Is this any different than what we are seeing happening in the world today? Something that was written 110 years ago still rings true. Scary in a way...........
Monday, May 31, 2010
Is this any different than what we are seeing happening in the world today? Something that was written 110 years ago still rings true. Scary in a way...........
Sunday, May 30, 2010
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.
Henry V Scene III
Most warriors and cops love the play Henry V by Shakespere. It contains the world famous St. Crispen's day speech which has the band of brothers quote in it. The play has other famous lines in it, such as the one above.
During the time period that the play is set in it was considered a normal practice of warfare that a person if he was important enough, or had enough money could pay a ransom for his safety from the opposing force. Henry by making the above statement made it clear that he was going to fight to the last, and not offer any type of ransom except his dead body.
So what does that have to do with the price of tea in China you might ask? Quite simple if you know how my mind works. While grilling out today I was thinking about my buddy Jez. You see, he was a organ donor and he helped a bunch of folks out with his organs, eyes and skin. So rather than be like good King Henry, Jez left a very valuable legacy for his fellow man.
I would appreciate it if you would think a few minutes about becoming a organ donor if you aren't one already. I am one and I hope that when I go to meet my maker that what ever I leave behind will help somebody out in living a long and healthy life. That way, I can at least continue to do good after I am gone. Not a bad way to be remembered.........
I also found out that because my nieces are a part of the "overly protective parents club" that my great nieces and nephews had never eaten watermelon with seeds. I, of course rectified that situation by introducing them all to that summer time treat. I also introduced the young 'uns to the art and mystery of watermelon seed spitting. Much to the irritation of their parents. (grin)
A good time was had by all...........
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Mr. Hopper did have his demons. He took more drugs than a lab rat and had a deep and long lasting love affair with booze, but in the later part of his life he mastered his addictions and became his own man. He lived his life to the fullest and his contributions to the acting craft will be missed.
Once again it's Memorial Day weekend, the traditional start of the summer vacation season as most people think of it, to include our president who would rather go to Chicago than pay his respects to the honored dead at Arlington.
As for myself, I am trying to remind folks what the holiday really means as well as posting my traditional thank you to the men and women who have served their country in the military and in particular those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice. I normally do this by trying to use my own words, as weak and limited as I think they are, but this year I would like to try something different and use another person's words.
Ernie Pyle was a War Correspondent who covered the common soldiers who fought in WW II. Ernie specialized in reporting on the daily lives of the infantry man. His writing was so powerful that he received the Pulitzer Prize for his articles and was world famous, but still stayed with, and lived with the average "dog faced" soldier rather than the officers, politicians and movers and shakers he could have . Ernie was with his "boys" when he was killed by a Japanese machine gun bullet on the island of Ie Shima, 18 April 1945.
I have taken the liberty to reprint two of his most famous articles to remind us that the cost of freedom is very high, but it's a cost that our young men and women in uniform are willing to pay, day in and day out.
NORTHERN TUNISIA, April 22, 1943 – I was away from the front lines for a while this spring, living with other troops, and considerable fighting took place while I was gone. When I got ready to return to my old friends at the front I wondered if I would sense any change in them.
I did, and definitely.
The most vivid change is the casual and workshop manner in which they now talk about killing. They have made the psychological transition from the normal belief that taking human life is sinful, over to a new professional outlook where killing is a craft. To them now there is nothing morally wrong about killing. In fact it is an admirable thing.
I think I am so impressed by this new attitude because it hasn’t been necessary for me to make this change along with them. As a noncombatant, my own life is in danger only by occasional chance or circumstance. Consequently I need not think of killing in personal terms, and killing to me is still murder.
Even after a winter of living with wholesale death and vile destruction, it is only spasmodically that I seem capable of realizing how real and how awful this war is. My emotions seem dead and crusty when presented with the tangibles of war. I find I can look on rows of fresh graves without a lump in my throat. Somehow I can look on mutilated bodies without flinching or feeling deeply.
It is only when I sit alone away from it all, or lie at night in my bedroll recreating with closed eyes what I have seen, thinking and thinking and thinking, that at last the enormity of all these newly dead strikes like a living nightmare. And there are times when I feel that I can’t stand it and will have to leave.
But to the fighting soldier that phase of the war is behind. It was left behind after his first battle. His blood is up. He is fighting for his life, and killing now for him is as much a profession as writing is for me.
