Growing up, the Christmas tree was always put up on the day after Thanksgiving and always stayed up until my parents anniversary on January 7. We had a moderatly non-realistic artificial tree. Among my early Christmas memories was that it was my job to sort out the branches by the color of paint on the end of the wire so they'd be put in the correct row of holes on the pole that formed the trunk. The branches would be inserted, the green "tribbles" would be wrapped around the trunk to hide the fact that it was a green-painted pole, and then my dad would start swearing at, er, working on making the mini-lights work. Once the lights were on (of course they were the type that if one bulb blew the whole string went out) we'd put on tinsel (later garland when my mom got tired of finding tinsel in the cat's litterbox), then the ornaments (mostly glass). I also recall a stand my dad made out of 2x4's because he got tired of the old stand tipping over.
Christmas morning was as magic as for most kids. Often there would be a set of toy trains under the tree (the beginnings of a hobby for me). Thinking back I'm amazed at what my mother accomplished on a limited income (Dad was disabled at work when I was ten). She'd start shopping for Christmas around May or so, getting an item or two each time.
Christmas Eve was a family thing at my house. I'm the youngest of my family, my brothers and sister are quite a bit older than I am (I have a nephew who's six months younger than I am). Early on (before I was aware of such things) my parents old me they'd have the family get-together on Christmas Day, but found out that (a) my nieces and nephews didn't like being away from their new toys on Christmas Day and (b) they'd express that by breaking MY new toys. So the party was moved to Christmas Eve. My father and brothers would spend the evening getting tipsy on cheap beer and solving all the world's problems in the living room. My mother and sisters-in-law would share the latest gossip in the kitchen. The kids would be playing with whatever presents we got on that day and anticipating what Santa would bring. And of course there was always a big supply of my mother's cookies and cakes.
One year as my mother was preparing for the festivities she was putting stuff out on the dining room table. She had to be careful what she put out, she didn't want to leave anything unattended where the cat (Jeremiah) could get it, but she thought she was safe leaving the olives out. It turned out that Jerry liked olives, he ate the entire jar.
OK, stop reading my blog and get to work on memories for yourself and your kids. Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 23, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Flight
I should have posted this over the weekend but was busy with other, Christmas related things (including two parties!).
December 17th, 2005 marked the 102nd anniversary of the first manned, powered, sustained flight by a heavier-than-air craft by the Wright brothers. Consider: a mere 66 years later we left the first human foot prints on the moon, and we now have a number of space craft that have not only left the Earth, but have left the entire solar system never to return.
I grew up with the space program, some of the earliest toys I recall were astronauts, rockets, lunar rovers, I even had a card-game called "Space Race". I see a direct correlation between the Wright brothers and the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo programs. At first planes were used mainly by two groups, the rich and famous and the government. Right now only the governments and a few wealthy individuals have gone into space, but perhaps in a few years (maybe even within my lifetime) we'll see space flight the same way we currently see airplane flight. Recently a private company launched a reuseable craft into suborbital flight. They proved it was reuseable by launching it twice within a preset timeframe. If that's not an exciting concept for a space-age kid I don't know what is.
I remember once being asked what one thing I'd do, what one dream I'd fulfill, if I could do it right now and money were no object. I said I'd ride the space shuttle. To truly understand what this means to me, I hate, and I mean PASSIONATELY hate to fly. I hate amusement park rides, my wife could tell you how Runaway Train at Great Adventure was a white-knuckle experience for me. Just watching a shuttle launch, as the bird rolls over on its back, is enough to make parts of my anatomy pucker. Still, I'd go if I could. If they ever decide that they need an overweight, middle-aged guy as part of the crew I'll be first on line. I'd go as cargo if I had to.
