All's Quiet On The Western Front.................

It's been remarkably quiet around the Casa W.

Been doing a great deal of running up and down the road, between visits with good friends and reenactments I have been away more than I've been around and the writing muses just haven't caught up to me yet. I have several projects I've been working on, but can't release any details until the parties involved are notified. I know it sounds a bit "secret squirrel" but it's a surprise for some people so I will keep my mouth shut. I will spill the beans in a wee bit. (grin)

More later................

Christmas Eve and Day.......

Back in the days when I was still working, I was a cop and I worked more holidays than I can remember. I never really minded, the long suffering and sainted Mrs. W and I never had any kids so Christmas to a small degree lacked a certain magic. Plus it gave me a chance to help out the guys and gals that worked with me who DID have kids to fill in for them. (plus getting time and a half didn't hurt one bit.)

A friend of mine sent this to me, I liked it, some of the folks I sent it to liked it also, so I thought I would share it with you all.

Again, a very Merry Christmas to you all!

In Valor There is Hope

Working Christmas Eve

In 1968 when I became a Cop, I knew there would be special occasions my family would spend without me. Knowing that fact didn't make the task any easier. The celebrations I missed those first year's depressed me and sometimes made me feel bitter. Working on Christmas Eve was always the worst.

On Christmas Eve in 1977, I learned that blessings can come disguised as misfortune, and honor is more than just a word.

I was riding one-man patrol on the 4×12 shift. The night was cold. Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of the holiday: families packing their cars with presents, beautifully decorated trees in living room windows and roofs adorned with tiny sleighs. It all added to my holiday funk.

The evening had been relatively quiet; there were calls for barking dogs and a residential false burglar alarm. There was nothing to make the night pass any quicker. I thought of my own family and sunk further into depression.

Shortly after 2200 hours I got a radio call to the home of an elderly, terminally ill man. I parked my patrol car in front of a simple cape cod style home. First aid kit in hand, I walked up the short path to the front door. As I approached, a woman who seemed to be about 80 years old opened the door. He's in here she said, leading me to a back bedroom.

We passed through a living room that was furnished in a style I had come to associate with older people. The sofa has an afghan blanket draped over it's back and a dark, solid, Queen Anne chair sat next to an unused fireplace. The mantle was cluttered with an eccentric mix of several photos, some ceramic figurines and an antique clock. A floor lamp provided soft lighting.

We entered a small bedroom where a frail looking man lay in bed with a blanket pulled up to his chin. He wore a blank stare on his ashen, skeletal face. His breathing was shallow and labored. He was barely alive.

The trappings of illness lay all around his bed. The nightstand was littered with a large number of pill vials. An oxygen bottle stood nearby. Its plastic hose, with facemask attached rested on the blanket.

I asked the old woman why she called the police. She simply shrugged and nodded sadly toward her husband, indicating it was his request. I looked at him and he stared intently into my eyes. He seemed relaxed now. I didn't understand the suddenly calm expression on his face. I looked around the room again. A dresser stood along the wall to the left of the bed. On it was the usual memorabilia: ornate perfume bottles, a white porcelain pin case, and a wooden jewelry case. There were also several photos in simple frames. One caught my eye and I walked closer to the dresser for a closer look. The picture showed a young man dressed in a police uniform. It was unmistakably a photo of the man in bed. I knew then why I was there.

I looked at the old man and he motioned with his hand toward the side of the bed. I walked over and stood beside him. He slid a thin arm from under the covers and took my hand. Soon, I felt his hand go limp. I looked at his face. There was no fear there. I saw only peace.

He knew he was dying; he was aware his time was very near. I know now that he was afraid of what was about to happen and he wanted the protection of a fellow cop on his journey. A caring God had seen to it that his child would be delivered safely to him. The honor of being his escort fell to me.

When I left at the end of my tour that night, the temperature had seemed to have risen considerably, and all the holiday displays I saw on the way home made me smile.

I no longer feel sorry for myself for having to work on Christmas Eve. I have chosen an honorable profession. I pray that when it's my turn to leave this world here will be a Cop there to hold my hand and remind me that I have nothing to fear.

I wish all my brothers and sisters who have to work this Christmas Eve all the Joy and warmth of the Season.

