Monthly Archives: December 2012

Chapter 50 – For Sally

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Follow up from last week:

The last time I saw Dr. Wallace was when my little sister was 3 months old.  My mom made an appointment and, on a cold icy January evening, I drove mom and Jody to Dr. Wallace’s office.  Now I think most doctors would be a little embarrassed about a seriously incorrect diagnosis but Dr. Wallace was unflappable.  Even after my mother told him, tongue in cheek, that she had lost the weight that he had recommended he was imperturbable.  We drove home in the family ’72 Dodge Dart and as we came slowly, because of the snow and ice, down a long hill I made a right turn to merge onto a wide access road to the highway.  The car turned right but then it just kept turning right. No matter which way I turned the wheel it just kept slowly spinning clockwise.  After a full 360 we found ourselves going in the desired direction of travel at the proper speed.  I looked over at mom, who had baby Jody in her arms, it was before the age of child safety seats, and all she said was, “That was interesting”.  The rest of the drive was uneventful.  I suppose, after having 5 kids ages 0-20, there wasn’t much that could rattle my mom!

 

Something short this week.

Today we mourn the passing of a truly wonderful, caring, compassionate, unpretentious cornerstone of the community.  Sally Haas passed away suddenly, unexpectedly last Thursday.  She was the President of the Pittsburgh Airport Area Chamber of Commerce and a huge supporter of the military and, more specifically, the 911th Airlift Wing.  She had spearheaded more than one successful effort to ensure the 911th remained and, as a women of extreme integrity, was tirelessly shining a brilliant light of truth on the bureaucratic dishonesty of the pentagon.  I think the greatest tribute we could make to her would be to pick up where she left off and fulfill her dream of keeping the 911th as a integral part of this vibrant community.

May angels carry you swiftly on silent wings to a better place.  You are loved and will be missed.

Life is short and unpredictable.  Live and love, well and often, and savor every moment.

Hovering over send with tears on my keyboard.

Daryl

Chapter 49 – Old Dr. Wallace

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I was going to take a week off over Christmas but I woke up this morning at 0530 with words bouncing around in my head looking for a way out. So rather than lying in bed composing in my head I’ve moved to the computer.  Besides, after way too much snow shoveling yesterday, my back feels better vertical in a chair than horizontal in bed.

Yesterday was my mom’s last day of work.  As of today she has joined me in the ranks of the retired.  I think she felt a little funny still working while she had a retired son but I think, at almost 79, she’s ready to relax a little and enjoy grandkids and great-grandkids.  My mom has worked at Target for at least 15 years.  She doesn’t work out on the floor with the customers, but in the back office with all of the administrative functions that are a part of any business. She’s the face every employee sees when they punch in.  She’s the store mom/grandma/counselor and I know she will be missed.

Mom has had a lot of bosses over the years.  Retail tends to be a revolving door of personnel both on the floor and in management and, like all organizations, there are good bosses and there are bad bosses.  In her case, the good ones recognized her as a valuable, experienced asset who cared about people and getting the job done but the bad ones couldn’t see beyond the grey hair and couldn’t deal with someone older, and wiser, working for them.  she did, however, have one boss that had a very interesting link to our family.

Up to the day I walked out the door to go on active duty I had only been to see one doctor, ever.  His name was Dr. Wallace.  He brought all of my siblings into the world and, I’ll have to confirm this with mom, I think he was her doctor, as a child, as well.  He was ancient when I was a kid and I can vividly remember his office.  The smell, the racks of well worn magazines, the ticking of the clock on the wall as you quietly waited your turn, his enormous hands.  Dr. Wallace was my mom’s bosses grandfather.

When you’re a kid you think doctors know everything.  Especially when you’re sick and just want to feel better. So we all thought Dr. Wallace was a medical genius.  After all, none of us died.  We’d go to him, he’d tell us what to do, we’d get better.  How can you argue with those results.  In the spring of 1975, (I was finishing my freshman of college) unbeknownst to me, my mom wasn’t feeling well.  She had been gaining weight, feeling tired and she was worried.  So she dragged herself down to old Dr. Wallace’s office who proceeded to tell her to go on a diet and get more exercise.  As if raising four kids ages 12-20 wasn’t enough exercise!  So she dutifully doubled the size of the garden to get more exercise and started eating less.  After two months or so there was no improvement so back she went and his advice was more of the same.  This time she protested a little stronger.  She thought she had felt like this before and dieting hadn’t help then either.  He dismissed her self-diagnosis and off she went for another month of dieting and exercise.  Finally, she did the unthinkable, she went to a different doctor, a specialist, an OB/GYN who immediately diagnosed her condition as a severe, but curable, case of pregnancy.  By that time she was 6 months along and dieting and heavy labor wasn’t really the appropriate treatment for her condition.

I still clearly remember the day my brother Tim and I walked in the house, after returning from a week of performing out of state, and mom and dad asking us to sit down so they could tell us “something important”. It can be traumatic enough for teenagers thinking that your parents do “it” but you have even a harder time getting your head around pregnancy at “her age”.

