Euphemism: ‘Depart the Fix…’

In flying we are occasionally assigned to ‘hold’ at designated ‘holding fixes’ along our route of flight.  And on Instrument Approaches there are often holding fixes depicted – not always used, but depicted just the same.  There are many reasons for ‘holding,’ among them weather delays, congested traffic, priority traffic, etc.  This is a typical Holding Fix.

holddiagram

If we are assigned holding, and subsequently cleared to continue on with our flight, we are required to report, “Departing the (holding) Fix” when we actually pass over the designated holding fix.

So, a lot of use the expression “Departing the fix” as an euphemism for leaving where-ever….

(Of interest, I have occasionally seen guys “get lost” in holding!  It is an incredible experience to sit through!)

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A ‘Don’

So, you are driving along at the posted speed limit and all of a sudden you notice this pair of headlights in your rear view mirror.  Real close, and kinda high.  They are attached to an oversized Dodge Ram pickup, with huge tires that rumble.  You notice the truck drifting side-to-side, the driver becoming ever more impatient.     He backs off a bit, then comes charging up to your rear bumper as if to encourage you to speed it up.  Not gonna work today.

Once when he drifts back a bit you can see him ‘banging’ his steering wheel – as if that’s gonna make you speed up!  It’s then that you feel near to the ‘center of the Universe!’

Finally he decides to pass, over a double yellow line and into on coming traffic – black smoke belching from the custom stacks affixed to his Dodge Ram pickup truck.  His license tags read “AW 63″ – Anthony Wayne High School, number 63 on the football team!  About 500 feet or so you notice him pull into a Walmart parking lot – so what the hell – you pull in behind him, just to see what this ‘bozo’ is all about, and to have some fun with him.

As he climbs down out of his Dodge Ram pickup truck, the first thing you notice about him is his size.  He is (usually) about 6’4” and weighs maybe 270 pounds.  Not so much muscle as a beer gut on him now.  This is real apparent because of the ‘designer’ Fruit-of-the-Loom T-shirt he is wearing – the one he should have tossed 3 years ago.  You can clearly see the early onset of “Dick-do” disease in him.  That’s where his stomach sticks out further than his dick do… You then wonder if he is a plumber because you notice his “plumber’s crack” showing above his low-riding, slightly dirty jeans.

To complete his ensemble he is wearing a baseball cap – backwards of course.  He also has a pair of those ‘skinny’ new sunglasses that you can wear backwards also – if you want.  Under his cap you suspect his head is shaved.  His designer Fruit-of-the-Loom T-shirt is sleeveless, of course, and on his left bicep he is sporting a single of barb wire – maybe with a single drop of blood?

You get caught staring just a bit too long, and now he is coming over to you with some what of a ‘menacing look’ about him.  No need to concern yourself – just wait until he gets nearer.  When he is about 7 or 8 feet from you just say, “Hi, Don!”  You have about a 85% chance his name really is Don!  If you have ever seen one of these guys, you will understand.  More often than not he will reply, “How’d you know my name is ‘Don’?”  (It’s gotta be, that or either ‘McFly!’)

Here you reply, “Oh, I know you Dad,” and just walk off… When you drive off, glance back and he will still be standing there – with his natural, stupid look about him…

“How’d he know my name is Don?”

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Keep Your Distance, Stranger

Keep Your Distance, Stranger

keep your distance Stranger,
…stay away!
i can sense your interest,
…in wondering if i will play.

into my life
you have all come.
friends, foes and lovers,
…one by one.

i have played with you,
i have fought with you.
i have loved you,
and i have hated you,
…and yet, you all were my treasures.

for all sorts of reasons,
it hasn’t really mattered
you’ve all left, one by one,
…leaving my spirit shattered.

joey & jay & jerry & john,
childhood buddies of years ago
where you are today,
…you know, i think i know,

i once found jay,
one night in ‘86.
he couldn’t remember me,
…maybe i don’t exist.