Why? Let me relate a story. Once, while I was commuting by bus, the bus I was in went over an overpass, and on the roadway beneath was a rental truck that was a little to high to make it under the overpass. The top of the truck was peeled back like a sardine can. As I went by at 60 or so mph I could see all the stuff in the truck. Now, I've loaded rental trucks, boxes, furniture, mattresses, etc. This gave me a new perspective on the inside of a truck, a view you don't normally get. I imagine the astronauts in the International Space Station or on the shuttle get that perspective. You don't see a storm from the ground, looking up and only seeing the leading edge of it, you see the whole storm from the top. Imagine seeing the shadow cast by the Rocky Mountains as the sun rises. Imagine looking the other way and seeing stars, more stars than you ever imagined. So I'd clamp my hands firmly on my stomach and keep swallowing whatever I ate for the last two days. I'd hand out earplugs to my fellow crew members so they wouldn't hear me screaming. I'd probably have sore hands for days from clutching whatever there is to clutch. But I'd go, and when I got back I'd be glad I went, I'd count it as the experience of a lifetime.
102 years ago people said that if man were meant to fly he'd have wings. I'd reply that man has wings, wings he made himself. It's what we've always done, we didn't have claws and fangs to hunt with or to protect us from predators so we made them. We didn't have wings, we didn't have the ability to breathe in a vacuum or under water. I believe that someday we'll walk on other planets in this solar system (in fact in the 60's and 70's you couldn't have convinced me that we wouldn't have colonized Mars by now!). That's also what we do, we knew there was nothing on top of Mt Everest, we knew there was nothing really special about the North or South Poles, but that didn't stop people from going there. There may be no good reason to go back to the moon, or to Mars or to one of the moons of Jupiter, but we'll go. We're driven by the same impluse that made a distant ancestor cross to the other side of the river just to see what's there.
Next clear night go outside and look at the moon, reflect that there are footprints, flags, and some decomposing junk up there and that we put it there. Consider that the same spirit that drove those space pioneers drove the Wrights to fly at Kitty Hawk. Try to imagine our world without the technologies that started with that first flight. Now try to imagine our world in a hundred years without the benefits of the technology borne of the space program. Like they say, shoot for the moon, even if you miss you land among the stars.
December 17th, 2005 marked the 102nd anniversary of the first manned, powered, sustained flight by a heavier-than-air craft by the Wright brothers. Consider: a mere 66 years later we left the first human foot prints on the moon, and we now have a number of space craft that have not only left the Earth, but have left the entire solar system never to return.
I grew up with the space program, some of the earliest toys I recall were astronauts, rockets, lunar rovers, I even had a card-game called "Space Race". I see a direct correlation between the Wright brothers and the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo programs. At first planes were used mainly by two groups, the rich and famous and the government. Right now only the governments and a few wealthy individuals have gone into space, but perhaps in a few years (maybe even within my lifetime) we'll see space flight the same way we currently see airplane flight. Recently a private company launched a reuseable craft into suborbital flight. They proved it was reuseable by launching it twice within a preset timeframe. If that's not an exciting concept for a space-age kid I don't know what is.
I remember once being asked what one thing I'd do, what one dream I'd fulfill, if I could do it right now and money were no object. I said I'd ride the space shuttle. To truly understand what this means to me, I hate, and I mean PASSIONATELY hate to fly. I hate amusement park rides, my wife could tell you how Runaway Train at Great Adventure was a white-knuckle experience for me. Just watching a shuttle launch, as the bird rolls over on its back, is enough to make parts of my anatomy pucker. Still, I'd go if I could. If they ever decide that they need an overweight, middle-aged guy as part of the crew I'll be first on line. I'd go as cargo if I had to.
Why? Let me relate a story. Once, while I was commuting by bus, the bus I was in went over an overpass, and on the roadway beneath was a rental truck that was a little to high to make it under the overpass. The top of the truck was peeled back like a sardine can. As I went by at 60 or so mph I could see all the stuff in the truck. Now, I've loaded rental trucks, boxes, furniture, mattresses, etc. This gave me a new perspective on the inside of a truck, a view you don't normally get. I imagine the astronauts in the International Space Station or on the shuttle get that perspective. You don't see a storm from the ground, looking up and only seeing the leading edge of it, you see the whole storm from the top. Imagine seeing the shadow cast by the Rocky Mountains as the sun rises. Imagine looking the other way and seeing stars, more stars than you ever imagined. So I'd clamp my hands firmly on my stomach and keep swallowing whatever I ate for the last two days. I'd hand out earplugs to my fellow crew members so they wouldn't hear me screaming. I'd probably have sore hands for days from clutching whatever there is to clutch. But I'd go, and when I got back I'd be glad I went, I'd count it as the experience of a lifetime.