He wants to kill individually or in vast numbers. He wants to see the Germans overrun, mangled, butchered in the Tunisian trap. He speaks excitedly of seeing great heaps of dead, of our bombers sinking whole shiploads of fleeing men, of Germans by the thousands dying miserably in a final Tunisian holocaust of his own creation.
In this one respect the front-line soldier differs from all the rest of us. All the rest of us – you and me and even the thousands of soldiers behind the lines in Africa – we want terribly yet only academically for the war to get over. The front-line soldier wants it to be got over by the physical process of his destroying enough Germans to end it. He is truly at war. The rest of us, no matter how hard we work, are not.
Say what you will, nothing can make a complete soldier except battle experience.
In the semifinals of this campaign – the cleaning out of central Tunisia – we had large units in battle for the first time. Frankly, they didn’t all excel. Their own commanders admit it, and admirably they don’t try to alibi. The British had to help us out a few times, but neither American nor British commanders are worried about that, for there was no lack of bravery. There was only lack of experience. They all know we will do better next time.
The 1st Infantry Division is an example of what our American units can be after they have gone through the mill of experience. Those boys did themselves proud in the semifinals. Everybody speaks about it. Our casualties included few taken prisoners. All the other casualties were wounded or died fighting.
"They never gave an inch," a general says. "They died right in their foxholes."
I heard of a high British officer who went over this battlefield just after the action was over. American boys were still lying dead in their foxholes, their rifles still grasped in firing position in their dead hands. And the veteran English soldier remarked time and again, in a sort of hushed eulogy spoken only to himself:
"Brave men. Brave men."
AT THE FRONT LINES IN ITALY, January 10, 1944 – In this war I have known a lot of officers who were loved and respected by the soldiers under them. But never have I crossed the trail of any man as beloved as Capt. Henry T. Waskow of Belton, Texas.
Capt. Waskow was a company commander in the 36th Division. He had led his company since long before it left the States. He was very young, only in his middle twenties, but he carried in him a sincerity and gentleness that made people want to be guided by him.
"After my own father, he came next," a sergeant told me.
"He always looked after us," a soldier said. "He’d go to bat for us every time."
"I’ve never knowed him to do anything unfair," another one said.
I was at the foot of the mule trail the night they brought Capt. Waskow’s body down. The moon was nearly full at the time, and you could see far up the trail, and even part way across the valley below. Soldiers made shadows in the moonlight as they walked.
Dead men had been coming down the mountain all evening, lashed onto the backs of mules. They came lying belly-down across the wooden pack-saddles, their heads hanging down on the left side of the mule, their stiffened legs sticking out awkwardly from the other side, bobbing up and down as the mule walked.
The Italian mule-skinners were afraid to walk beside dead men, so Americans had to lead the mules down that night. Even the Americans were reluctant to unlash and lift off the bodies at the bottom, so an officer had to do it himself, and ask others to help.
The first one came early in the morning. They slid him down from the mule and stood him on his feet for a moment, while they got a new grip. In the half light he might have been merely a sick man standing there, leaning on the others. Then they laid him on the ground in the shadow of the low stone wall alongside the road.
I don’t know who that first one was. You feel small in the presence of dead men, and ashamed at being alive, and you don’t ask silly questions.
We left him there beside the road, that first one, and we all went back into the cowshed and sat on water cans or lay on the straw, waiting for the next batch of mules.
Somebody said the dead soldier had been dead for four days, and then nobody said anything more about it. We talked soldier talk for an hour or more. The dead man lay all alone outside in the shadow of the low stone wall.
Then a soldier came into the cowshed and said there were some more bodies outside. We went out into the road. Four mules stood there, in the moonlight, in the road where the trail came down off the mountain. The soldiers who led them stood there waiting. "This one is Captain Waskow," one of them said quietly.
Two men unlashed his body from the mule and lifted it off and laid it in the shadow beside the low stone wall. Other men took the other bodies off. Finally there were five lying end to end in a long row, alongside the road. You don’t cover up dead men in the combat zone. They just lie there in the shadows until somebody else comes after them.
The unburdened mules moved off to their olive orchard. The men in the road seemed reluctant to leave. They stood around, and gradually one by one I could sense them moving close to Capt. Waskow’s body. Not so much to look, I think, as to say something in finality to him, and to themselves. I stood close by and I could hear.
