Behold, the Beast

It's a picture of one of our backyard bird feeders.  With an unwelcome customer.

One of Joyce's great hopes when we came back from Indianapolis was to see a reincarnation of the flower beds. In the two years we were gone they deteriorated to weed patches and in the dreariness of winter she would look out the window and make plans for spring. In the meantime, she turned her attention to the one big bird feeder outside the dining room window. We loaded it up with sunflower seeds and hoped for the best.

Turned out the best we could do was to attract a few blue jays and fewer cardinals who didn't have sense enough to go south for the winter. But man, oh, man, did that big feeder attract squirrels.
Big ones. Small ones. gray ones. black ones. You name it - we had it. They loved \the sunflower seeds.

They would shinney up the pole the feeder was on. They would jump from the deck railing. I think some might have just fallen from the sky along with snow flakes. Reminded me of that song back in the hoot nanny days of that cat that came back - again and again - "that very same night".

Well winter struggled to an end and she put out another feeder. One with thistle seed for pretty little yellow birds. Another one with suet. And another. And another. and said, Let's just let the sunflower seed feeder empty out and we'll be rid of the squirrels. But we still wanted cardinals so she bought another sunflower seed feeder. That one was hung on a metal stake pole in the middle of the back yard. We saw a squirrel checking us out and we grinned at each other said, "Take that, you miserable critter."

I swear, that squirrel grinned  back at us. And it wasn't any time that he/she had mastered climbing a skinny steel pole. The picture proves the squirrel was able to do anything it set its mind to. Meanwhile, more and more feeders went up. Guess what? You're right: the squirrel found them and somehow let all the other squirrels in the neighborhood know. And once in a while 9they would let a bird take a bite or two. (Or would that be a beak-full or two?)

We tried baffles: no solution. We tried sticky fly paper. not sticky enough. One of our daughters suggested putting motor oil or grease on the pole. That wasn't any better.

Finally I found some deer/rabbit repellent in the garage. Desperate, I sprayed some of that around the big feeders. Voila: I haven't seen a squirrel in the past ten minutes. Maybe that solved the problem. However, I think there is another problem: the back yard stinks so bad that we can't spend much time sitting on the deck. Oh, well, you win a few and lose a few.

 

Here's looking atcha!

 

Which way to go?

       

 

I took this picture months ago thinking it would work for a blog - someday.And I guess today is that someday. I can't explain why it took so long. Sometimes I just wasn't in the mood. Then I tried another blog program I have liked and found it wouldn't accept my input. Another time I blamed it on acknowledgment that I'm getting old. Still another would be that I simply wasn't in the mood. A realistic reason would be to blame it on the heart attack. Finally I got to the point that if I needed to blame someone or something it was that we have had a dismal winter in Michigan that doesn't want to let up. And I've been cooped up in the house.

 

When I went back through the potential blog pictures I found a lot that offered possibilities. However, the one above really seemed to fit the bill for today. They are footprints of our mailman Warren as he headed up the street  to the next house. It was a really foggy day and the other houses were clouded in mist. I thought that the footprints were something like life.  They left an imprint of where a person had been. The past. Their indelibility lasting at least for a while remains for the present.  As you can see, they fade off in the distance and you end up wondering where they will end up.

 

Maybe that's how life is. I know I've had a lot of times in the last weeks where I reflected on some of the stuff I've said or done or wished over the years. Some of the memories were warm and fuzzy and positive. Some were things I wished I hadn't said or done. I think I have gone through some real downers and saw no really positives ahead - just live - or survive - one day at a time. I think a dismal - gray - misty - moisture laden winter - has fed that. I know that I have questioned just what lay ahead - and haven't been very positive about much of anything.

 

This probably doesn't reveal a very positive picture of a retired pastor but maybe the word retired is part of the problem. Maybe I've been focussing on the wrong thing. I suspect a lot of people go through this at times. Maybe I should listen to God rather than turn off my spiritual hearing aids. And maybe I should heed what Joyce said this morning: Friday - and next week are supposed to be warm and pretty days. Slushy footprints in the snow will disappear and lawns will get green again and spring flowers and tree buds will emerge and put a different light on life. Like old-time comedian Joe Penner said years ago:  "I hope, I hope, I hope....."