i found bill’s dad
in montana in ‘95.
bill’s no longer with us,
…eight months before – suicide.

i came across tom a while back,
a despised enemy from a career past.
we sat and talked for a while,
…even my damn enemies don’t last.

marty & joe, craig, hollywood & rick,
bill & dobie, mike & rat – dear friends from years ago.
we flew together and raised a bit of hell,
…and created stories others still tell.

i know where you all are,
you are never, ever, very far, from my heart.
i try though not to think of you much,
…as on some days it tends to tear me apart.

dana & sandy, susan, steph & mary,
and perhaps a couple others along the way.
at one time or another, in one way or another, each of you was my lover.
…but eventually you either left on you own, or i pushed you away.

so, i can sense your interest Stranger,
and i can make you smile.
but be it friend, or foe, or lover
…i know you’ll be leaving in a while.

so keep your distance Stranger,
stay away!
i have no more room for anymore hurt;
i don’t want to play…
…so please Stranger, go away.

Bobby H.
1998

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A Nation of Law?

We profess to be a ‘Nation of Law(s),’ and at one time, we might have been.  I don’t think we are anymore…

From my observation people today tend to follow only the laws that suit them.  If a ‘law’ is inconvenient, or deemed “bullshit” by someone these days, they just tend to “blow it off.”  You can see this any day on the highway.  How many folks actually follow the speed limits anymore?  We could really save a lot of money by not posting speed limit signs any more – people don’t tend to follow the damn things anyway.  And when is the last time you actually saw someone stop at a ‘stop’ sign?  Oh yeah, they ‘slow down’ to give the appearance of complying, but that’s about the extent of it.

I heard a newscaster the other night talking about being in the Vatican.  She mentioned that she was told that they were not allowed to take pictures in the church.  “But,” she went on to say, “I took a few anyway.”  Freely admitted it on her newscast.  Those rules must be meant for us Lutherans, eh?  But the episode speaks volumes to the prevalent attitude toward ‘laws’ (or rules) anymore.  And people could care less, or so it seems…

I, for one, am tired of living in a society with no apparent respect for the law – whatever that law might be.  And no one seems to give a shit… the “it’s all about me” attitude anymore.   The “Sesame Street Kids” – every kid doing his own thing – are coming home to roost.  And what a pain in the ass you are…

Well, I for one, will not cave to this syndrome.  I do not give a rats ass if you are ‘riding my bumper;’ I will not go any faster than the posted speed limit.  Just this afternoon some ‘zipper-headed no-brain’ passed me across a solid yellow line because he didn’t think I was going fast enough.  And I have no problem “flipping off” these jerk offs in instances like this.

So, now I feel better… Regardless of how “special,” or how “important” you might feel about yourself, I will not compromise my values or the laws of our land, to meet your simpering expectations…

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Hope?

I am reading a book, “Grandfather,” by Tom Brown.  It’s a book about a Native American’s search for truth and harmony with nature.  I am just about finished with it…

I have gravitated toward Native American spirituality here in sobriety.  Not so much as a ‘replacement’ of religion as we ‘white people’ know it, but as ‘refuge’ if you will.  A refuge from the biased “explanations” of men.  It is so simple, so pure and so calming…

I find it quite ironic that ‘white men’ first came to America under the auspicious of seeking ‘religious freedom,’ only to tell the Red Man if he didn’t convert to Christianity, they would kill them…  and for the most part, they have.  First physically, then socially, economically and psychologically.  I am finding a lot of parallels between the struggles of the Native Americans with the early white men, and myself with “progressives” of today.

In the chapter I read today it was talking about the plight of the Native American with respect to becoming assimilated into the white culture.  “Their families were torn apart and they were forced to live the way of the white man, away from the earth.”  Substitute “progressive,” or “democrat,” and this is how I relate.  I am seeing my grand kids being schooled to be Politically Correct (PC) at the expense of being a ‘boy!’  It’s now all right for them to hug gays at school, but there is hell to pay if they play “Cops and Robbers!”  If I were in school today, as a young boy, I surely would be tossed for instigating a game of “Cowboys and Ragheads!”

