trips to and from the greater DC and the Northern Virginia areas. Since the HOV lanes in question require most cars to have three or more people in them to use the lanes during peak hours, and since the HOV vehicle occupants typically are treated to the amusing sight of thousands of cars barely creeping along in the slow lanes as we rocket by, the people who conceived of the idea that you could have willing drivers pick up perfect strangers and drop them off after a trip on the HOV's were obviously struck by genius. So there are prearranged places where people park, or get dropped off, and then wait for a car going to a prearranged place at the other end.
Slugging works, but of course as the slug you have no control of anything going on, unless there is an emergency. And thus the tales ...
Bad Drivers. After a while, you get used to being so close to the car in front of you that you can read the fine print on the bumper sticker, or so far back that a freight train could easily cut in front of the car you are in. But some drivers stand out. Back when I was still working in Rosslyn I climbed into a white mini-van, driven by some woman who was dressed sort of professionally and who did not offer conversation. Usually riding with non-talkers is no big deal, but on that day it turned out to be a bit more worrisome. She drove fast, and quick. Angry, I would think later, and her being quiet was due to the anger brewing into rage, perhaps. Fast you understand; by quick I mean she was cutting in front of other cars with very quick moves, accelerated sharply, and of course had to brake sharply too. Riding peoples bumpers. She was not adverse to driving on the shoulder to get a look at the traffic in front of her. She did all of this a lot, so the drive was very uncomfortable from the "this is the definition of high risk driving" perspective, but I figured at least we would get there fast. The only time she was not zigging and zagging like a running back was when she cut in front of a bus, and had a nice stretch of empty pavement in front of her. That is when Crazy Woman put the brakes on. I think I heard the bus brakes squeal, since she had cut right in front of him, but in any event after forcing the bus to slow down she was off to the races again. When we got to Rosslyn she continued cutting in front of people, making a nuisance of herself. But there was one final rude gesture that my fellow slug and I were to endure: Instead of dropping us off at the arranged spot, she suddenly stopped in the right traffic lane after cutting in front of yet one more car - who honked to let her know what an idiot she was - and told us to get out. Needless to say, if I had ever seen her in line again I would not have ridden again with that one.
Then of course the couple in the Mercedes who, I guess, were very tired. Because the whole trip she seemed to be close to drifting off. Finally, we get near the end and are stopped behind a bus. Bus pulls forward, she pulls forward. And apparently drifts off just before putting the brakes on. The bus was not damaged, the car was. And I was able to fulfill the dream of many people and play traffic cop on the freeway, signaling people to move to the next lane from around the curve until the State Patrol rolled in about 45 minutes later.
Strange / Weird Drivers. Those who drive well enough to not worry you, but there is a bit something odd going on. A story from a good friend who slugs illustrates the point: He gets into a van, the driver says "Hi" pretending to be normal. A few moments later and they are off on the freeway, and the driver hands the two slugs a piece of paper. It explains why he is not talking. Since he was in dispute with the Patent Office over having been let go, he had vowed to not say another word until he had been reinstated. The whole trip my friend Tim B. was wondering if the driver was going to go psycho ...
It is good that people who cannot hear can still drive, but: Car pulls up with a passenger in the front seat. I climb in and we are off like track stars heading home. The two in front start using sign language. Ummm ... guys you do know that your little conversation is a lot less important than the traffic we are in cruising along at relatively high speeds, right? The "conversation" becomes more and more animated, meaning that the driver was looking at the passenger rather than the road more and more of the time, which the slug did not like much. But apparently the driver was multitasking, because we never hit anything but air. Still, not a trip I would have been willing to try again.
Noise pretending to be music. As a slug you have no control of the radio station in the car. A lot of people pick mainstream news or music stations that do not insult the slug's intelligence or ears. Some choose otherwise. I like classical music, or good 'ol rock and roll, or jazz. In other words music that has a melody, that imparts a sense that the musician actually has talent playing or singing what someone who actually had talent composed. Sadly a lot of the drivers choose to listen to noise - people who can't sing worth a hill of beans, people playing instruments like they were kitchenware.
Missed your exit. New drivers sometimes are not sure of the route. No problem! Just ask and most slugs will be happy to serve as guide slugs. Of course a few times drivers have both not known how to get where they are going and chosen to not ask for directions, leading to extended trips. Luckily, the area around the Pentagon has had a lot of trees left up so trips over the various bridges and into the outskirts of DC can be pleasant except for the traffic, and eventually I have always made it to work.
There are of course the special cases. On a trip home the slug driver misses our exit. No problem, right? Drive to the next exit and work your way back. Not this clown. Backs up on the freeway, on a day when traffic on the HOVs is humming along at 70+. Idiot!
On a trip to work. Often due at least in part to the antics of the parking lot doughnut eaters directing traffic at our destination there can be a back up that extends down the freeway a good bit. It is OK to use a different exit to go to the back parking area, and it often makes sense since far fewer even know how to do this. But this guy decided to be special. Instead of going around to the back, he assures us that he knows a better way, and makes what is essentially a U-turn on the freeway at the reversible lane interchange. Yes, that was fun as we waited for this bozo to pull into fast moving oncoming traffic just to take us into a wandering maze of streets for half an hour of flailing around when we could have been done with the ride in 10 minutes.
Just Plain Bad Radio stations. I do not like shock jocks. They are rude, and the stupid antics they play on unsuspecting people should get them sued. It has been a long while since I have listened to them on a slug ride, thank goodness. Racist radio stations (would it be racist for a white sportscaster to say "Lets see how the teams with white quarterbacks did. I like the teams with white quarterbacks"? If it is, then it was just as bad when a black sportscaster said the same except substituting the word black for white.) Stupid radio station broadcasters. These are the people who use no logic, instead spouting off whatever cause of the day hits the streets even if it makes no sense or has no evidence to back it. One of the worst is a particular local religious celebrity who spends much more time plugging politics or the social cause of the minute than she spends talking about God. These broadcasters all have one thing in common: They lie like rugs. Sadly many of their brain-dead listeners, including the slug drivers who listen to them, are naïve and gullible enough to believe them. More is not better. Yes, Sirius has an incredible number of stations. Which means they have a lot of good stations, but also a bunch of losers. Music sung by people who really should move on to the next dream. People who cannot even spell "logic" because if they could they would realize how absolutely illogical their positions are. Sadly, there are some slug drivers who listen to this crap. And we wonder why the country is in the mess that it is - well the answer is that there are enough people who think this kind of wasted air space is actually worth listening too.
Cool trips. The bad slug rides are vastly outnumbered by the nothing noteworthy rides, but also greatly outnumbered by the cool rides. That will be a future post! Enjoy!
Slugging is a non-government interfered with system set up by some very intelligent people when the Earth was still young and dinosaurs ruled our planet that allows the most efficient use of the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lanes on trips to and from the greater DC and the Northern Virginia areas. Since the HOV lanes in question require most cars to have three or more people in them to use the lanes during peak hours, and since the HOV vehicle occupants typically are treated to the amusing sight of thousands of cars barely creeping along in the slow lanes as we rocket by, the people who conceived of the idea that you could have willing drivers pick up perfect strangers and drop them off after a trip on the HOV's were obviously struck by genius. So there are prearranged places where people park, or get dropped off, and then wait for a car going to a prearranged place at the other end.
Slugging works, but of course as the slug you have no control of anything going on, unless there is an emergency. And thus the tales ...
Bad Drivers. After a while, you get used to being so close to the car in front of you that you can read the fine print on the bumper sticker, or so far back that a freight train could easily cut in front of the car you are in. But some drivers stand out. Back when I was still working in Rosslyn I climbed into a white mini-van, driven by some woman who was dressed sort of professionally and who did not offer conversation. Usually riding with non-talkers is no big deal, but on that day it turned out to be a bit more worrisome. She drove fast, and quick. Angry, I would think later, and her being quiet was due to the anger brewing into rage, perhaps. Fast you understand; by quick I mean she was cutting in front of other cars with very quick moves, accelerated sharply, and of course had to brake sharply too. Riding peoples bumpers. She was not adverse to driving on the shoulder to get a look at the traffic in front of her. She did all of this a lot, so the drive was very uncomfortable from the "this is the definition of high risk driving" perspective, but I figured at least we would get there fast. The only time she was not zigging and zagging like a running back was when she cut in front of a bus, and had a nice stretch of empty pavement in front of her. That is when Crazy Woman put the brakes on. I think I heard the bus brakes squeal, since she had cut right in front of him, but in any event after forcing the bus to slow down she was off to the races again. When we got to Rosslyn she continued cutting in front of people, making a nuisance of herself. But there was one final rude gesture that my fellow slug and I were to endure: Instead of dropping us off at the arranged spot, she suddenly stopped in the right traffic lane after cutting in front of yet one more car - who honked to let her know what an idiot she was - and told us to get out. Needless to say, if I had ever seen her in line again I would not have ridden again with that one.
