Tag Archives: Personal

Whispering pines, rustling palms

Pine trees whisper, palm trees rustle
Palm trees rustle, pine trees whisper

I was sitting with a woman I was “sort of” seeing at the time. There was a breeze blowing. The palm trees surrounding the oasis were making those sounds that they make when the wind blows.

“Whispering,” I said to her, thinking of an old motel that I was familiar with.

“Palm trees don’t whisper. They rustle,” she replied.

She was right, of course, and I didn’t argue with her. But, some weeks later, in the dark, while in bed, she tried to shove a knife into me. More than once. I didn’t take it personally, but I left town in a hurry and didn’t look back.

Who’d have thought that whispering pines and rustling palms would have had such an effect?

Or, perhaps it was the other woman I was seeing who worked in the same bar. They hated each other’s guts, but obviously they still talked.

Women — can’t live with ’em, and can’t live without ’em.

Men — stupid.

Anyway, that’s the motel I was thinking about when I blurted out the whispering palms in obvious error. It’s closed now, of course, and has been for a very long time.

Feed me

When RSS feeds first came out, I got all excited at having a method to stay on top of Things Online. Eventually I discovered that I had subscribed to a lot of links that I didn’t really have a need for. Just how many, I can’t recall, but on a whim one day I dumped them all, and for the life of me now I can’t recall one that I missed.

Well, only a few days ago I thought I’d take a brand spanking new Google reader for a test ride and see how it worked.

Thanks CDC at CafeChatNoir, you really aren’t helping any! 😉 I even bragged in your comments about no longer using a reader. Now I have to take it all back.

I’m still test riding, and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Distant memories, fond memories

In memory of

Flight Sergeant J.A.B.G. (Alf) Galloway, R.C.A.F.

R/69154

March 9, 1942

Update: Effective May 8, 2010 the new name for the museum is the Bomber Command Museum of Canada.

Today the Nanton Lancaster Society Air Museum hosted an event to honor Americans who served in the Royal Canadian Air Force (R.C.A.F.) during World War II.

Canada declared war on September 10, 1939. Before the United States declared war against the Nazis in December 1941, approximately 9,000 Americans joined the RCAF. Of these, about 800 were killed in RCAF service – 379 while serving with Bomber Command.

Willie The Wolf From The West
Willie The Wolf From The West

Canada’s Bomber Command Memorial lists 10,643 names and includes all the Canadians who were killed serving with Bomber Command as well as those of other nationalities who died while serving with the RCAF in Bomber Command.

“They were colorful, those volunteers – professionals and playboys, convicted felons and husbands on the run, idealists and mercenaries, kids seeking adventure, youngsters seeking nothing but an opportunity to fly, middle-aged men looking for work – and to all of them, the RCAF’s need was their golden opportunity.” – Spencer Dunmore, “Wings for Victory”

I listened to some of the “old boys” relate memories of their comrades filled with laughter and joy and resignation. I didn’t hear one say that he wouldn’t do it all again.

It's painted black on the underside because it made its bombing runs at night.
It's painted black on the underside because it made its bombing runs at night.

In memory of

Flight Sergeant J.A.B.G. (Alf) Galloway, R.C.A.F.

R/69154

March 9, 1942

Barber shop blues

Why can’t a man find a barber?

I’ve had my hair cut in countless cities and towns in North America and Mexico. Why is it that if you want a basic haircut, you have to travel to a small town to get one? Has the availability of basic barber skills in the city gone the way of the Tin Goose, never to be seen again except during rare moments of civic pride and air shows?

What’s with the “beauty parlor” that wants to wash, wax, trim, blow dry and mousse? Do I look like I need a wash? Is my face dirty? My hair matted?

Well, okay, perhaps after a long day in the saddle I look to be a bit on the scummy side, but I clean up pretty good, and besides, I never go for a haircut looking like that anyway. I consider these “beauty parlor barbers” to be similar to the barber-surgeons of old, and thus must resort to blow-and-go quackery to hide ignorance of basic hair cutting skills.

What is needed is the reintroduction of the “Worshipful Company of Barbers”, as founded in 1308 to oversee the trade in London. The Master would make the rounds and chastise those he found disgracing it. He also had the power to prevent imposters from practicing the profession. Another 14th century Barbers Guild could imprison barbers for their transgressions against the profession.

All that sounds fair to me.

An ill wind turns fair

My friend’s surgery was yesterday.

He was in pre-op by 10, and under the knife at 11:30. We were offered the opportunity to watch the entire proceeding, but all of us turned it down. I think had it been for something less — brain surgery? open heart? – we might have agreed. Or not. Who the hell watches someone they care about go under the knife for a serious medical condition? And who wants to listen to the bantering of the residents as they dissect technique?

Apparently, some do.

We preferred the anonymity of the waiting room where we could come and go as we pleased, gorge ourselves on cafeteria food, and get mild cases of the runs four hours later.

We were pretty much wiped out by the time it was announced that Ted was in recovery. He spent several hours there getting pain meds straightened out by the anesthesiology team before being released to the relative comfort of a room, and even by then, the pain med routine continued to plague. Finally, some 12 hours post-surgery and with the med routine finally worked out, he was doing better.

Late in the evening a day later, normal color has returned and he’s wisecracking like the old days.

Pain meds do wonders for one’s outlook on life.