A Very Special Man

Anyone recognize the man with a cigarette in his mouth offering a smoke to a buddy?

Nobody I ever met, but a man thousands of World War Two veterans knew and had deep appreciation for. His name was Ernie Pyle, and his newspaper articles about the average GI told
an amazing story of privation, courage, and sacrifice. He didn't spend time extolling the greatness of senior level commanders - instead he shared foxholes with everyday fighters for freedom. In the end,
like so many heroes of the fighting fields, ashore and at sea, he lost his life in a far-off battlefield..

Ernie Pyle was an extraordinary everyday kind of a person. A Hoosier from eastern Indiana, he had the gift of writing about the guy down the street who responded to the call of his country and did it to reflect the sacrifice of ordinary men in extraordinary circumstances.

One thing I never knew about Ernie Pyle was that before the war he wrote newspaper columns about everyday Americans. Like John Steinbeck in 'Travels With Charlie', Ernie traveled all over the United States. His company, rather than a canine, was his wife who was called, for lack of a better description, "That Girl." Actually, her name was Jerry, but we all have our pet names for our mates.

Ernie's travels have been locked into book form in a volume titled "Home Country" which I found in
a shop selling clothes, furniture, electronics, old 33 RPM records, and yes, a lot of cast-off books.
Looking at the flyleaf of "Home Country", I see printing dates between 1935 and 1940. So, what could this book have to do with our life in the twenty-first century?

First, it reflects a potpourri of history as it was. Built around everyday people of the time, it colorfully reveals life back in the thirties. But at the same time, in a lot of ways, it reflects life today. In a very positive way it reveals human nature in a variety of situations. And it expresses the life of both ordinary and extraordinary people in a way that tugs at the heartstrings and at the same time reflects the beauty of our nation as well as the humorous side of people. In short, I loved the book may well keep it to read again and again.

Interestingly enough, it's not just a book out of someones closet or attic --  it is still available in different printings, even a reprint in the 1980's, from Amazon. I thoroughly enjoyed it - and commend it to your bookshelf. It goes to show that an ordinary guy from Indiana has had an enduring ability to not only put himself in the shoes of men called to battle, but also in the shoes of everyday people whose lives have not faded away but live on in many ways today.

Flying High

 

It has always been traditional for dad to get shirts and ties and sweaters  for Christmas.I couldn't believe, this past Christmas that there wasn't the usual emphasis on clothes. Not that I didn't need apparel - I can always use things like socks and skivvies - but this year was different. Lots of goodies, and, unfortunately, not a lot that fit the diabetes regime - but that worked out well for others - what wasn't necessarily good for me was good for them.  But the most unique gift was a radio control helicopter (shown above).

 

Now, at age 85 I don't often get toys for Christmas - but it did not take long for me to learn that this was not a toy - it did not want to respond to my commands. Oh, it hopped around a bit, and it skittered across the floor to crash into one piece of furniture or another. It seemed to have a mind of its own - and, to say the least, it did not take long for me to begin to wonder why anyone would give a helicopter - supposedly controllable, to an octogenarian who had lost a lot of coordination. So the helicopter remained as shown, on a living room table.

 

Some three weeks later I ended up at Tawas St. Joseph Hospital with what was diagnosed as a heart attack, and which involved transfer to the cardiac ICU at St. Mary's Hospital in Saginaw. Dosed up with morphine, I was advised at first that I would go by ambulance for an hour and half ride - and then minds changed and they said I would go by - you guessed it - helicopter. My past experience of not getting my model off the ground went through my mind and I became a little concerned. I even asked the pilot how long ago he had gotten his 'drivers' license. Loaded aboard, off we went and I was afforded great care and a nice nighttime view out the real clamshell windows of the Lake Huron shoreline, Bay City, and eventually, Saginaw.

 

During the time in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit I underwent EKGs, Xrays, echocardiograms and a heart catheterization and got visited by medicopter crew members. During these visits I mentioned my Christmas helicopter gift and my inability to get my copter off the ground. They laughed and told me about actual helicopter pilots (including a U.S. Marine Corp pilot) who had the same problem with radio control models like mine. I was relieved to know I wasn't alone.