Then of course the couple in the Mercedes who, I guess, were very tired. Because the whole trip she seemed to be close to drifting off. Finally, we get near the end and are stopped behind a bus. Bus pulls forward, she pulls forward. And apparently drifts off just before putting the brakes on. The bus was not damaged, the car was. And I was able to fulfill the dream of many people and play traffic cop on the freeway, signaling people to move to the next lane from around the curve until the State Patrol rolled in about 45 minutes later.
Strange / Weird Drivers. Those who drive well enough to not worry you, but there is a bit something odd going on. A story from a good friend who slugs illustrates the point: He gets into a van, the driver says "Hi" pretending to be normal. A few moments later and they are off on the freeway, and the driver hands the two slugs a piece of paper. It explains why he is not talking. Since he was in dispute with the Patent Office over having been let go, he had vowed to not say another word until he had been reinstated. The whole trip my friend Tim B. was wondering if the driver was going to go psycho ...
It is good that people who cannot hear can still drive, but: Car pulls up with a passenger in the front seat. I climb in and we are off like track stars heading home. The two in front start using sign language. Ummm ... guys you do know that your little conversation is a lot less important than the traffic we are in cruising along at relatively high speeds, right? The "conversation" becomes more and more animated, meaning that the driver was looking at the passenger rather than the road more and more of the time, which the slug did not like much. But apparently the driver was multitasking, because we never hit anything but air. Still, not a trip I would have been willing to try again.
Noise pretending to be music. As a slug you have no control of the radio station in the car. A lot of people pick mainstream news or music stations that do not insult the slug's intelligence or ears. Some choose otherwise. I like classical music, or good 'ol rock and roll, or jazz. In other words music that has a melody, that imparts a sense that the musician actually has talent playing or singing what someone who actually had talent composed. Sadly a lot of the drivers choose to listen to noise - people who can't sing worth a hill of beans, people playing instruments like they were kitchenware.
Missed your exit. New drivers sometimes are not sure of the route. No problem! Just ask and most slugs will be happy to serve as guide slugs. Of course a few times drivers have both not known how to get where they are going and chosen to not ask for directions, leading to extended trips. Luckily, the area around the Pentagon has had a lot of trees left up so trips over the various bridges and into the outskirts of DC can be pleasant except for the traffic, and eventually I have always made it to work.
There are of course the special cases. On a trip home the slug driver misses our exit. No problem, right? Drive to the next exit and work your way back. Not this clown. Backs up on the freeway, on a day when traffic on the HOVs is humming along at 70+. Idiot!
On a trip to work. Often due at least in part to the antics of the parking lot doughnut eaters directing traffic at our destination there can be a back up that extends down the freeway a good bit. It is OK to use a different exit to go to the back parking area, and it often makes sense since far fewer even know how to do this. But this guy decided to be special. Instead of going around to the back, he assures us that he knows a better way, and makes what is essentially a U-turn on the freeway at the reversible lane interchange. Yes, that was fun as we waited for this bozo to pull into fast moving oncoming traffic just to take us into a wandering maze of streets for half an hour of flailing around when we could have been done with the ride in 10 minutes.
Just Plain Bad Radio stations. I do not like shock jocks. They are rude, and the stupid antics they play on unsuspecting people should get them sued. It has been a long while since I have listened to them on a slug ride, thank goodness. Racist radio stations (would it be racist for a white sportscaster to say "Lets see how the teams with white quarterbacks did. I like the teams with white quarterbacks"? If it is, then it was just as bad when a black sportscaster said the same except substituting the word black for white.) Stupid radio station broadcasters. These are the people who use no logic, instead spouting off whatever cause of the day hits the streets even if it makes no sense or has no evidence to back it. One of the worst is a particular local religious celebrity who spends much more time plugging politics or the social cause of the minute than she spends talking about God. These broadcasters all have one thing in common: They lie like rugs. Sadly many of their brain-dead listeners, including the slug drivers who listen to them, are naïve and gullible enough to believe them. More is not better. Yes, Sirius has an incredible number of stations. Which means they have a lot of good stations, but also a bunch of losers. Music sung by people who really should move on to the next dream. People who cannot even spell "logic" because if they could they would realize how absolutely illogical their positions are. Sadly, there are some slug drivers who listen to this crap. And we wonder why the country is in the mess that it is - well the answer is that there are enough people who think this kind of wasted air space is actually worth listening too.
Cool trips. The bad slug rides are vastly outnumbered by the nothing noteworthy rides, but also greatly outnumbered by the cool rides. That will be a future post! Enjoy!
Monday, July 22, 2013
Annoyances: Walking
Things that nearly go bump when you are walking in crowds, or: Some people do not seem to be able to walk without being pains in the kazoo.
People with those rolling backpacks who cut in front of you without clearing the bag. Yes, lady, cool rolling bag. And I am glad it lets you walk faster, thus allowing you to pass people like me who have bad wheels. But could you take a couple of extra steps before cutting in front so your freaking bag does not clip me?
We walk on the right side of the walkway in this culture. If you are walking on the left side you look stupid when you glare at someone who does not dodge out of your way. Learn to follow local customs, not to try and teach everyone else to do things your way.
Coming around a corner in the building. How about staying to the right so the person coming the other way does not have to come to a screeching stop when you are in his or her lane?
I do not mind you cutting in front of me; to the fastest go the spoils after all. But when you cut in front of me you really should not be the reason I have to stop, shift to the side, or break stride. To do that is rude, young whippersnapper.
Glad you have seen your long lost friend. Now could you have your reunion celebration with both of you hugging the wall, rather than in the middle of the corridor? High ranking people seem immune to moving their impromptu discussions out of the way. Really makes you wonder how they got to be high ranking when they are so abusive of other people's daily lives.
Slow moving blocks of people. You annoy other's when you walk next to each other in a 90 degree to the wall line, separated by enough space to almost fit a skinny person through. We know you think it is somehow good to slow everyone else down so you can trundle on your way yacking while oblivious to other people's need for speed. Jerks.
Handicapped people are not immune to being annoyances either. Those little electric go-carts that the office provides you with since you can't move around without help can be turned into Mario-carts of death doom and destruction in the hands of someone who is impatient with all the slow people that she can suddenly pass. That means all us who walk. What is really interesting is nearly getting hit by one of these Indy 500 wanna-bes who then has the gall to look annoyed like the walker is supposed to leap out of her way when she kicks the accelerator to "roll for your life".
And of course the no-patience blind guy. First mistake: He is walking next to the LEFT wall of the corridor. This has him collide with the garbage/recycle containers and interfere with the people who are walking the opposite direction on the right side of the corridor. I happen to be one of those. Now, given the state of my knees, back and ankles, you had a guy who can't see and a guy who can't instantly get out of the way and some garbage cans and a lot of other people walking past who I really did not want to bump into. So I do as I often do when one of our visually challenged people look like they could use a touch of help and offer to direct him, since he is obviously way off course. He gets annoyed, saying he knows where he is going, than bounces into the garbage cans again. I ask him to stop as he is about to bump into me, more annoyance on his part as he is obviously not getting that stopping and calmly letting one movement challenged person and one sight challenged person might be better than playing bumper car. Eventually I am able to elude the swinging cane and be on my way, with him still looking upset that me and the garbage cans conspired to ruin his progress.
Have a great day!
People with those rolling backpacks who cut in front of you without clearing the bag. Yes, lady, cool rolling bag. And I am glad it lets you walk faster, thus allowing you to pass people like me who have bad wheels. But could you take a couple of extra steps before cutting in front so your freaking bag does not clip me?