102 years ago people said that if man were meant to fly he'd have wings. I'd reply that man has wings, wings he made himself. It's what we've always done, we didn't have claws and fangs to hunt with or to protect us from predators so we made them. We didn't have wings, we didn't have the ability to breathe in a vacuum or under water. I believe that someday we'll walk on other planets in this solar system (in fact in the 60's and 70's you couldn't have convinced me that we wouldn't have colonized Mars by now!). That's also what we do, we knew there was nothing on top of Mt Everest, we knew there was nothing really special about the North or South Poles, but that didn't stop people from going there. There may be no good reason to go back to the moon, or to Mars or to one of the moons of Jupiter, but we'll go. We're driven by the same impluse that made a distant ancestor cross to the other side of the river just to see what's there.
Next clear night go outside and look at the moon, reflect that there are footprints, flags, and some decomposing junk up there and that we put it there. Consider that the same spirit that drove those space pioneers drove the Wrights to fly at Kitty Hawk. Try to imagine our world without the technologies that started with that first flight. Now try to imagine our world in a hundred years without the benefits of the technology borne of the space program. Like they say, shoot for the moon, even if you miss you land among the stars.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Merry Commercialmas
You've seen the commercials, the announcer tells you that the advertizer has the perfect gift for that special someone in your life. The perfect gift turns out to be a brand-new luxury car, and the implication is that you really don't treat that other person as particularly special unless you buy them this car, and of course if you do you're a wonderful significant other for buying what your loved one REALLY wants.
Now, I know that there are people in this country who can afford to drop 30 or 40 thousand dollars on a car as a Christmas present. I doubt that there are enough such people to keep a car company in business, year after year. The rest of us would have to take money from savings, trade in an existing car, and/or finance such a purchase. I know that if I made such a financial decision without consulting my wife beforehand I'd end up sleeping in the shed outside.
I wonder sometimes if we've forgotten what this gift giving thing is all about. Did Melchior go into debt for a year to supply the gold in an effort to win the approval of the newborn King? Did Balthasar see an advertizement telling him that frankincense was the perfect give for that special Savior? Did Caspar buy Myrrh in an effort to make as good an impression as the other two Magi? Did they keep asking "Are we there yet?" as they followed the star to Bethlehem? I doubt it, I think the three Magi (or wise men, or kings if you prefer) brought their gifts as an offering of love, freely and cheerfully offered to the One whose devoted servants they were. The gifts were just a symbol of the love and devotion they felt. As in the wonderful story of the Little Drummer Boy if they had no gift that was worth money they could have offered the one gift that matters, the gift of themselves.
I have, in my jewelry box at home, a ring made of stainless steel. It belonged to my mother. She had it as long as I can remember. My father made it for her when he was unemployed and couldn't afford a present for her, he got a stainless steel nut, drilled it out to fit her finger, ground and filed it down, filed a design into it, and gave it to her as a present. Total monetary value, pennies. Total sentimental value, priceless. Remember this next time you go out shopping for people you don't like, spending money you don't have on gifts they won't like.
Now, I know that there are people in this country who can afford to drop 30 or 40 thousand dollars on a car as a Christmas present. I doubt that there are enough such people to keep a car company in business, year after year. The rest of us would have to take money from savings, trade in an existing car, and/or finance such a purchase. I know that if I made such a financial decision without consulting my wife beforehand I'd end up sleeping in the shed outside.
I wonder sometimes if we've forgotten what this gift giving thing is all about. Did Melchior go into debt for a year to supply the gold in an effort to win the approval of the newborn King? Did Balthasar see an advertizement telling him that frankincense was the perfect give for that special Savior? Did Caspar buy Myrrh in an effort to make as good an impression as the other two Magi? Did they keep asking "Are we there yet?" as they followed the star to Bethlehem? I doubt it, I think the three Magi (or wise men, or kings if you prefer) brought their gifts as an offering of love, freely and cheerfully offered to the One whose devoted servants they were. The gifts were just a symbol of the love and devotion they felt. As in the wonderful story of the Little Drummer Boy if they had no gift that was worth money they could have offered the one gift that matters, the gift of themselves.