One soldier came and looked down, and he said out loud, "God damn it." That’s all he said, and then he walked away. Another one came. He said, "God damn it to hell anyway." He looked down for a few last moments, and then he turned and left.
Another man came; I think he was an officer. It was hard to tell officers from men in the half light, for all were bearded and grimy dirty. The man looked down into the dead captain’s face, and then he spoke directly to him, as though he were alive. He said: "I’m sorry, old man."
Then a soldier came and stood beside the officer, and bent over, and he too spoke to his dead captain, not in a whisper but awfully tenderly, and he said:
"I sure am sorry, sir."
Then the first man squatted down, and he reached down and took the dead hand, and he sat there for a full five minutes, holding the dead hand in his own and looking intently into the dead face, and he never uttered a sound all the time he sat there.
And finally he put the hand down, and then reached up and gently straightened the points of the captain’s shirt collar, and then he sort of rearranged the tattered edges of his uniform around the wound. And then he got up and walked away down the road in the moonlight, all alone.
After that the rest of us went back into the cowshed, leaving the five dead men lying in a line, end to end, in the shadow of the low stone wall. We lay down on the straw in the cowshed, and pretty soon we were all asleep.
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Spanish Armada began to set sail from Lisbon in route to England. It took three days for the entire fleet to leave the harbor. They should have stayed put for all the good they did when they reached the coast of England.
Lt.Col. George Washington of the Virginia Militia ambushed a French reconnaissance party at Jumoville Glen in Western Pa. Later, Washington was forced to surrender to a larger party of Frenchmen and their native allies. He was somewhat tricked into signing a surrender document which said that Washington had "assassinated" a ambassador from the French. This gave the French the justification to declare war on the English.
In the Russo-Japanese War, The Japanese Imperial Fleet destroys the Russian Baltic Fleet at the battle of Tsushima. Japan became a world power at that point, while Russian power and influence began to wane. It could be said that this battle was the first steps that led to the downfall of the Romanov dynasty as well as the beginnings of the Russian Revolution.
I have taken the liberty of enclosing the citation for the medal below.
For extraordinary heroism distinguished service, and devotion above and beyond the call of duty. During the first attack by Japanese airplanes on the Naval Air Station, Kaneohe Bay, on 7 December 1941, Lt. Finn promptly secured and manned a .50-caliber machinegun mounted on an instruction stand in a completely exposed section of the parking ramp, which was under heavy enemy machinegun strafing fire. Although painfully wounded many times, he continued to man this gun and to return the enemy's fire vigorously and with telling effect throughout the enemy strafing and bombing attacks and with complete disregard for his own personal safety. It was only by specific orders that he was persuaded to leave his post to seek medical attention. Following first aid treatment, although obviously suffering much pain and moving with great difficulty, he returned to the squadron area and actively supervised the rearming of returning planes. His extraordinary heroism and conduct in this action were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service.
Lt. Finn was truly a member of the "Greatest Generation"
Jez, received honors from the fire department since he was a volunteer in it for around 16 years. He had served in the 82nd Airborne, so their association was present. Jez also served in the Special Forces (I think in 7th Group) so he rated a military funeral. I was told that his ashes would be interred at Arlington National Cemetery. Jez also received Masonic rites. All in all a very impressive gathering and ceremony.
I spoke to the gathering, knowing full well that nothing I could say would make the pain or sorrow go away for the family. But I found a quote from Queen Elizabeth II which I shared that I thought might lessen some of the sting. The Queen said " Grief, is the price we pay for love" I hope what I said gave some measure of comfort to Charlie, (Jez's stepdad) Peggy (Jez's mom) Cheryl (Jez's sister) Josie (Jez's wife) and Clarrisa (Jez's step-daughter)
Life goes on, but it will be just a little bit more drab, a little less fun without Jez around. I don't think that I am alone in feeling this way.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
"In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."
Sorta makes you think....................
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Marion Morrison, also known to his legions of fans as John Wayne. America personified to the rest of the world. 'Nuff Said.......
Another world famous cowboy, James Arness, Marshall Matt Dillon of Gunsmoke fame.