We walk on the right side of the walkway in this culture. If you are walking on the left side you look stupid when you glare at someone who does not dodge out of your way. Learn to follow local customs, not to try and teach everyone else to do things your way.
Coming around a corner in the building. How about staying to the right so the person coming the other way does not have to come to a screeching stop when you are in his or her lane?
I do not mind you cutting in front of me; to the fastest go the spoils after all. But when you cut in front of me you really should not be the reason I have to stop, shift to the side, or break stride. To do that is rude, young whippersnapper.
Glad you have seen your long lost friend. Now could you have your reunion celebration with both of you hugging the wall, rather than in the middle of the corridor? High ranking people seem immune to moving their impromptu discussions out of the way. Really makes you wonder how they got to be high ranking when they are so abusive of other people's daily lives.
Slow moving blocks of people. You annoy other's when you walk next to each other in a 90 degree to the wall line, separated by enough space to almost fit a skinny person through. We know you think it is somehow good to slow everyone else down so you can trundle on your way yacking while oblivious to other people's need for speed. Jerks.
Handicapped people are not immune to being annoyances either. Those little electric go-carts that the office provides you with since you can't move around without help can be turned into Mario-carts of death doom and destruction in the hands of someone who is impatient with all the slow people that she can suddenly pass. That means all us who walk. What is really interesting is nearly getting hit by one of these Indy 500 wanna-bes who then has the gall to look annoyed like the walker is supposed to leap out of her way when she kicks the accelerator to "roll for your life".
And of course the no-patience blind guy. First mistake: He is walking next to the LEFT wall of the corridor. This has him collide with the garbage/recycle containers and interfere with the people who are walking the opposite direction on the right side of the corridor. I happen to be one of those. Now, given the state of my knees, back and ankles, you had a guy who can't see and a guy who can't instantly get out of the way and some garbage cans and a lot of other people walking past who I really did not want to bump into. So I do as I often do when one of our visually challenged people look like they could use a touch of help and offer to direct him, since he is obviously way off course. He gets annoyed, saying he knows where he is going, than bounces into the garbage cans again. I ask him to stop as he is about to bump into me, more annoyance on his part as he is obviously not getting that stopping and calmly letting one movement challenged person and one sight challenged person might be better than playing bumper car. Eventually I am able to elude the swinging cane and be on my way, with him still looking upset that me and the garbage cans conspired to ruin his progress.
Have a great day!
My Kids - From a Father's Perspective
I actually thought about this on Father's Day, and started to write it the day after, only to find that draft missing tonight. But here goes again:
Those who know me know who did not know me be before we had kids would find it hard to match up my old views about having kids with the intense love and sometimes deep frustrations that they have engendered and continue (thankfully with a bit less of the later and more of the former) to cause to this day.
I can remember telling Mom that I did not want to have kids. My dear friends the Anzalones, and those other friends who I was lucky to have in Mountain Home during my first Air Force assignment, also knew of this aversion. This deep feeling did not come about because of growing up poor, because honestly while I knew we were not fiscally well off, and was occasionally upset by things we could not have, that was massively offset by knowing the fierce love and support from two of the finest parents that God has ever gifted any kid with. My Mom and Dad did more within the limits that they had to work with then anyone could have expected, and for that I am endlessly thankful. No, not wanting kids was something that came from a sense of convenience. Selfishness I will call it in a moment of honest self understanding. Kids took up your time, they endlessly wanted your energy, effort, patience. When young they produced challenges of diapers, patience, repetition, constant vigilance. As they grew older you were able to sleep more and eventually did not have to worry about sanitation every hour or so but those positive changes were offset by truculence, stubbornness, pushing limits, intentional disobedience. Then when they start to turn into little humans they start school, and you have to deal with that constant drama and them wanting to have friends that were wrong for them. Etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Later they begin to think that somehow their limited few years on Earth somehow make them wise and you stupid, obviously wrong but no one can claim that the young have fully functioning brains. Based on what I had seen of kids, including me, they were drains down which the parents' poured endless time, limitless resources. And so it was that when I first met the Anzalones, and saw that they had two wonderful kids and were nevertheless wonderful people, and later gaped in amazement as they had a third, that I knew that they were special and rare. And for the first time I thought that maybe having kids would not be so bad. But, I quickly disabused myself of that nonsense and quickly went back to not wanting to ever have to deal with that whole mess.
I met Sharon, fell in love, eventually got married, and realized that sooner or later we would probably have kids. And so it was, after we had planned on waiting for five years or so, that Kristi was born about two years after we got married. As she developed from the tiny form she was when the doctor told us that we were expecting, and consternation hit me like a sledgehammer, to the time she was born and I experienced the first of two most perfect moments in my life, I slowly developed into a man who wanted kids. That is not to say that any of the concerns I had before were wrong, but rather that I knew we could deal with the negative issues and that the positive ones would greatly outweigh the bad.
Kristi. Kristi was in no hurry to be born. Perhaps it was the nice environment that Sharon and I provided. Good food, never anything like alcohol that would hurt her, good music, calm voices talking to her through the wall of the womb, a fantastic German Shepherd and Cat (Astra and Bobbie) who by bringing joy to the parents helped bring a comfortable fetus-hood to the daughter. So when she finally came out into the world, almost two weeks late and after a mad dash to the hospital, she was already a well developed infant. She was born, and after being wrapped up she was presented to the glowing mother. Sharon looked at her and held her with incredible warmth, and love, and Kristi responded likewise despite just having gone through what must have been a difficult transition. Than Sharon handed her to me. I will never forget the incredible feeling of love and devotion that shot through me the first time I held her and looked into her eyes, will never forget the instant bond, the calm intelligence and love that I saw in her as she looked at the newest Daddy in the world. A few days later we took her home. Seeing my mother hold her granddaughter was a wondrous gift as well, and when Mom looked at me with love, pride, and happiness I knew that we had given her a great gift as well, and that I would never not want kids again. I am thankful that she was able to know her granddaughter, even if only for those two short years. Sharon's mom came soon after, and again I saw great love and happiness, and that only strengthened the feelings of how right this was.
Throughout the weeks, months and years after Kristi's birth, as the challenges that I had known would come for years indeed came and were conquered, and as challenges that I had never even thought of presented themselves off and on as well, the love and devotion never waned, never dulled. And today, though I cannot hold her on my forearm and gently move her head up and down, and though she has had her first name for all these years, that bond shows no sign of weakening.
She showed her characteristic intelligence and stubbornness from an early age. She liked to be held, wanted attention and was not shy about demanding it if not enough was provided. So many tales to tell, but perhaps I will write of them some other time. Suffice to say that today I am so proud of her, for she has come far, overcome great difficulties, and seems happy. More I cannot ask for, but there is her success as a professional that makes me happy as well.
Chip. Chip also was in no hurry to be born. Like his sister a little more than three years before, he was formed in a loving environment. By then Astra had died, as had my Mom, but Sharon's Mom was there to welcome him home, and Schatte the German Shepherd and Goldie the Yellow Lab were the dogs who gave him the doggie love that lucky kids get. So perhaps it should not have been unexpected that he too would be about two weeks late. I first gazed into his eyes when Sharon was told to stop pushing since he was coming out with the cord around his neck, and then ended up moving to get it off of him when the midwife and the two or three students did not move fast enough to satisfy me. Soon after he was given to Sharon, who for the second time looked at a newborn of her own with the same motherly love and happiness that I had seen a few years before. When it was my turn, that same bolt of love and devotion that had hit me three years before did so again.
Chip provided the same challenges as we had survived and learned from before. The standard challenges that every well cared for infant offers to the parents were ours to deal with again. Of course there were great differences in the characters of the two siblings, for while the first wanted and still wants to be the center of attention to, her brother prefers to be somewhat more alone. The wonders that he has given will also, hopefully, be told later, but suffice for now to say I am blessed to have him in my life.
His way is that of the mind. Chip has a great intelligence, perhaps augmented by some of the challenges that he has and will face. He, like me when I was younger, tends to have strong opinions based on keen observations of the world around him, though like the young me he perhaps occasionally is somewhat wrong. I trust that with time he will become less judgmental, and allow others to be less perfect than now. He likes time to examine his environment, to figure out the how and what of a given situation. I have experienced much happiness watching him grow, learn, accomplish, and the bond that was sealed with his birth also shows no sign of weakening.