 

Once past my medical crisis, I was released and took a much longer ride back home. Almost as soon

as I got home I tried my R C copter out again and would you believe, it FLEW! Up to the ceiling and back down. Amazing. I could make it go up and down. But I couldn't make it go left or right, forward or back. But it flew. And thankfully, so did the medicopter that took me to Saginaw.

 

As for me, I'm feeling great - in fact,flying high. And thankful for today's blessings. At least till the bills start coming in.

 

 

 

 

 



It Really Happened This Way

Requiem to a Dead Bird

Alas, poor bird - you have left this life. Such a sacrifice for the welfare of of the hungering multitudes. Welfare, he says? Well, if hyper-gastric acidity is welfare, so be it. At least one
person at our house consumed so much of the gobbler and accessories that the un-named person
is still quite full almost 24 hours since the feast. So, Mr. Turkey, rest in pieces - your goodness will be remembered for at least another year by all who partook Thanksgiving,long with the warm and loving fellowship of he family who gathered around the table.And the remains will fuel some enough that they will have strength to cope with Black Friday. Now let's move forward through the great open door to the Holy Season of CHRISTmas.

They said I was AWOL

It was August, 1953. I was being transferred from Chanute AFB in Illinois to Selfridge AFB in Michigan. I was to travel by military air using one of our Wing C-46 Curtiss "Commando" aircraft.
With all my gear I checked in and the clerk at Operations said I was on the manifold (passenger list)
and that I was to go out to the flight line and board the plane.

Once boarding I found the pilot to be someone I knew quite well and so I felt comfortable with him at the controls. Once airborne we headed east and, with two hours completed< I thought we ought to be getting close to the Michigan area. But when I looked out the window I saw a city below surrounded by a "Y" of rivers. Going to the cockpit I told the pilot that it sure looked a lot more like Pittsburgh 'downstairs' and he said I was correct. I asked,"isn't this a strange way to get to the Detroit area?" He replied that I was pretty perceptive, but that we were not going to Michigan - we were going to Suffolk County AFB in Long Island, NY. Obviously there was a glitch in the flight plan, or maybe it was a problem with the manifest. At any rate, when we got to New York the flight crew supposedly checked with Chanute to see what they should do with me. Chanute came back to say that they would let us know.

And so we charged on to the next base: Dow AFB, ME. Another check with Chanute. Same answer.
Same thing at Andrews AFB. And Donaldson AF. At MacDill AFB in Tampa, FL there was a B-25 going to Selfridge But no authority to switch planes was granted from Chanute.

By this time I was beginning to think that I had been drafted into being a lifetime load master because at every base I was wrestling equipment off and onto the aircraft. I may have even heard a few snickers from the crew chief and the cockpit crew. Every base we stopped at the answer was the same;' We're working on it and we'll let you know'.

From MacDill we went to Keesler - Biggs - and Barksdale. Same old story. From Barksdale we headed north to Seward AFB, near Nashville TN. By now the flight had consumed almost a week.
I had now gotten interest in the Loran navigating system and had almost gotten it down pat. One more base to go: McGee/Tyson AFB in Knoxville TN. Well, actually there was another - back to Chanute AFB from which  I had started this ill advised trip. Getting back quite late at night I stayed over in the transient barracks wondering is was fated to go out on another load master assignment.

Not likely. When I checked back in with the First Sergeant of home squadron. Instead of a warm welcome home I found myself in the midst of a hornets nest. Turns out that none of the calls from the aircrew had gotten back to the squadron and I had been carried as AWOL (absent without leave). When everything was ironed out they prepared new orders for me to my initial goal, Selfridge AFB,
Michigan. What's more, they heeded my plea not to send me by military air - "Let me go by train,"
I begged. That's what they did and I finally got to the base the next day where I was roundly counseled by the Detachment First Sergeant.

I think it was only two weeks later that I bought a car and the rest of my transfers were by car. After all, I was no given a load master rating so why should I have to do it without getting flight pay?