I have, in my jewelry box at home, a ring made of stainless steel. It belonged to my mother. She had it as long as I can remember. My father made it for her when he was unemployed and couldn't afford a present for her, he got a stainless steel nut, drilled it out to fit her finger, ground and filed it down, filed a design into it, and gave it to her as a present. Total monetary value, pennies. Total sentimental value, priceless. Remember this next time you go out shopping for people you don't like, spending money you don't have on gifts they won't like.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Christmas Shopping
Well, my wife and I went Christmas shopping this morning, we were at the mall by 7:30 and left at about 11:00. I actually got most of my shopping done in this one trip. Of course I only buy for one person, my wife, she buys for everyone else. Hmmm, I see a future blog entry on division of labor in a marriage.
Being a man shopping in the women's section of Macy's can be a rough experience. First off, the store isn't arranged properly. You want to see a properly arranged store, go to a hardware store. All the toilet parts are here, all the paint is there, light switches over there and mail boxes in another aisle. Imagine if hardware stores were laid out like Macy's and you went there looking for a shovel. OK, here's a shovel, next to a rake and a hammer. Then in the next aisle is another shovel, next to a circular saw and a power drill. Two aisles over is a third shovel, next to that one is a set of files and a motion-sensing light fixture. Why aren't the shovels together? Because the whole store is arranged by manufacturer! Each shovel is next to other items made by the same company, so if you want to find a particular type of shovel (say a garden spade or a snow shovel) you either have to know who makes that type of shovel or you wander around the whole store looking for it. Is it any wonder men don't like shopping, except in sensible places like hardware stores, gun shops, and sporting-goods stores?
Don't even get me started on "miss's" vs "women's" (I just learned this one today, I hope I got the right one! Well, that's why I get gift receipts, right?) And we won't even begin to discuss the helpful sales person (who looks to be about the same age as my CAR) who can't figure out the change if she punches the wrong amount received into the computerized cash register and has to cancel the order and ring the whole thing up again. This thankfully didn't happen today, but it's happened in the past.
No, I'm not saying what I bought for my wife for Christmas, she reads my blog. Stay tuned!
Being a man shopping in the women's section of Macy's can be a rough experience. First off, the store isn't arranged properly. You want to see a properly arranged store, go to a hardware store. All the toilet parts are here, all the paint is there, light switches over there and mail boxes in another aisle. Imagine if hardware stores were laid out like Macy's and you went there looking for a shovel. OK, here's a shovel, next to a rake and a hammer. Then in the next aisle is another shovel, next to a circular saw and a power drill. Two aisles over is a third shovel, next to that one is a set of files and a motion-sensing light fixture. Why aren't the shovels together? Because the whole store is arranged by manufacturer! Each shovel is next to other items made by the same company, so if you want to find a particular type of shovel (say a garden spade or a snow shovel) you either have to know who makes that type of shovel or you wander around the whole store looking for it. Is it any wonder men don't like shopping, except in sensible places like hardware stores, gun shops, and sporting-goods stores?
Don't even get me started on "miss's" vs "women's" (I just learned this one today, I hope I got the right one! Well, that's why I get gift receipts, right?) And we won't even begin to discuss the helpful sales person (who looks to be about the same age as my CAR) who can't figure out the change if she punches the wrong amount received into the computerized cash register and has to cancel the order and ring the whole thing up again. This thankfully didn't happen today, but it's happened in the past.
No, I'm not saying what I bought for my wife for Christmas, she reads my blog. Stay tuned!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Day of Infamy
Today is December 7th, 2005, the 64th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Have you thanked a veteran lately?
Remember, the Greatest Generation is dying off rapidly, get their stories NOW while you still can. People who were 18 in 1941 are 82 now.
One thing that has always struck me is that the men who served in World War II were just ordinary men. My Dad's last job before he was disabled was as a crane operator. I knew a man who was a Pearl Harbor survivor, he sold costume jewelry at the local indoor flea market. I met a vet last Memorial Day in Cape May, NJ, he was selling a book of poems he's written over the years. Men who did the job they had to do, then went home, picked up their lives, got jobs, and started families.