And so it is. It was a Happy Father's day, for though Chip is in Japan hopefully learning and enjoying the experience much, despite some challenges, I feel the love of two fine children, and that warms my heart and lets me laugh at the young me who would not want to have them in his life.
Those who know me know who did not know me be before we had kids would find it hard to match up my old views about having kids with the intense love and sometimes deep frustrations that they have engendered and continue (thankfully with a bit less of the later and more of the former) to cause to this day.
I can remember telling Mom that I did not want to have kids. My dear friends the Anzalones, and those other friends who I was lucky to have in Mountain Home during my first Air Force assignment, also knew of this aversion. This deep feeling did not come about because of growing up poor, because honestly while I knew we were not fiscally well off, and was occasionally upset by things we could not have, that was massively offset by knowing the fierce love and support from two of the finest parents that God has ever gifted any kid with. My Mom and Dad did more within the limits that they had to work with then anyone could have expected, and for that I am endlessly thankful. No, not wanting kids was something that came from a sense of convenience. Selfishness I will call it in a moment of honest self understanding. Kids took up your time, they endlessly wanted your energy, effort, patience. When young they produced challenges of diapers, patience, repetition, constant vigilance. As they grew older you were able to sleep more and eventually did not have to worry about sanitation every hour or so but those positive changes were offset by truculence, stubbornness, pushing limits, intentional disobedience. Then when they start to turn into little humans they start school, and you have to deal with that constant drama and them wanting to have friends that were wrong for them. Etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Later they begin to think that somehow their limited few years on Earth somehow make them wise and you stupid, obviously wrong but no one can claim that the young have fully functioning brains. Based on what I had seen of kids, including me, they were drains down which the parents' poured endless time, limitless resources. And so it was that when I first met the Anzalones, and saw that they had two wonderful kids and were nevertheless wonderful people, and later gaped in amazement as they had a third, that I knew that they were special and rare. And for the first time I thought that maybe having kids would not be so bad. But, I quickly disabused myself of that nonsense and quickly went back to not wanting to ever have to deal with that whole mess.
I met Sharon, fell in love, eventually got married, and realized that sooner or later we would probably have kids. And so it was, after we had planned on waiting for five years or so, that Kristi was born about two years after we got married. As she developed from the tiny form she was when the doctor told us that we were expecting, and consternation hit me like a sledgehammer, to the time she was born and I experienced the first of two most perfect moments in my life, I slowly developed into a man who wanted kids. That is not to say that any of the concerns I had before were wrong, but rather that I knew we could deal with the negative issues and that the positive ones would greatly outweigh the bad.
Kristi. Kristi was in no hurry to be born. Perhaps it was the nice environment that Sharon and I provided. Good food, never anything like alcohol that would hurt her, good music, calm voices talking to her through the wall of the womb, a fantastic German Shepherd and Cat (Astra and Bobbie) who by bringing joy to the parents helped bring a comfortable fetus-hood to the daughter. So when she finally came out into the world, almost two weeks late and after a mad dash to the hospital, she was already a well developed infant. She was born, and after being wrapped up she was presented to the glowing mother. Sharon looked at her and held her with incredible warmth, and love, and Kristi responded likewise despite just having gone through what must have been a difficult transition. Than Sharon handed her to me. I will never forget the incredible feeling of love and devotion that shot through me the first time I held her and looked into her eyes, will never forget the instant bond, the calm intelligence and love that I saw in her as she looked at the newest Daddy in the world. A few days later we took her home. Seeing my mother hold her granddaughter was a wondrous gift as well, and when Mom looked at me with love, pride, and happiness I knew that we had given her a great gift as well, and that I would never not want kids again. I am thankful that she was able to know her granddaughter, even if only for those two short years. Sharon's mom came soon after, and again I saw great love and happiness, and that only strengthened the feelings of how right this was.
Throughout the weeks, months and years after Kristi's birth, as the challenges that I had known would come for years indeed came and were conquered, and as challenges that I had never even thought of presented themselves off and on as well, the love and devotion never waned, never dulled. And today, though I cannot hold her on my forearm and gently move her head up and down, and though she has had her first name for all these years, that bond shows no sign of weakening.
She showed her characteristic intelligence and stubbornness from an early age. She liked to be held, wanted attention and was not shy about demanding it if not enough was provided. So many tales to tell, but perhaps I will write of them some other time. Suffice to say that today I am so proud of her, for she has come far, overcome great difficulties, and seems happy. More I cannot ask for, but there is her success as a professional that makes me happy as well.
Chip. Chip also was in no hurry to be born. Like his sister a little more than three years before, he was formed in a loving environment. By then Astra had died, as had my Mom, but Sharon's Mom was there to welcome him home, and Schatte the German Shepherd and Goldie the Yellow Lab were the dogs who gave him the doggie love that lucky kids get. So perhaps it should not have been unexpected that he too would be about two weeks late. I first gazed into his eyes when Sharon was told to stop pushing since he was coming out with the cord around his neck, and then ended up moving to get it off of him when the midwife and the two or three students did not move fast enough to satisfy me. Soon after he was given to Sharon, who for the second time looked at a newborn of her own with the same motherly love and happiness that I had seen a few years before. When it was my turn, that same bolt of love and devotion that had hit me three years before did so again.
Chip provided the same challenges as we had survived and learned from before. The standard challenges that every well cared for infant offers to the parents were ours to deal with again. Of course there were great differences in the characters of the two siblings, for while the first wanted and still wants to be the center of attention to, her brother prefers to be somewhat more alone. The wonders that he has given will also, hopefully, be told later, but suffice for now to say I am blessed to have him in my life.
His way is that of the mind. Chip has a great intelligence, perhaps augmented by some of the challenges that he has and will face. He, like me when I was younger, tends to have strong opinions based on keen observations of the world around him, though like the young me he perhaps occasionally is somewhat wrong. I trust that with time he will become less judgmental, and allow others to be less perfect than now. He likes time to examine his environment, to figure out the how and what of a given situation. I have experienced much happiness watching him grow, learn, accomplish, and the bond that was sealed with his birth also shows no sign of weakening.
And so it is. It was a Happy Father's day, for though Chip is in Japan hopefully learning and enjoying the experience much, despite some challenges, I feel the love of two fine children, and that warms my heart and lets me laugh at the young me who would not want to have them in his life.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Family: The Bayers
Growing up as a military brat helped make me strong in some ways, but the other side of that coin was a touch of a lack of roots. What made up for this was largely the Bayers. They were my Mom's step brother and his family, and lived in Wernau am Neckar, a small town about 25 km west of Stuttgart on the Neckar river. Some of my earliest memories include being told that some people were coming to visit who were Mom's family, and then being introduced to Oncle Georg, Tante Leni and their three son's Rheinhart, Herbert, and Georg. Thus started a wonderful relationship that, for this survivor of the intervening 50 or so years meant so much more than I can convey with our written word. I never found out how my Dad first met Leni and Georg, but I gather that they, like Mom, were all from the Banaat and had been friends since childhood. In any event, there was never a time that I knew when Georg and Dad were not the best of friends, with Dad and him walking, or sitting talking in a mix of English-German, drinking their beers, eating a meal, while Leni and Mom bustled around preparing the next meal or sat and shared in the discussion, or talked between themselves in German. It was an idyllic time, with these most wonderful people in my, and our family's life.