Rock singer/writer, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductee, Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac
Blackexplotation film star Pam Grier
Country-Rock singer/songwritter and all around hell-raiser Hank "Bocephus" Williams Jr.
Monday, May 24, 2010
He was injured fatally Friday afternoon when a car he was working on fell on him. He was kept on life support until his organs could be harvested which occurred this morning.
I was trying to remember when I first got to know Jez, and for the life of me I couldn't remember when it happened. It just seemed that he had always been around. As with most of my friends it all started out with reenacting. I guess in the early 80's I met him. He was in a group that while I wasn't a member of I worked with quite a bit. We developed a "Hey how are you doing?" relationship but later we both joined a different group and got to know each other and became friends. At the time, Jez was in the army based at Ft. Bragg. His nearest relatives were in Maryland so his weekends were spent a lot of time at Casa W. As he pointed out to me, my place was a lot better than the barracks. Pretty soon he became like a little brother to the goodwife and I. He would always leave something behind when he went back to Bragg, I always said it was because he was afraid he wouldn't be invited back.
We became close, close enough that I could start playing jokes on him. One of my favorites had to do with a road trip that we took to St. Augustine FL for the 250th anniversary of a battle that had taken place. I had taken my medical kit to portray a surgeon of that time and Jez had came along to give me a hand. They powers that be set us up on a island across from the city in the middle of the jungle. Jez who had not too long before come back from Panama when they went after Noriega, looked at me as we were setting up and said "This reminds me of Panama" Of course, that got the wheels in my evil brain working and I thought up a little gag to pull on Jez. I found one of the park rangers who was keeping a eye on the camp and pulled him aside and told him that my buddy over there (pointing at Jez) had just come back from Panama and his outfit had a rough time. I told the ranger that I didn't think there would be any problems but since the camp site was so much like Panama, if they could, how about keeping a eye on him? The ranger said he would, so all week-end long park rangers would stop by and ask Jez how he was doing and how things were going. Jez was delighted and kept telling me that these park rangers had to be the FRIENDLIEST Rangers he had ever met. I kept my secret until we were heading north home bound on I-95. When I told him the true story, I received a general cursing which made me laugh even harder.
Jez was a good companion and we went to a bunch of reenactments together. As a member of Special Forces he was deployed to Panama, and later went into Kuwait to liberate it. The goodwife and I sent him care packages and let him know that he wasn't forgotten. When Jez left the military, he had married by that time and things were not going well with that. When the marriage when down the toilet we put Jez up for a while on our couch until he could get his act together. He eventually moved back to Maryland to be closer to his family. Because of the distance, we grew apart to a degree but still remained friends. We saw each other at events and picked up right where we left off. Jez was noted for his ability to make the perfect Gin and Tonic in the field. I on the other hand had no such talent but was well known for my skills to locate things that no one else could. Jez always made sure that when I made the long trip north, that somehow there would be a large shipment of North Carolina Bar-Be-Que (with sauce, mind you) with me. I never let him down.
In the past few years, Jez found a lady that was just perfect for him. They ended up getting married and we continued to stay in touch. You know how it goes, we say will get together someday but that day never seems to come. Well at 05:05 Saturday morning I found out that day would never come.
Brian Scott Jeznach was my friend and I will miss him very much.
Full moon shining down along the border
But the ground is hard and the night is black
Over here by the railroad track
And I wish to the Lord that I was back in Georgia"
Charlie Daniels Band
Most people consider me a bit of a odd duck. Not in a bad way mind you, No need to lock up the women or children when I come around. I just find interesting things that most people don't and I don't react quite like most people do when faced with various situations.
Case in point, When my blogging buddy Brigid recently titled a post " Darkness Waits" The first thing I thought of was how much I enjoyed working at night.
Humans as a rule are not comfortable at night or in darkness. This goes back as far as the days of the caveman and woman. With the setting of the sun, the first humans withdrew into caves or around a campfire until the first breaking of the sun. The darkness outside of the ring of firelight held many fears both real and imagined for man. I think that this fear is programed in mankind's D.N.A.