Have you thanked a veteran lately?
Remember, the Greatest Generation is dying off rapidly, get their stories NOW while you still can. People who were 18 in 1941 are 82 now.
One thing that has always struck me is that the men who served in World War II were just ordinary men. My Dad's last job before he was disabled was as a crane operator. I knew a man who was a Pearl Harbor survivor, he sold costume jewelry at the local indoor flea market. I met a vet last Memorial Day in Cape May, NJ, he was selling a book of poems he's written over the years. Men who did the job they had to do, then went home, picked up their lives, got jobs, and started families.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
This Is My Rifle.....
there are many like it but this one is mine! Hoo boy, is THAT an understatement, it's a Mosin Nagant 91/30, built in 1938 in the Izhevsk arsenal in Russia. It's all matching, with matching bayonet and a cleaning kit and sling.
My wife took me out yesterday to pick out my Christmas present, I knew I wanted a military surplus rifle and I was pretty sure I wanted either a Mosin Nagant or a Mauser. The Mausers in my price range here pretty beat up and the Mosins all looked like they hadn't been fired in 60 years, in fact they probably haven't been.
I have to give her a good cleaning, get some ammo (Sarco was out) and get her to the range.
Since I tend to name things like cars and guns, I'm also thinking of a name for her. Something common, tough and reliable, something that will bring up images of a peasant woman in a babushka in the fields. Of course the name will be female!
Friday, December 02, 2005
Dad's Stories - Part 3
Insert my usual disclaimer here.
Dad was a Marine during and after World War II. He was stationed on the island of Peleliu in the South Pacific. From there he went to Japan, and from there to China. Here are a couple stories from his time there.
The Marines on Peleliu were given, among other things, a fishing spear head to be used to occupy themselves. The head had three prongs (picture King Neptune's spear). They had to supply the handle themselves. Someone noticed that the threads in the spear head matched the threads on the radio antennas on the jeep-mounted radios, which caused some consternation when the radio needed to be used. Being a civic minded guy (ha!) as well as being handy, Dad set up shop making handles for the spears out of scraps of pipe or whatever he could scrounge. He'd also add barps to the prongs by flattening the metal out a bit then filing it to a point and barb. His fee was either a six-pack or a bottle of scotch. The brass was happy because the radio attennas stayed where they belonged, the other Marines were happy because they had fishing spears and the barbs kept the fish from being lost, and Dad was happy because he had a supply of beer or scotch. Capitalism at work!
My Dad also had no fear of heights at all, I can recall that about him. Well it seemed the airfield on Peleliu had some sort of mast, for radio or radar or whatever I don't recall. The mast had a ladder going up the side of it, and it had a light bulb on top. Since Murphy was definitely in the military, the bulb burned out. As I recall it wasn't the Marine's reponsibility to replace the bulb (I don't recall who "owned" the mast though), but no one who's responsibility it was would climb the ladder to replace it because it was too high. His Colonel (for whom Dad was orderly), always looking for a way to stick it to another branch of service, said he knew someone who'd climb up there for a price. The Colonel told my Dad that he'd get a bottle of scotch for doing this. Negotiations ensued, and the final price was a case of scotch.
The Japanese interpreter for my Dad's unit was a guy from someplace in the deep South, Dad swore that he spoke Japanese with a Southern accent. One day a Marine had been out scrounging on the island and found a cave full of bottles with Japanese labels. He brought the bottle to the interpreter, hoping it was saki or something similar. Upon reading the label the interpreter asked the scrounger where he found it, and HOW he found it. He replied that he was searching a cave using his cigarette lighter for light and found several cases of these bottles. It turned out that the bottles contained something very similar to napalm.
Later on after the war my Dad was stationed in China. He was with the communications unit, he was a lineman. He and his buddies got the job of removing some old phone lines, and he drew a line that was attached to a pole in the middle of a rice paddy. As he climbed the pole (using gaffs and a belt) he noticed that the pole was wobbly. When he got to the top and started detaching wires he realized that the lines were the only thing holding the pole up. Realizing that he was headed for a splash-down, he removed the belt so that when the pole fell he could get away from it, and as he detached the last wire the pole fell and he landed in the rice paddy. If you've never seen a rice paddy or pictures of one, it looks like a swamp with one notable difference, it's fertilized. It's fertilized with human waste. His buddies made him ride back to base on the bumper of the jeep.