The two older sons were nice, and often played the small kid games that I and Sis would play being much younger, but of course had other things to do. During the early years they were often out doing, I presume, what older kids did back in 1960's southern Germany. I remember once visiting the Bayers from Ramstein, or perhaps it was while we lived in Wernau, and going to see Reinhart play on the town team at the local soccer field. I do not recall the game's outcome or much about it, just that, as was often the case, the weather was gray, damp and dreary and I do have a few snippets of action memories that may be from that game, but I do remember the sense of family as I always did when spending time with them. Oncle Georg and Tante Leni were always nice to us, and were of course adults who were to be respected as were my parents. But young Georg, about three years older than me, and I became friends. So many memories of him. He had a lifelong collection of model trucks, probably hundreds, but in the early days I remember a cool sports car with a passenger ejection seat. While they were visiting us (I recall that because I recall the carpet that we were playing on) he told me it was a James Bond car, which is the first I recall hearing anything about that character. Once when we were playing in the fields around his house (now since built over), we started breaking off the tall grass' and throwing them like spears. It was all fun until one of his throws hit me in the eye. Luckily, the damage was limited to some pain, but we rushed in so the grown-ups could take care of it and of course give us a lecture about not playing like that. Another favorite memory was when Georg and I were sent to the basement to bring up a couple of beer's for the Dads. Memory fails as to how I got the idea to shake it up, but I think young Georg may have had something to do with that, and I do recall the very impressive fountain that erupted when Dad opened it up. Those were the days when the cap of the bottle was a rubber gasket around a hard plug, held onto the bottle with a heavy wire that was designed to be pushed out and instantly released by the thumbs, so when Dad opened it there was no delay to alert him that the near ceiling high burst of beer goodness was about to happen - the opener was pushed and the fountain released. At first I stared in wonder, as I had never seen anything like that before. Up until than, beer had stayed in the bottle waiting to be poured, but this time it was in a rush to get out of the bottle. Needless to say Dad was not pleased, but thankfully Oncle Georg said something about they are kids and I was let go with a warning. If I recall, Oncle Georg did not open the bottle that Cousin Georg had brought him, perhaps knowing that a second waste of good German beer would have been the result. German houses often had door locks that used keys, and once I managed to lock the door from the inside and could not get the door unlocked. I still do not recall how they did it, but Dad and Oncle Georg were able to unlock the door, and again Oncle Georg saved me from the wrath of Dad, noting that as a young boy I was doomed to do silly things, although I doubt he said it in quite those words.
After Dad retired we moved to Wernau. A quiet, small town back then. Some may find it strange that my parents chose to retire in Germany, but I think there were and are many good qualities about the country and her people that made this choice a possibility, and the fact that Mom had a lot of family in the Stuttgart area sealed the deal. Dad's family was not as close as Mom's was, and so that must not have been much of a draw to go back to the US, but when you toss in the chance to avoid some of the issues that the US had back in those days while adding the Bayers to the equation it came up pretty strong for staying in country.
We were one of very few foreign families living in Wernau. Dad had bought a VW Beetle while we lived in Ramstein, and that was our car until we left Germany. So many fond memories of the things we did with that car. Most weekends we would take a trip, visiting castles, forests, towns. Some of our favorite places: The castle in Ramstein, home of the famous knight Franz von Sickingen, which I liked so much that it became my castle (years later, when I was visiting while on TDY I went back, awakening long dormant memories of the good times I spent there. The old man selling tickets looked somehow familiar, and I mentioned that as a child I had been there, asking if he had been there too. He smiled and said that his father had been there back in those days.). In the winter, I would throw snowballs at the invaders coming up the path, though I never hit anyone the defense of Burg Sickingen was always a success. Other castles, especially the well preserved ones with museums (Goetz von Berlichingen's castle, Burg von Hohenzollern, so many others). The Black Forest held a certain call on my Dad, I think, and we spent many pleasant times there. A little Gasthouse called Johanneskreuz was a great favorite to stop off, have a drink, and go exploring. Dad kept a map on which he marked a lot of the roads we travelled, always seeking new ones. We had a nice tent and often went camping, once the big news was that if the sky was clear that we could see a spaceship pass overhead. I do not remember if it was a Mercury or a Gemini capsule, but I do remember the sense of awe as dozens of campers all looked up and saw that small dot of light move over the sky. Camping was also where I had my one and only up close and personal meeting with a cigarette. Mom smoked, a nasty habit she had picked up during the war, and once she handed me her cigarette when Dad asked her to hold part of the tent while he put it up. Of course I took a couple of puffs. She came back as I felt that my chest was about to explode and that the coughing fit was about to send out my lungs, calmly asked if I had taken a puff, and after getting the obvious answer asked if I would ever smoke again. The correct and only answer that made sense was given, and I have never wanted to experience that again. By the time we left Germany that Beetle had about 200,000 kilometers on it.
So every once in a while we would pile into the car and head out to visit the Bayers or the Steyers or other members of the family who lived in the area. This was not a rare occurrence; the trip to Reutlingen was one we took several times a year, and they had a nice attic that Sis and I played in, with sacks of dried vegetables and some basic toys to keep us out of the grown-ups hair for a few hours. There was once a great gathering of the family, with people from all over visiting. I am pretty sure that my aunt from Vienna was there, and several people from Argentina who had emigrated after the war, and almost all the relatives from the Stuttgart area. I do not remember if the Bayers were there, which means they probably were not, and if I recall I overheard Mom mention that there was some disagreement between them and the Reutlingen family. That was not a small number, probably more than thirty, and of course I cannot remember them all. But we had a good number of less close family in that area, and the house was packed. I remember one particularly pretty girl from Argentina, whose name was - I think - Hilde, and who was noteworthy because she was nice to the smaller kids. I remember little else except a few flashbacks about a packed house, Mom and Dad being busy, and generally feeling good about being a part of the wonderful group of people but not having a lot of interaction with really close family. Of course, it has been about 50 years since that meeting, and I do not remember most of the people. But the sense of pride that we had so many family stayed with me for a long time, despite my never having met most of them again, and having lost touch when my Mom died.
All good things come to an end, and eventually, out of the blue, my parents decided to return to the US. It was many years later, while visiting Georg in his home at Koengen, that he told me that the reason my parents decided to move was the resurgence of Nazi sympathies. My parents had already fought that war once, and being a mixed race American couple did not want to put Sis and me at risk, and decided to leave before there was trouble. I do not recall if I was wise enough to know that we were leaving everything that I held dear - family, friends, school, town, castles, drives in the countryside, etc. - but so it was. I remember being a little sad, and selling the great mass of Legos that had been my favorite toy, to my best non-Georg friend. It was not for some time after settling in Albuquerque that little twinges of regret started. Yes, I had new friends, a lot of them, and I had no trouble adapting to my new culture, and school was not hard after surviving four years at the Schlossgarten Schule in Wernau, but I did miss the more laid back, more mellow, German way of life. And I did miss the Bayers.
The next time I saw them face to face was in 1980, as I was a year from starting my life on my own. My Dad had died, and Mom decided to take me and go visit Germany, for the last time as it turned out. We visited Frankfurt, seeing her old friends, and then spent a week or so in Wernau with the Bayers and Steyers and others. It was a good time. I met my cousin Silke for the first time, she was a little girl who I carried around up and down the long stairs to the community swimming pool to visit Tante Leni. Years later I would carry my own daughter in much the same way. We caught up with all, going to visit Reinhart and his family near Ulm, playing tourist, and overall starting up like there had not been an interval of over 10 years. I found out that a great stamp collection had been mailed to me, but it had never arrived, and so I believe to this day that a scum thief working for either the German or the US postal services stole it. May they rot for that. I met an Uncle who had been a soldier in WW II, had posed in an SS uniform, but told us that indeed he had been in the regular Army. All nice people, warm hearted, family. It was great seeing Georg again. Two stories come to mind as I write this. First, while taking a train back by myself from visiting ... someone (I think the people in Reutlingen) ... I learned how the right cloths can make a lot of difference in how you are treated. I had bought the 2nd class fare, but was dressed in suit and tie (Mom wanted me to impress and I did) and not knowing the designation of 2nd vs. 1st class compartments sat in a 1st class cabin. The Ticket Checker came by, looked at me, greeted me, and went on. It was a while later when I realized I was in the wrong type of cabin. Second, I learned how apparently most Germans are very friendly even to strangers. Georg took me to a club, a club where local youth hung out. It was reached by walking through an insanely narrow alley to a non-descript door. Georg knocked, and the old speakeasy window slid open. He spoke a moment and the door opened. The room was dimly lit, with dark furniture, a bar, music but not to the deafening volume that kept me from enjoying any of the typical bars here in the US when I was still foolish enough to go into them, and a lot of nice people most of who seemed to know Georg. There followed hours of meeting and talking to a whole host of young people, most of whom welcomed "Georg's American cousin" very warmly. Much good beer was consumed, which may have been a bit of a downer since the next morning I woke up thinking that at least two of the young ladies had asked me out, but sadly after I was a bit far gone to realize it.