I never had that fear of the dark, even as a child. I always felt more comfortable in darkness. I never was afraid of the monster under the bed, or closet. I spent most of my career on the night watch, working 4 to 12, then 12 to 8, and later 6pm to 6am shifts. I ended up totally acclimating to night work to the extent that my dear wife accused me on several occasions of becoming a vampire, going to bed when the sun came up, and leaving home when the sun set. I never tried to live a "normal" life while working nightshift, I always kept to my schedule. Other folks I worked with tried to live normal lives and staying up all day but they didn't do well at all. I understand that folks try to live the life that they are use to and they need to respond to the needs of their families but working shift work and doing that will wear you out. With a understanding wife and no kids, I was lucky that I didn't have those responsibilities. I can't begin to tell you the number of times that I would freak people out by going by a 24 hour restaurant on my way home and having a burger and cold beer at 7 AM. I adapted so well that I remember that I woke my dear wife up one morning about 2:00 A.M. so that she could see a bit of my world. We went Christmas shopping at a few stores that were open 24 hours and then I drove her around so she could see some of the "street gentry" as well as watching a few small time drug deals go down. It gave her a whole new way of looking at the world and understanding me a little better.
On nights that it's clear and the moon is full and bright, I sometimes return to the embrace of my old friend. No longer the hunter or guardian I once was, but rather as a visitor. Now I cut out the outside lights, sit on my porch, listen and look and become a part of the night and my memories...........
Friday, May 21, 2010
The president of Mexico, Mr. Calderon is currently here in the states complaining about the new law that Arizona has passed as well as various other odds and ends that he doesn't like about the land of the great PX.
I must say that any world leader that would come to this country and criticizes us when his own country is so far in the toilet has a pair the size of grapefruits. Calderon knows that if the U.S. government ever does get control of the southern border that he will lose one of the biggest sources of income for Mexico. No, not drug money, but money sent home by illegals as well as legals here in the U.S. There is no way of telling just how much long green goes south each and every day. American dollars help elevate poorer Mexicans into the middle class of Mexico. Calderon would be cutting his own throat to support a tighter border. And I don't think he's quite ready to do that.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
What is with this guy? First thing he does is stutter and sputter like a motor with a bad carburetor when asked if the idiot that tried to set off a car bomb in Times Square might have been influenced by radical Islam. Then in his role as chief law enforcement officer for the United States he is asked about the new law that Arizona has passed and says that he hasn't read it or even been briefed on it. The man has no first hand knowledge of the law but that hasn't stopped him from joining in the Greek chorus of neysayers who think this law is bad.
This nimrod brings a whole new meaning to the term clueless.............
And speaking of clueless, Janet Napolitano the beloved director of Homeland Security also flunked the same question when she said that she hadn't read the law either,but that it wasn't the kind of law that "SHE" would sign. This is the same person who considers military vets, Tea party attendees, conservatives and gun owners as bigger threats to national security that Iran, North Korea, and Islamic fundamentalist. I swear that the inmates are in charge of the asylum.
I just wonder, (The small bit of helpful paranoia I have floating around in my brain) what would happen if some nut case did something with a firearm or explosive device and they found a National Rifle Association membership card on him. Would the powers that be consider the N.R.A. and it's members as part of a terrorist organization? I just don't know anymore............
Other bloggers have commented on how they noticed how friendly the people were at the convention. I agree, they were. It seems that people who are self reliant and secure (which the large majority of gun owners are) are friendly and more willing to be open and helpful to their fellow man. I guess it is true, a armed society is a polite society. Not to say that the general friendly atmosphere was due to the fact that someone might whip out a heater and blast you for stepping on their foot. But more due to the fact that it seemed to me that most of the people at the convention were secure in who they were and didn't have to put on any airs. All in all, not a bad place to spend the weekend.
Saturday night's dinner was a great deal of fun. My knees wouldn't allow me to socialize much, so I didn't get to talk to as many folks as I wanted to but I did get to have a good meal, Guinness stew and salad. I also got to be there when my little buddy Ms. Susan took part in her first "grown up" dinner party. She was a perfect lady the whole evening.
I am already looking forward to next year in Philly.........
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Lt. Mike Torello
Not much has been going on around here worthy of blogging about. This weekend's road trip is about the only thing of note.
I am not one of those folks that will tell you that I don't watch television. I do and enjoy what I watch for the most part. I picked up the habit when I was working shift work. It was a method to unwind and decompress before hitting the bed. Not to mention I had also just made Lieutenant so I was busy learning about responsibility and just how much fun THAT could be. (grin) Today I must say however that I am happy that I have Satellite reception so that I am not limited to the normal network channels since I think that they don't have very much to offer that I want to watch with a few rare exceptions. That wasn't the case back in the mid 80's when N.B.C. was showing programs like Miami Vice, Friday Night Videos, Cheers, Night Court, and my personal favorite Crime Story.