Mom ended up having to spend her last two months in bed and by that time I was a sophomore, engineering major taking 22 credit hours, living at home, doing the family grocery shopping and all of the billing for my dad’s company.  On October 19th, it was a Sunday, my little sister Jody was born.  You’d think that it would be “inconvenient” to have a baby in a small house full of teenagers, but the opposite was true.  Peg says that I’m a “baby guy”.  She doesn’t mean that I act like a baby, although I do sometimes, but that I love babies.  And she’s right.  I learned a lot from my baby sister.  How to change diapers.  How to rock a baby to sleep.  How to make a baby giggle.  How to read the same book twenty times in a row just because she wants to hear it again. How to smile when a baby cries and not scowl at the frantic, embarrassed mother. Brotherhood was great training for fatherhood which was great training for unclehood and eventually grandfatherhood.

Three years later, Jul 1978, Tim and I jumped into my 1966 Studebaker Commander for the long drive to pilot training in Del Rio, TX.  Looking forward to the adventure ahead but knowing that what I would miss most was my baby sister.

I can’t wait to meet Charlotte Ann!  3 1/2 weeks (but who’s counting?).

Chapter 48, “Live Long and Prosper”

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“It’s the most wonderful time of the year……..!!”  If I could figure out how to type musical notes I would!  I really love this time of year.  In fact, for years, I’ve made sure that I have at least a week of use or lose leave at the end of the year so I could enjoy the holiday with friends and family and not feel guilty about not being at work.  Most of all, I enjoy finding and giving the perfect gift.  One of my favorite gifts was the year I gave my, then, 12 year old nephew Ben a rifle.  It was just a little .22 but it was the perfect gift for a kid who lives on a farm.  He almost wet himself and the look on my sisters’ face was priceless. (I did clear it with her husband Brian!)  I love giving gifts but the flip side is that I’m told I’m impossible to buy for.

It’s not that there aren’t things that I want, it’s that the things I want are always things I actually need throughout the year.  I like useful things like tools and when you need a tool you just can’t wait for Christmas to get it.  So I’m accused of always buying stuff for myself that other people could buy for me and making their lives difficult.  The key has always been to find me something I don’t know I want.  Let me give you an example.

In 1991 Hallmark came out with the first in, what has become, a long line of uniquely themed Christmas ornaments.  It was the Starship Enterprise from the Star Trek series.  And since they weren’t sure how strong the market was, they only produced a very limited number of them.  My little sister Jody, who at the time was 16, decided I would love to have one so she somehow managed to corral one for me for Christmas and I think it was my best Christmas gift ever.  Yes, I secretly am a sci-fi geek although I don’t hold a candle to Rebecca Oroukin!  Well, Peg concluded that she had cracked the “Buying Daryl a gift” code so, every year since 1991, she has bought me the yearly Hallmark Star Trek ornament.  Not the little figures of the characters, just the ships.  23 ships hanging from the special tree in the corner of the living room.  They light up.  Some of them speak with quotes from all 4 series and movies in the actors voices.  Some use those little watch batteries and some plug into those tree lights you can’t buy anymore.  A glistening tribute to….?……!……?  Festive Startrekiness?  And there’s where I’m conflicted.  What the crap does Star Trek have to do with Christmas?

I’m pretty good at stretching object lessons and finding a deeper meaning in just about any situation, but I just can’t come up with what the heck Star Trek has to do with Christmas.  Maybe it’s the hopefulness for the future of mankind through technology.  No, that’s just stupid.  Our hopefulness has nothing to do with technology.  Or could it be our attempt to perfect society and create a utopia on earth.  That’s diametrically opposed to everything I believe in and beyond stupid.  It’s socialist drivel!  So I’ve reached the conclusion that it’s, well, just fun.  When you really look at the way we celebrate Christmas, most of it has absolutely nothing to do with “Christ”mas.  So, here’s my challenge.  Make sure you take time this holiday season to look beyond the glitz and sparkle.  Celebrate the birth of the savior.  Sing and laugh and celebrate and reflect on what he means to you and look forward to the real gift we remember four months from now.

“Live long and prosper!”

Chapter 47 – “That was Easy”

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I’ve given hundreds of cockpit tours over the years and I think the most asked question is: “How do you know what all those buttons and switches do?” It seems like a pretty silly question to those of us that fly.  Personally, I think there are a lot more interesting things in a cockpit than buttons and switches but as we’ve become a much more technologically adept society we’ve become fascinated with, well, buttons.

I think my favorite button is the magical one on my DVR which allows me to hop through commercials 30 seconds at a time.  I’ve discovered that you can watch a three hour football game in about 30 minutes because the 30 second button jumps almost perfectly from snap to snap.  It’s a wonderful thing.  Even phones and tablets have the equivalent of buttons in Apps.  Just tap the virtual button to get what you want.  So it’s not surprising when advertisers take advantage of our infatuation by including buttons in commercials.