We left after that fine trip, and it would be several years before I was able to go back. For six or seven years I spent about six months in Germany TDY, and I am glad that several times I was able to visit "the German relatives". But I will write more of this later, or will at least plan to.
And so it was.
I write this with deep sadness. Over the last two years Uncle Georg and Tante Leni have both died, and my cousin Georg went before them a year before. Sad, sad. I had had this wish, to spend time with Sharon visiting with and hosting the younger Georg and Angelika as our parents had done 40 years ago. Those memories show the parents as happy, comfortable, at ease with the world, and enjoying being in each other's presence. I so wanted to see if our generation could have that as well.
The two older sons were nice, and often played the small kid games that I and Sis would play being much younger, but of course had other things to do. During the early years they were often out doing, I presume, what older kids did back in 1960's southern Germany. I remember once visiting the Bayers from Ramstein, or perhaps it was while we lived in Wernau, and going to see Reinhart play on the town team at the local soccer field. I do not recall the game's outcome or much about it, just that, as was often the case, the weather was gray, damp and dreary and I do have a few snippets of action memories that may be from that game, but I do remember the sense of family as I always did when spending time with them. Oncle Georg and Tante Leni were always nice to us, and were of course adults who were to be respected as were my parents. But young Georg, about three years older than me, and I became friends. So many memories of him. He had a lifelong collection of model trucks, probably hundreds, but in the early days I remember a cool sports car with a passenger ejection seat. While they were visiting us (I recall that because I recall the carpet that we were playing on) he told me it was a James Bond car, which is the first I recall hearing anything about that character. Once when we were playing in the fields around his house (now since built over), we started breaking off the tall grass' and throwing them like spears. It was all fun until one of his throws hit me in the eye. Luckily, the damage was limited to some pain, but we rushed in so the grown-ups could take care of it and of course give us a lecture about not playing like that. Another favorite memory was when Georg and I were sent to the basement to bring up a couple of beer's for the Dads. Memory fails as to how I got the idea to shake it up, but I think young Georg may have had something to do with that, and I do recall the very impressive fountain that erupted when Dad opened it up. Those were the days when the cap of the bottle was a rubber gasket around a hard plug, held onto the bottle with a heavy wire that was designed to be pushed out and instantly released by the thumbs, so when Dad opened it there was no delay to alert him that the near ceiling high burst of beer goodness was about to happen - the opener was pushed and the fountain released. At first I stared in wonder, as I had never seen anything like that before. Up until than, beer had stayed in the bottle waiting to be poured, but this time it was in a rush to get out of the bottle. Needless to say Dad was not pleased, but thankfully Oncle Georg said something about they are kids and I was let go with a warning. If I recall, Oncle Georg did not open the bottle that Cousin Georg had brought him, perhaps knowing that a second waste of good German beer would have been the result. German houses often had door locks that used keys, and once I managed to lock the door from the inside and could not get the door unlocked. I still do not recall how they did it, but Dad and Oncle Georg were able to unlock the door, and again Oncle Georg saved me from the wrath of Dad, noting that as a young boy I was doomed to do silly things, although I doubt he said it in quite those words.
After Dad retired we moved to Wernau. A quiet, small town back then. Some may find it strange that my parents chose to retire in Germany, but I think there were and are many good qualities about the country and her people that made this choice a possibility, and the fact that Mom had a lot of family in the Stuttgart area sealed the deal. Dad's family was not as close as Mom's was, and so that must not have been much of a draw to go back to the US, but when you toss in the chance to avoid some of the issues that the US had back in those days while adding the Bayers to the equation it came up pretty strong for staying in country.
We were one of very few foreign families living in Wernau. Dad had bought a VW Beetle while we lived in Ramstein, and that was our car until we left Germany. So many fond memories of the things we did with that car. Most weekends we would take a trip, visiting castles, forests, towns. Some of our favorite places: The castle in Ramstein, home of the famous knight Franz von Sickingen, which I liked so much that it became my castle (years later, when I was visiting while on TDY I went back, awakening long dormant memories of the good times I spent there. The old man selling tickets looked somehow familiar, and I mentioned that as a child I had been there, asking if he had been there too. He smiled and said that his father had been there back in those days.). In the winter, I would throw snowballs at the invaders coming up the path, though I never hit anyone the defense of Burg Sickingen was always a success. Other castles, especially the well preserved ones with museums (Goetz von Berlichingen's castle, Burg von Hohenzollern, so many others). The Black Forest held a certain call on my Dad, I think, and we spent many pleasant times there. A little Gasthouse called Johanneskreuz was a great favorite to stop off, have a drink, and go exploring. Dad kept a map on which he marked a lot of the roads we travelled, always seeking new ones. We had a nice tent and often went camping, once the big news was that if the sky was clear that we could see a spaceship pass overhead. I do not remember if it was a Mercury or a Gemini capsule, but I do remember the sense of awe as dozens of campers all looked up and saw that small dot of light move over the sky. Camping was also where I had my one and only up close and personal meeting with a cigarette. Mom smoked, a nasty habit she had picked up during the war, and once she handed me her cigarette when Dad asked her to hold part of the tent while he put it up. Of course I took a couple of puffs. She came back as I felt that my chest was about to explode and that the coughing fit was about to send out my lungs, calmly asked if I had taken a puff, and after getting the obvious answer asked if I would ever smoke again. The correct and only answer that made sense was given, and I have never wanted to experience that again. By the time we left Germany that Beetle had about 200,000 kilometers on it.
So every once in a while we would pile into the car and head out to visit the Bayers or the Steyers or other members of the family who lived in the area. This was not a rare occurrence; the trip to Reutlingen was one we took several times a year, and they had a nice attic that Sis and I played in, with sacks of dried vegetables and some basic toys to keep us out of the grown-ups hair for a few hours. There was once a great gathering of the family, with people from all over visiting. I am pretty sure that my aunt from Vienna was there, and several people from Argentina who had emigrated after the war, and almost all the relatives from the Stuttgart area. I do not remember if the Bayers were there, which means they probably were not, and if I recall I overheard Mom mention that there was some disagreement between them and the Reutlingen family. That was not a small number, probably more than thirty, and of course I cannot remember them all. But we had a good number of less close family in that area, and the house was packed. I remember one particularly pretty girl from Argentina, whose name was - I think - Hilde, and who was noteworthy because she was nice to the smaller kids. I remember little else except a few flashbacks about a packed house, Mom and Dad being busy, and generally feeling good about being a part of the wonderful group of people but not having a lot of interaction with really close family. Of course, it has been about 50 years since that meeting, and I do not remember most of the people. But the sense of pride that we had so many family stayed with me for a long time, despite my never having met most of them again, and having lost touch when my Mom died.
All good things come to an end, and eventually, out of the blue, my parents decided to return to the US. It was many years later, while visiting Georg in his home at Koengen, that he told me that the reason my parents decided to move was the resurgence of Nazi sympathies. My parents had already fought that war once, and being a mixed race American couple did not want to put Sis and me at risk, and decided to leave before there was trouble. I do not recall if I was wise enough to know that we were leaving everything that I held dear - family, friends, school, town, castles, drives in the countryside, etc. - but so it was. I remember being a little sad, and selling the great mass of Legos that had been my favorite toy, to my best non-Georg friend. It was not for some time after settling in Albuquerque that little twinges of regret started. Yes, I had new friends, a lot of them, and I had no trouble adapting to my new culture, and school was not hard after surviving four years at the Schlossgarten Schule in Wernau, but I did miss the more laid back, more mellow, German way of life. And I did miss the Bayers.