How Long? ????????

Hey everybody!

First of all, a VERY Merry Christmas as well as a Very Happy Chanukah to those of the Jewish faith. I hope that this holiday season brings you all a great deal of joy and happiness.

Secondly, I have the pleasure to note that today is the 4th anniversary of this blog. I would like to thank you all who drop by to read my rantings and ravings. I've enjoyed messing about with this (At least to me) new form of communication. I have had the pleasure of making friends with some of the finest folks I have ever known and have learned a great deal from them. Hanging around with a bunch of "like-minded" folks from all over the place has made me a little less paranoid about how I think. In this day and time I was begining to think I was the only Cat in a Dog pound. But thanks to my fellow bloggers I know that I am not out there alone in thinking how I think. Again, Thank you all.

Now lets see what the future holds for us all.

Occupy THIS...................

I was mulling over odds and ends while packing for a Civil War event this weekend and my mind sorta drifted over to the Occupy folks. I was thinking that it might not be a bad idea to sorta multitask when they have to clear the areas so that they can be cleaned. Why not use 11/2 inch fire hoses to do both? Just be sure to use lots of soap powder. We know that fire hoses will move people, if you don't believe it, check out the films taken in Birmingham Al. in the early 1960's.

I know, it's MEAN of me to suggest such a thing, but it wouldn't be as if the powers that be, would sneak in there at 3AM. Give 'em fair warning, then flush them right down the sidewalk. No more police injuries and no more protester injuries unless they don't listen to the authorities.

Win for everybody.

On The Eleveth Day, Of The Eleventh Month.............

Today is Veteran's Day.

There were a great deal of things I could have written about today. The historic significance of the day, the debt we owe to those who have served, the cost of protecting the freedoms that we, most of the time, take for granted. Then, I found this, a final blog entry for a serviceman who paid the ultimate price for freedom. I think that this puts things in perspective much better than ANYTHING that I could write.

January 04, 2008
Final Post

“I am leaving this message for you because it appears I must leave sooner than I intended. I would have preferred to say this in person, but since I cannot, let me say it here.”

This is an entry I would have preferred not to have published, but there are limits to what we can control in life, and apparently I have passed one of those limits…As with many bloggers, I have a disgustingly large ego, and so I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to have the last word if the need arose. Perhaps I take that further than most, I don’t know. I hope so. It’s frightening to think there are many people as neurotic as I am in the world. In any case, since I won’t get another chance to say what I think, I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity. Such as it is.

What I don’t want this to be is a chance for me, or anyone else, to be maudlin. I’m dead. That sucks, at least for me and my family and friends. But all the tears in the world aren’t going to bring me back, so I would prefer that people remember the good things about me rather than mourning my loss…Sure, all things being equal I would have preferred to have more time, but I have no business complaining with all the good fortune I’ve enjoyed in my life. So if you’re up for that, put on a little 80s music (preferably vintage 1980-1984), grab a Coke and have a drink with me. If you have it, throw ‘Freedom Isn’t Free’ from the Team America soundtrack in; if you can’t laugh at that song, I think you need to lighten up a little. I’m dead, but if you’re reading this, you’re not, so take a moment to enjoy that happy fact.

I suppose I should speak to the circumstances of my death. It would be nice to believe that I died leading men in battle, preferably saving their lives at the cost of my own. More likely I was caught by a marksman or an IED. But if there is an afterlife, I’m telling anyone who asks that I went down surrounded by hundreds of insurgents defending a village composed solely of innocent women and children. It’ll be our little secret, ok?

If you think the U.S. ought to get out tomorrow, don’t cite my name as an example of someone’s life who was wasted by our mission in Iraq. I have my own opinions about what we should do about Iraq, but since I’m not around to expound on them I’d prefer others not try and use me as some kind of moral capital to support a position I probably didn’t support. Further, this is tough enough on my family without their having to see my picture being used in some rally or my name being cited for some political purpose. You can fight political battles without hurting my family, and I’d prefer that you did so.

On a similar note, while you’re free to think whatever you like about my life and death, if you think I wasted my life, I’ll tell you you’re wrong. We’re all going to die of something. I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes, I hope you are as fortunate as I was.