For those of you who never saw it, or don't remember it, Crime Story was a Michael Mann creation, the same fellow who came up with Miami Vice as well as the movie Heat. One of the stars of the program was Dennis Farina who played Lt. Mike Terello commander of the M.C.U. (Major Crime Unit) for the Chicago Police Department. The program was set in the early 1960's and with it's sets, costuming and music it was as close to that time period as it could get. Farina was a perfect fit for the role of Terello, Farina was a retired C.P.D. detective and it showed in the way he carried himself. He carried a cocked and locked 1911-A1 (no doubt some kind of 9mm in reality, since you can't get a 45 to function with blank ammunition) He even had a bunch of rubber bands around the grip safety to hold it in and to help keep the weapon from moving around when it's tucked into your belt in the "Mexican carry" I knew some detectives in the real world that had done the very same thing in the old days. Crime Story had enough of those real touches to allowed me to suspend belief long enough to enjoy the program.
So, if you are bored, with nothing to do and can find it, check it out. It's a quick trip back to a time when Rock and Roll was king and good guys wore black......
For those of you who don't know the name, Mr. Frazetta was a artist who was best known as a Sword and Sorcery illustrator. It was Frazetta who brought Conan the Barbarian to life thanks to the cover art on the paperback versions of the Conan stories.
As a teen-aged, hormonally enriched young pup, I had posters of his work on the walls in my room and I bought Molly Hatchet Albums because he had done the artwork on the album cover. (Well the music wasn't that bad either) After all, his art had everything I liked, a barbarian chopping up people with axe or sword, most of the time with a scantly clad, fine figure of a woman nearby. (I LOVED me some chain-mail bikinis)
I am sure that Mr. Frazetta was able to answer the riddle of steel for Crom and now resides in the halls of Valhalla where no doubt he has his sketch pad in hand to draw from real life. May you rest easy Mr. Frazetta, and thanks for your work.
Recently there was a Supreme Court decision to allow a cross that was put up on "public lands" to commemorate the dead of the First World War to continue to stand. This cross had been in place for years and was in the middle of no where. Then someone decided that since the cross was on National Park land, that it was a violation of the separation of church and state and sued. Well, as noted earlier, the Supremes said it was O.K. So of course, somebody didn't like that so they went out and stole the cross.
Now is it just me, or does it seem that when something like this happens that the people who are so busy fighting for "fairness and our rights" always act out when they don't get their way? (If indeed they did take the cross, which I don't have any doubts they did) I'm just sayin..............
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
While on legal matters, I think it also is very, very strange that a person can be nominated for a posision on the Supreme Court of the United States without having ever served as or held a job as a judge in any manner whatsoever. I will be the first to admit that I am not the smartest fellow around but I will be damned if I would have ever guessed that the Supreme Court was a bulwark of on the job training. I wasted my time in my previous career, I should have gone to work with the supremes.
I saw this weekend that the lightbringer thinks that we are getting "too much information" from the internet, cable tv, x-boxes and other sources. I sure am glad that he is so worried about us common slobs being overwhelmed with so much data that we will not be able to judge the truth from lies. The lightbringer should remember that you should NEVER underestimate the common man (or woman) because when you do, 9 times out of 10 you get burned.
Tomorrow I go back to the doc and get scoped again. They are curious as to whether or not the opening in my stomach has closed up. I must admit that I am just a little curious about that myself. I am still having problems with food, but I am starting to wonder if this is the best I can expect.
This weekend, I am going to the N.R.A. convention in Charlotte. It will be a chance to see the sights, visit with a bunch of gun bloggers, and just get out and about. It should be a fun weekend.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I am reminded of a bombing that took place in England a while back. The I.R.A. bombed a hotel that was hosting the then Prime Minister Margret Thatcher and members of her conservative party. The bomb killed a few people, but the prime minister was not injured. Later, Mrs. Thatcher received a note from the I.R.A. that said,
" You have to be lucky every time, we only have to be lucky once"
Maybe we should remember that..............