The next time I saw them face to face was in 1980, as I was a year from starting my life on my own. My Dad had died, and Mom decided to take me and go visit Germany, for the last time as it turned out. We visited Frankfurt, seeing her old friends, and then spent a week or so in Wernau with the Bayers and Steyers and others. It was a good time. I met my cousin Silke for the first time, she was a little girl who I carried around up and down the long stairs to the community swimming pool to visit Tante Leni. Years later I would carry my own daughter in much the same way. We caught up with all, going to visit Reinhart and his family near Ulm, playing tourist, and overall starting up like there had not been an interval of over 10 years. I found out that a great stamp collection had been mailed to me, but it had never arrived, and so I believe to this day that a scum thief working for either the German or the US postal services stole it. May they rot for that. I met an Uncle who had been a soldier in WW II, had posed in an SS uniform, but told us that indeed he had been in the regular Army. All nice people, warm hearted, family. It was great seeing Georg again. Two stories come to mind as I write this. First, while taking a train back by myself from visiting ... someone (I think the people in Reutlingen) ... I learned how the right cloths can make a lot of difference in how you are treated. I had bought the 2nd class fare, but was dressed in suit and tie (Mom wanted me to impress and I did) and not knowing the designation of 2nd vs. 1st class compartments sat in a 1st class cabin. The Ticket Checker came by, looked at me, greeted me, and went on. It was a while later when I realized I was in the wrong type of cabin. Second, I learned how apparently most Germans are very friendly even to strangers. Georg took me to a club, a club where local youth hung out. It was reached by walking through an insanely narrow alley to a non-descript door. Georg knocked, and the old speakeasy window slid open. He spoke a moment and the door opened. The room was dimly lit, with dark furniture, a bar, music but not to the deafening volume that kept me from enjoying any of the typical bars here in the US when I was still foolish enough to go into them, and a lot of nice people most of who seemed to know Georg. There followed hours of meeting and talking to a whole host of young people, most of whom welcomed "Georg's American cousin" very warmly. Much good beer was consumed, which may have been a bit of a downer since the next morning I woke up thinking that at least two of the young ladies had asked me out, but sadly after I was a bit far gone to realize it.
We left after that fine trip, and it would be several years before I was able to go back. For six or seven years I spent about six months in Germany TDY, and I am glad that several times I was able to visit "the German relatives". But I will write more of this later, or will at least plan to.
And so it was.
I write this with deep sadness. Over the last two years Uncle Georg and Tante Leni have both died, and my cousin Georg went before them a year before. Sad, sad. I had had this wish, to spend time with Sharon visiting with and hosting the younger Georg and Angelika as our parents had done 40 years ago. Those memories show the parents as happy, comfortable, at ease with the world, and enjoying being in each other's presence. I so wanted to see if our generation could have that as well.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
On the year of 2012, and the year of 2013.
2012 was a fairly good year, with the exception of so many in this country showing themselves to be either gullible and naïve fools, or racists, or single issue / selfish enough to vote for the continuing disaster in DC. But, not everyone can be smart enough to understand the fundamental truth in Einstein's famous saying that insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I guess four years of failed socialist policy was not enough to convince people to look beyond the charisma, the sound bites, and the lies.
But the US is still fairly strong, can still recover and improve.
The world continues. Things change, some for the better, some not so much.
Here we are, about half done with 2013. We continue to stagnate economically, with more and more proof that the administration's policies are the policies of failure. No noteworthy job growth, with ever more giving up even looking for a job. The illegals continue to be welcome to helping themselves to stealing our goods, our hard won gains. The housing situation is still having ups and downs rather than steady growth, the country continues to be divided as the mass of useless people continue to think they are owed more from those who actually work. Justice continues to take a back seat to political correctness, and truth takes hits on a daily basis from the lies that are used to keep the country from rising up and demanding impeachment.
And yet, the core strength and good that is the American spirit will not be stopped, will not give up. With every defeat of the socialist agenda, with every voice that will not be stilled in calling out for truth, and justice, and right, we hold on, we return a bit of power to the people.
2012 was a fairly good year, with the exception of so many in this country showing themselves to be either gullible and naïve fools, or racists, or single issue / selfish enough to vote for the continuing disaster in DC. But, not everyone can be smart enough to understand the fundamental truth in Einstein's famous saying that insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I guess four years of failed socialist policy was not enough to convince people to look beyond the charisma, the sound bites, and the lies.
But the US is still fairly strong, can still recover and improve.
The world continues. Things change, some for the better, some not so much.
Here we are, about half done with 2013. We continue to stagnate economically, with more and more proof that the administration's policies are the policies of failure. No noteworthy job growth, with ever more giving up even looking for a job. The illegals continue to be welcome to helping themselves to stealing our goods, our hard won gains. The housing situation is still having ups and downs rather than steady growth, the country continues to be divided as the mass of useless people continue to think they are owed more from those who actually work. Justice continues to take a back seat to political correctness, and truth takes hits on a daily basis from the lies that are used to keep the country from rising up and demanding impeachment.
And yet, the core strength and good that is the American spirit will not be stopped, will not give up. With every defeat of the socialist agenda, with every voice that will not be stilled in calling out for truth, and justice, and right, we hold on, we return a bit of power to the people.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
On Feeling Old, continued
(originally written the middle of 2012, not sure how I missed publishing it but here it is)
I do not have much sympathy for the young ones who feel that somehow the new world is all better than the old, or that they are ready to lead us out of the mistakes that the earlier generations made. This is the way I feel mostly because there are not nearly as many mistakes as the hot blooded, and hot headed, youth think there were. You youth speak as if you have real knowledge of the old world, as if you who have never lived without the electronics, the two income household - unless your parents were unable to make things work and split up - can have any idea of the realities. So many of you have a self centered attitude, a "me-first screw everyone else, I don't care about the country, traditions, manners, I am somehow knowledgeable enough to KNOW that there is no God, that you old ones are wrong, give me mine" belief. But, newsflash: you know nothing of the many wonderful things that we as a nation had even back just a few decades ago. Yes, there was much that was good and wonderful before today. We spent time together, with most people being decent hard working types who took care of themselves, their family, their neighbors, their communities. Our sense of country helped make victory in World War II, and in the aftermath possible. We grew, we prospered. We had a situation where most Mom's could stay at home and bring their kids up in caring homes instead of turning that task over to minimum wage strangers who in most cases simply do not care beyond doing the least amount of work possible. We had an educational system that did wonders with young minds, teaching them how to think, making success probable for most. We were strong, and helped countries all over the globe when they needed help, were willing to support our allies and our own interests. Our crime rate was lower, our rate of improvement for citizens was greater. Do not take my words out of context. Yes, many of the modern changes are for the better. The improvement of rights, better medicine, safer cars, more responsible use of the environment, etc. But the flip side of these positive changes are not so good, for example along with rights for more people has come the loss of responsibility with the selfishness associated with that sad change, with better medicine has come a loss of personal care such as staying off drugs, eating healthy foods, a more healthy lifestyle, with better cars comes sometimes idiotic regulations that drive the cost up at the whim of bureaucrats who have no responsibility to balance between regulation and cost, no accountability to the public, and the same with regards to the environment. How many regulations do we have that are politically correct and super expensive while gaining the people a very modest improvement or even a decrement? Too many by far.
Even though you youth have much that we elders have given you, you still do not have wisdom - you may know, but I have done, and I laugh at your assertions that masquerade as superiority while being in truth nothing but bluster. Seeing people who take the view that they somehow know better than others what is best for those others leads to some obvious questions. Such as: If it is wrong for me to dictate to you, how is it right that you dictate to me? Who appointed you to decide what is right and wrong? Since what you propose takes other people's rights away what do you offer to them in return, or are we just supposed to accept your lording it over us? When you run out of resources from having stolen from those who produce, what will you do when the next crisis hits? When you have finished insulting and destroying the America that has stood for liberty and equality for so long, what will be left to help move the world towards freedom? (Yes, yes, I know. We as a country have not always been wonderful. But, within our foundations there has always been the strength, both moral and in our spirit, to be better, to improve. Otherwise things would not have changed from the ways of the past to the ways of now, and your protests would be met with long prison terms and the real repression that you whine about but have never experienced.)
So, perhaps, Youth, maybe you should sit back and listen a while to the clamoring of Real Life, perhaps you should change from Do Now to Plan First because once you Do it will be much more difficult to fix mistakes, of which there will be many since Nature, or God, does not reward those who just hope for good results. Of course this takes time, you can't do this with the fast food drive-through mentality that so many of you have, but the results will be infinitely better. Do you really want to make the mistakes the Iranians did back in the late 70s, when they deposed the Shah, and gave up a secular country for the theocracy they have now? A place where fundamental religious dogma rules instead of law, where being different from what is decided by one of the worst examples of an old boys network often leads to a noose or waiting for the stones that will kill you to start being thrown? Yes, the Shah was hardly an example of the best a leader could be, but at least there were secular controls instead of fundamentalist terror, and given a few years and some reforms the Iranians could have taken their country into the modern world instead of becoming a terrorist state about to build nuclear weapons. Of course some who read this might think that with last year's Arab Spring that those problems have been solved for modern Arab states, they may even think that the high tech used to overthrow the more modern dictators somehow led to better results, but is that true? We shall see, but in Egypt, and maybe soon in Libya, there is a very real concern that all you received for the high tech revolutions was more budding fundamentalist states that will soon see their people pushed back into the middle-ages.