The book goes on: “They were taught that their ways were primitive and wrong, that their religion and way of life were wrong, and they would have to learn to live like whites.”  I would rather die than submit to the ways of the progressives.  And I probably will, in some “re-education camp” someday soon… That being said, my morals and core values are NOT “wrong!”  (I will go into more depth on this thread later here…)

As the chapter comes to an end, Grandfather began to sense a tremendous loss.  “His sense of being alone, of loss, became overwhelming at times.”

“Grandfather began to feel imprisoned, though not as it was on the reservations.”  I am feeling more and more “imprisoned” as I sense my freedoms and liberties I grew up with are being taken from me… and there is nothing I can do about it.

“The people of the earth were being wiped out right before his eyes, and he stood by helpless.”  I feel this way this morning.  I am seeing our nation, my nation, being systematically destroyed by ‘progressives’ (socialists), and I feel so bloody helpless.  It’s as if my life were for nothing.

In the book, Grandfather returns to his village and is met by Coyote Thunder.  He speaks:  “We knew many days ago that you were coming.  We also know what troubles your heart, for I too have seen the pain of broken spirits.  That is why I will not allow the people of the clan to get too close to the white man.  Instead we prefer to remain hidden until our final days.  You now see no hope, but there is hope.   You must teach anyone who will listen.  The things of truth and spirit will never pass away, but prevail in the end.”  If I didn’t feel this, there would be no hope…

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Introduction to “Military Brats” – 20

This is my last installment with this thread.  These last few paragraphs brought me to my knees when I first read them.  It actually took me a few years to completely get through them when I first attempted to read the book…

As I was reading this book, it moved me so many times that I could feel the novelist in me fighting to the surface for air.  The novelist kept trying to change Mary’s book and make it something it wasn’t.  I imagined that all of us could meet on some impeccably manicured field, all the military brats, in a gathering so vast that it would be like the assembly of some vivid and undauntable army.  We could come together on this parade ground at dusk, million voiced and articulating our secret anthems of hurt and joy.  We could praise each other in voices that understand both the magnificence and pain of our transient lives.  Our greatest tragedy is we don’t know each other.  Our stories could help us see and understand what it is we have lived through and endured.

At the end of our assembly, we could pass in review in a parade of unutterable beauty.  As brats, we’ve watched a thousand parades on a thousand weekends.  We’ve shined shoes and polished brass and gotten every bedroom we ever slept in ready for Saturday morning inspection.  A parade would be a piece of cake for the military brats of the world.

I would put all of our fathers in the reviewing stand, and require that they come in full dress uniform and in the prime of life.  I want our fathers handsome and strong and feared by all the armies of the world the day they attend our parade.

To the ancient beat of drums we could pass by those erect and silent rows of fathers.  What a fearful word father is to so many of us, but not on this day, when the marchers keep perfect step and the command for “Eyes, Right!” roars through our disciplined ranks and we turn to face our fathers in that crowd of warriors.

In this parade, these men would understand the nature and the value os their children’s sacrifice for the first time.  Our fathers would stand at rigid attention.  Then they would begin to salute us, one by one, and in that salute, that one sign of recognition, of acknowledgment, they would thank us for the first time.  They would be thanking their own children for their fortitude and courage and generosity and long suffering, for enduring a military childhood.

But most of all the salute would be for something no military man in this country has ever acknowledged.  The gathering of fighting men would be thanking their children, their fine and resourceful children, who were strangers in every town they entered, thanking them for their extraordinary service to the United States if America, to its ideals of freedom, to its preservation, and to its everlasting honor.

Mary points out in this splendid book something that’s never been pointed out before: that military brats, my lost tribe, spent their entire youth in service to this country and no one ever knew they were there.  This book is our acknowledgement.  This book is our parade.