While in China the Marines were paid in American money, and the exchange rate was incredible. I recall him telling me it was something like 20,000 Chinese dollars to one American dollar. A lot of the Marines got tatoos, but my Dad never liked needles so instead he had an eagle embroidered on the back of one of his jackets by one of the old men in the area. Upon asking the price he was told ten dollars, he asked if that was ten dollars American or Chinese, and the price was ten dollars Chinese. He gave the man a couple American dollars which made him extremely happy.
Dad was a Marine during and after World War II. He was stationed on the island of Peleliu in the South Pacific. From there he went to Japan, and from there to China. Here are a couple stories from his time there.
The Marines on Peleliu were given, among other things, a fishing spear head to be used to occupy themselves. The head had three prongs (picture King Neptune's spear). They had to supply the handle themselves. Someone noticed that the threads in the spear head matched the threads on the radio antennas on the jeep-mounted radios, which caused some consternation when the radio needed to be used. Being a civic minded guy (ha!) as well as being handy, Dad set up shop making handles for the spears out of scraps of pipe or whatever he could scrounge. He'd also add barps to the prongs by flattening the metal out a bit then filing it to a point and barb. His fee was either a six-pack or a bottle of scotch. The brass was happy because the radio attennas stayed where they belonged, the other Marines were happy because they had fishing spears and the barbs kept the fish from being lost, and Dad was happy because he had a supply of beer or scotch. Capitalism at work!
My Dad also had no fear of heights at all, I can recall that about him. Well it seemed the airfield on Peleliu had some sort of mast, for radio or radar or whatever I don't recall. The mast had a ladder going up the side of it, and it had a light bulb on top. Since Murphy was definitely in the military, the bulb burned out. As I recall it wasn't the Marine's reponsibility to replace the bulb (I don't recall who "owned" the mast though), but no one who's responsibility it was would climb the ladder to replace it because it was too high. His Colonel (for whom Dad was orderly), always looking for a way to stick it to another branch of service, said he knew someone who'd climb up there for a price. The Colonel told my Dad that he'd get a bottle of scotch for doing this. Negotiations ensued, and the final price was a case of scotch.
The Japanese interpreter for my Dad's unit was a guy from someplace in the deep South, Dad swore that he spoke Japanese with a Southern accent. One day a Marine had been out scrounging on the island and found a cave full of bottles with Japanese labels. He brought the bottle to the interpreter, hoping it was saki or something similar. Upon reading the label the interpreter asked the scrounger where he found it, and HOW he found it. He replied that he was searching a cave using his cigarette lighter for light and found several cases of these bottles. It turned out that the bottles contained something very similar to napalm.
Later on after the war my Dad was stationed in China. He was with the communications unit, he was a lineman. He and his buddies got the job of removing some old phone lines, and he drew a line that was attached to a pole in the middle of a rice paddy. As he climbed the pole (using gaffs and a belt) he noticed that the pole was wobbly. When he got to the top and started detaching wires he realized that the lines were the only thing holding the pole up. Realizing that he was headed for a splash-down, he removed the belt so that when the pole fell he could get away from it, and as he detached the last wire the pole fell and he landed in the rice paddy. If you've never seen a rice paddy or pictures of one, it looks like a swamp with one notable difference, it's fertilized. It's fertilized with human waste. His buddies made him ride back to base on the bumper of the jeep.
While in China the Marines were paid in American money, and the exchange rate was incredible. I recall him telling me it was something like 20,000 Chinese dollars to one American dollar. A lot of the Marines got tatoos, but my Dad never liked needles so instead he had an eagle embroidered on the back of one of his jackets by one of the old men in the area. Upon asking the price he was told ten dollars, he asked if that was ten dollars American or Chinese, and the price was ten dollars Chinese. He gave the man a couple American dollars which made him extremely happy.
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