Continuing the thoughts for the Arab Spring: The problem is that no matter how wonderful technology is, that it is still only a tool, or set of tools. It is like having the best 4-wheel drive technology and than racing around on icy roads; when you crash because that high tech machine could do nothing to counteract the laws of physics you lose. Perhaps your parents warning you to drive slow on ice, found by years of experience, was not so out of date as you thought? It is up to the user to use those tools wisely. So, yes, you can Twitter your friends and arrange a mass protest to clamor for rights and throwing the dictator out, but if you do not have a plan for replacing the dictator with something better, than you are creating a power vacuum that will be filled with the people who are most prepared to step in and take over. And most often that will not be you wide eyed innocents who think that all will be well just because "the youth" are leading, instead it will be the shadow government that has been formed by those who want things to go back to the old ways, before religion was pushed to the side as the governing force. It will be the people who for years have planned and waited to take over when the dictator fails, since they know that the far biggest part of the population will stay out of making any choice about the new government, and that good organization and decisive effort by their small group is enough to win the prize. Twitter will not form a new government, will not write the law of the land in a way to be just to all, will not make all people's capability and persistence at work equal to what rewards they reap. And if you do not plan and prepare you and the people will lose.
Back now to the US and our situation: So, Youth, it is time for you to get this dose of reality. Stop worshiping the new technology and instead use it as the tool it is, stop being the naive and gullible fool that believes a charismatic but unrealistic man who is pushing this country into disaster, and do something to help us become strong again. It is obvious that the last few years have not helped us, that the socialism that has been forced on us by liberal ideals cannot ever work and "hope and change" is destroying us. Now use those few working brain cells that you have to force the fools in charge to get back to the foundations of our country - the Constitution - and correct the mistakes of the last few years!
I do not have much sympathy for the young ones who feel that somehow the new world is all better than the old, or that they are ready to lead us out of the mistakes that the earlier generations made. This is the way I feel mostly because there are not nearly as many mistakes as the hot blooded, and hot headed, youth think there were. You youth speak as if you have real knowledge of the old world, as if you who have never lived without the electronics, the two income household - unless your parents were unable to make things work and split up - can have any idea of the realities. So many of you have a self centered attitude, a "me-first screw everyone else, I don't care about the country, traditions, manners, I am somehow knowledgeable enough to KNOW that there is no God, that you old ones are wrong, give me mine" belief. But, newsflash: you know nothing of the many wonderful things that we as a nation had even back just a few decades ago. Yes, there was much that was good and wonderful before today. We spent time together, with most people being decent hard working types who took care of themselves, their family, their neighbors, their communities. Our sense of country helped make victory in World War II, and in the aftermath possible. We grew, we prospered. We had a situation where most Mom's could stay at home and bring their kids up in caring homes instead of turning that task over to minimum wage strangers who in most cases simply do not care beyond doing the least amount of work possible. We had an educational system that did wonders with young minds, teaching them how to think, making success probable for most. We were strong, and helped countries all over the globe when they needed help, were willing to support our allies and our own interests. Our crime rate was lower, our rate of improvement for citizens was greater. Do not take my words out of context. Yes, many of the modern changes are for the better. The improvement of rights, better medicine, safer cars, more responsible use of the environment, etc. But the flip side of these positive changes are not so good, for example along with rights for more people has come the loss of responsibility with the selfishness associated with that sad change, with better medicine has come a loss of personal care such as staying off drugs, eating healthy foods, a more healthy lifestyle, with better cars comes sometimes idiotic regulations that drive the cost up at the whim of bureaucrats who have no responsibility to balance between regulation and cost, no accountability to the public, and the same with regards to the environment. How many regulations do we have that are politically correct and super expensive while gaining the people a very modest improvement or even a decrement? Too many by far.
Even though you youth have much that we elders have given you, you still do not have wisdom - you may know, but I have done, and I laugh at your assertions that masquerade as superiority while being in truth nothing but bluster. Seeing people who take the view that they somehow know better than others what is best for those others leads to some obvious questions. Such as: If it is wrong for me to dictate to you, how is it right that you dictate to me? Who appointed you to decide what is right and wrong? Since what you propose takes other people's rights away what do you offer to them in return, or are we just supposed to accept your lording it over us? When you run out of resources from having stolen from those who produce, what will you do when the next crisis hits? When you have finished insulting and destroying the America that has stood for liberty and equality for so long, what will be left to help move the world towards freedom? (Yes, yes, I know. We as a country have not always been wonderful. But, within our foundations there has always been the strength, both moral and in our spirit, to be better, to improve. Otherwise things would not have changed from the ways of the past to the ways of now, and your protests would be met with long prison terms and the real repression that you whine about but have never experienced.)
So, perhaps, Youth, maybe you should sit back and listen a while to the clamoring of Real Life, perhaps you should change from Do Now to Plan First because once you Do it will be much more difficult to fix mistakes, of which there will be many since Nature, or God, does not reward those who just hope for good results. Of course this takes time, you can't do this with the fast food drive-through mentality that so many of you have, but the results will be infinitely better. Do you really want to make the mistakes the Iranians did back in the late 70s, when they deposed the Shah, and gave up a secular country for the theocracy they have now? A place where fundamental religious dogma rules instead of law, where being different from what is decided by one of the worst examples of an old boys network often leads to a noose or waiting for the stones that will kill you to start being thrown? Yes, the Shah was hardly an example of the best a leader could be, but at least there were secular controls instead of fundamentalist terror, and given a few years and some reforms the Iranians could have taken their country into the modern world instead of becoming a terrorist state about to build nuclear weapons. Of course some who read this might think that with last year's Arab Spring that those problems have been solved for modern Arab states, they may even think that the high tech used to overthrow the more modern dictators somehow led to better results, but is that true? We shall see, but in Egypt, and maybe soon in Libya, there is a very real concern that all you received for the high tech revolutions was more budding fundamentalist states that will soon see their people pushed back into the middle-ages.
Continuing the thoughts for the Arab Spring: The problem is that no matter how wonderful technology is, that it is still only a tool, or set of tools. It is like having the best 4-wheel drive technology and than racing around on icy roads; when you crash because that high tech machine could do nothing to counteract the laws of physics you lose. Perhaps your parents warning you to drive slow on ice, found by years of experience, was not so out of date as you thought? It is up to the user to use those tools wisely. So, yes, you can Twitter your friends and arrange a mass protest to clamor for rights and throwing the dictator out, but if you do not have a plan for replacing the dictator with something better, than you are creating a power vacuum that will be filled with the people who are most prepared to step in and take over. And most often that will not be you wide eyed innocents who think that all will be well just because "the youth" are leading, instead it will be the shadow government that has been formed by those who want things to go back to the old ways, before religion was pushed to the side as the governing force. It will be the people who for years have planned and waited to take over when the dictator fails, since they know that the far biggest part of the population will stay out of making any choice about the new government, and that good organization and decisive effort by their small group is enough to win the prize. Twitter will not form a new government, will not write the law of the land in a way to be just to all, will not make all people's capability and persistence at work equal to what rewards they reap. And if you do not plan and prepare you and the people will lose.
Back now to the US and our situation: So, Youth, it is time for you to get this dose of reality. Stop worshiping the new technology and instead use it as the tool it is, stop being the naive and gullible fool that believes a charismatic but unrealistic man who is pushing this country into disaster, and do something to help us become strong again. It is obvious that the last few years have not helped us, that the socialism that has been forced on us by liberal ideals cannot ever work and "hope and change" is destroying us. Now use those few working brain cells that you have to force the fools in charge to get back to the foundations of our country - the Constitution - and correct the mistakes of the last few years!
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