I wish I could say I’d at least started to get it right. Although, in my defense, I think I batted a solid .250 or so. Not a superstar, but at least able to play in the big leagues. I’m afraid I can’t really offer any deep secrets or wisdom. I lived my life better than some, worse than others, and I like to think that the world was a little better off for my having been here. Not very much, but then, few of us are destined to make more than a tiny dent in history’s Green Monster. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I would have liked to have done more, but it’s a bit too late for that now, eh? The bottom line, for me, is that I think I can look back at my life and at least see a few areas where I may have made a tiny difference, and massive ego aside, that’s probably not too bad.

Regardless of the merits of this war, or of any war, I think that many of us in America have forgotten that war means death and suffering in wholesale lots. A decision that for most of us in America was academic, whether or not to go to war in Iraq, had very real consequences for hundreds of thousands of people. Yet I was as guilty as anyone of minimizing those very real consequences in lieu of a cold discussion of theoretical merits of war and peace. Now I’m facing some very real consequences of that decision; who says life doesn’t have a sense of humor?

This is the hardest part. While I certainly have no desire to die, at this point I no longer have any worries. That is not true of the woman who made my life something to enjoy rather than something merely to survive. She put up with all of my faults, and they are myriad, she endured separations again and again…I cannot imagine being more fortunate in love than I have been with Amanda. Now she has to go on without me, and while a cynic might observe she’s better off, I know that this is a terrible burden I have placed on her, and I would give almost anything if she would not have to bear it. It seems that is not an option. I cannot imagine anything more painful than that, and if there is an afterlife, this is a pain I’ll bear forever.

I wasn’t the greatest husband. I could have done so much more, a realization that, as it so often does, comes too late to matter. But I cherished every day I was married to Amanda. When everything else in my life seemed dark, she was always there to light the darkness. It is difficult to imagine my life being worth living without her having been in it. I hope and pray that she goes on without me and enjoys her life as much as she deserves. I can think of no one more deserving of happiness than her

Major Andrew Olmsted
Military Transition Team
1st Brigade, 1st Infantry Division
K.I.A. 01-03-2008
As Sadiyah, Iraq

As I said, the words of this man put it all in perspective. May God protect and keep our warriors and their families both past and present.

Reality Check..............

O.K. let me see if I got this straight. (If I am wrong in any of these points, please get me squared away)

We have a highly placed coaching assistant at Penn State who has been molesting children since at least 2002. Joe Paterno the head coach knew about it in 2002 and told the administration of the school but didn't tell child protective services or law enforcement. So other than banning this assistant from bringing children with him onto campus nothing was done until 2011. When all this is revealed, the administration shows Paterno the door. The very night Paterno is fired, a number of students of Penn State to show their objection to Paterno's dismissal by taking to the streets, tearing up a bunch of stuff and requiring the local police to use pepper spay to control them. The next morning, I catch the news which interviews a Penn State student who just can't understand why Paterno was fired. Some of her quotes were:

"The coach has done so much for the school I don't see why they couldn't let him stay for the last home game" and " We have people who are going to be selling blue t-shirt to wear to say that we at Penn State stand against child abuse" When questioned further the student said that "even if he couldn't coach the team, he should be allowed to be on the sidelines"

After picking up my jaw from the floor, a further news report made me shake my head even more. It seems that the Occupy Wall Street folks sent the Occupy Berkeley folks a sum of "seed money" to help with their protest. Of course, the Occupy Berkeley people didn't want the money to "vanish", so they stopped by the local Wells Fargo bank and opened up a account. The same Wells Fargo that they have been trashing it's A.T.M.s and cursing it's employees.

Ya know, if I had a dog that was half as sick as this country, I would have already put it out of it's misery.

CORRECTION:

The money was sent to Occupy OAKLAND not Berkeley. My deepest apologies for my error to all parties involved.

Happy Birthday Leathernecks...............

To all current and prior service members (Since there is NO such thing as a Ex-Marine)of The United States Marine Corps, A very Happy Birthday to you all. I hope that the next 236 years are as glorious and successful as the preceding ones have been.

Just as long as you still get spun up when I refer to you folks as Naval Infantry. (Grin)

Semper Fi!!!!!!!!!