I wrote The Great Santini because in many ways the book was the only way I could take to the skies in the dark-winged jets, move through those competitive ranks of aviators and become, at last, my father’s wingman.

And with this book, Mary Edwards Wertsch has taken up the guidon in her fathers’ well-trained regiment.  For this book proves that no matter how brave Col. Edwards was in battle, his daughter is every bit the warrior he was.

— Pat Conroy

It was after I read this that I became determined to see if I could ‘energize’ my US Representative, Bob Latta, to introduce a bill before Congress to recognize the contributions and sacrifices of Military Brats to our Nation.  To his credit, in 2010 he introduced HR 5333 – http://beta.congress.gov/bill/111th-congress/house-bill/5333/text – on 18 May 2010.  It sat “in committee” for a year, then “died.”

The next year, he reintroduced the bill, this time as HR 1014, and it subsequently sat for 2 years in “committee” before dying at the end of 2012!  I think this speaks volumes to what our ‘politicos’ actually think of our kids – all the while using them as “backdrops” for their own political gains, when it suits them… and this makes me ever more determined to push this initiative!

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Gifts for the GrandKids: Awareness

A lot of us, as we coast into our “Golden Years,” consider ‘gifts’ to leave for the GrandKids – or, at least, I have.  The obvious gift is money.  Well, that comes, and goes – and is often soon forgotten.  But I think the one gift I can leave for my GrandKids is, “wisdom.”

I don’t profess to be the ‘wisest guy’ walking on Mother Earth – by any stretch; but neither am I the dumbest!  However I have picked up a few things along the way worth sharing.  And I would like to share these things with my GrandKids through this thread, “Gifts for the GrandKids.”    The first in this installment is ‘Awareness.’

I am amazed at how many people I come across throughout my day who are “clueless!”  They just don’t seem to have much ‘awareness’ of their environment – from things close to them, to issues of national, or international interest.  They just seem to live “simpering,” little lives – flitting around like amoeba on a still pond…

I, on the other hand, seem to have a ‘hyper-awareness’ of things – often to my detriment.  Somewhere, in between, might be a good balance… But the key is to become “aware” of your environment, regardless of the scope of it.  Whether local, national or international; be aware!

I think I began developing my keen sense of awareness as a kid, living with Dear Ole Dad.  I had to be ‘aware’ of his mood to survive!  If I sensed a “happy Dad,” all was well.  If, on the other hand, I sensed a pissed-off Dad, I hid!  I was always aware of his mood!  By the time I left home at 17, I had a fairly well developed sense of “awareness.”  And I continued to work on it into my young adulthood; at the time, not actually realizing what I was doing!

I think this “awareness” is tied to our 6th Sense, and can be developed, with “awareness.”  And so now that you now know this, you can not not know it anymore!  LOL!  I encourage you to “become aware.”

Aware of what?  That’s for you to decide…

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Drone “Pilots”

dronepilots_3

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Introduction to “Military Brats” – 19

Mary’s book has brought it back again – both the great parts and the hideous ones.  She was brave enough to hold nothing back.  I felt great, abiding tenderness for all the military brats when I read this book, and a free-flowing, unquenchable pride.  Listening to the voices of these nameless men and women included here, I filled up with admiration and pity and love for all of them.  We disappear and become invisible the moment we leave our fathers’ homes.  We lose everything except the memories of what we’ve done and how we did it.

Oh, I think we ‘become invisible’ when we leave our father’s home – I certainly did for many years.  Then I became into myself… the “go-to-Hell” Fighter Pilot, with no (apparent) cares in the world.  I was the “cat’s ass,” or so I thought.  It was my stumble into recovery, for alcoholism, that taught me different.  Today I am no where near as enamored with ‘what I was,’ in my early adult years as much as I am content with ‘who I am,’ today… And for this, I am very grateful.

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And, What Do I Think of ‘Obamacare?’

 

 

last_great_act_of_defiance

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