For years Staples has been using the “EASY” button in their campaigns and some folks even buy them for their offices.   Although I’m not sure the message it gives when women put them on their desks.  So I wasn’t surprised to read that the Air Force is now being guided by a new doctrine I’ve recently seen described in some documents from the highest levels.  I think it’s being called the EASY doctrine.  There are many ways of approaching challenges.  Most organizations take a hard look at their goals, do the research to map out a path to that destination and then base decisions on the most economical and strategic path to get there.  The Air Force has now decided that the EASY doctrine can save lots of time.  It doesn’t necessarily save money or meet goals but it’s, well, easy.

Let’s apply the doctrine to some real world crisis.  No one likes losing aircraft or personnel, so if, let’s say, North Korea decides to start infringing on Japan or South Korea it would be lots of work to move forces and deploy aircraft so the “easy ” answer would be one of two choices.  Do nothing or nuke them.  Just pick one, it’s easy.  It might not be the most popular decision, but it is easy.  You can apply this new doctrine to almost any situation and it will always boil down to the two options.  Do nothing or nuke them.  What could be simpler.

Where did I get this new doctrine?  Well it seems that the Air Force has finally admitted that it’s decisions on the, let me be politically correct, Force Structure Realignment is based solely on the EASY doctrine.  But here’s the really confusing part.  They claim that closing the 911th is EASY because of its size, but in reality it’s illegal to close based on Federal law.  In reality, they COULD legally, unilaterally shut down the 908th. That would be EASY and LEGAL.  So after a lot of thought and research I’ve concluded that there must be a part of the new doctrine to which I’m not privy.  Apparently the “We have no integrity” doctrine trumps portions of the “EASY” doctrine and I suspect that there might be a “We’re just too damn stupid and stubborn for our own good” doctrine tucked in their somewhere.  I’m sure glad there’s a first amendment and I plan on exercising it every chance I get.

I think it’s time to press another virtual button.  “Click on Send”

Chapter 46, More on Goats

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Sorry for being late this week.  You would think that being retired meant a lot of free time but I’ve spent the last three days cutting a huge hole in the back of my nieces house and installing a patio door.  Lifting the gas powered concrete saw over my head to cut the brick was a little painful and I’m feeling it today!

I promised goats so you’re getting goats.

So my dad traded in the nasty male goat for a much mellower little female.  She happily munched on the lawn for many years but she still had some personality.  I remember the day we came home and found Peg standing on the roof of one of dad’s old Studebakers while the goat, who had somehow worked her way off the chain, circled the car menacingly.  The goat wouldn’t hurt a flea and just wanted a scratch on the head but Peg didn’t know that and she spent half an hour up there waiting for someone to rescue her.

The sad thing about any pet is that they eventually die, and usually not at a very convenient time.  I think that first female died on Christmas day the winter after my, not so brilliant, cousins fed her a Styrofoam cup.  Luckily I was on active duty and couldn’t get leave that year so my brother Tim and dad ended up digging a grave by hand through the frozen ground to bury her.  As the story goes, she died standing up and when they went out to feed her in the morning, there she was like a furry statue, frozen solid.  After hours of digging they dropped her into the shallow grave but her legs were sticking straight up and when they tried to fold them down so they wouldn’t stick out of the ground, they just snapped off.  Good times!

The next goat, another female was an African Nubian.  It wasn’t very big, but it enjoyed butting children, only children.  I think it was smart enough realize that adults were big enough not to be pushed around but kids could be bullied a little.  If I remember correctly, it was the only one that didn’t die of natural causes. It’s knees eventually failed and one morning it couldn’t stand up.  Dad had to “execute” the 2 cent plan (cost of a .22 round) and put her down.  Luckily I was out of town so I again escaped the grave digging.

After that one, my dad decided that goats where more trouble than they were worth and, honestly, I think putting it down was painful for him and he didn’t want to have to do that again.  So we shoveled the last of the goat poop out of the stall, fertilized the vegetable garden and that was it.  At least he thought it was.  That was the summer my sister Kelly got married.  She and Brian went off on their honeymoon and the day they got home, she called and asked if I still had my dog kennel and if so, could she borrow it.  I told her that I did, and she could, but why?  She proceeded to excitedly tell me how they had seen the cutest little goats at a farm they had visited (fun honeymoon!) and that they had bought one for dad and were going to surprise him with it the next day.  Oh well, who was I to pee on their parade so I lent them my kennel and waited to see how dad would react.  I guess Tim got some of his acting abilities from my dad because he did a pretty good job of feigning excitement when they rolled up to the house with the bleating baby (or would the alliteration “kicking kid” be better?).  He made me promise not to tell Kelly, a promise I just broke.  Well, since I’m on a roll breaking promises I made to my dad, “Mom, dad and I saw a huge black snake in the gutter of Uncle George’s house and we watched as it crawled through the soffit into the attic!”  I think that’s the last of the them.  So, that last goat lived longer than all of the others.  In keeping with the holiday theme, it died on Labor Day during a family picnic.  Some families play volleyball, throw Frisbees, and pitch horseshoes.  We dig graves!