But then we had a little shower this morning, and there's more rain around right now.
In fact, as I typed that last sentence we began to hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
Oh well. We didn't really want to try to play golf today on a soggy, muddy golf course, did we?
(We actually . . . kind of . . . thought that . . . maybe . . . we did. Not now, though.) Alternatively I thought I might get out this afternoon and try to mow the 8-inch-tall grass (and weeds) in the dryer spots. But since the thunder is getting louder there soon won't BE any dryer spots, sounds like.
Looks like another indoors afternoon.
SIGH.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
A Happy Ending . . . THIS time!
Bob, one of our employees, came to my office yesterday and said he needed some help.
Wednesday’s mail had brought him a notice from the IRS. According to the letter, he owed them $2,544 (including interest and penalties) from underpaying his 2005 taxes.
The only explanation: records indicated he had received a distribution from Mercer that he had not reported.
Oh, and the last paragraph mentioned, by the way, that if immediate payment was not received by the IRS by August 17, legal action against his assets would be taken.
Why was Bob coming to ME? Well, Mercer had been the record keeper of our 401(k) accounts (under a prior company owner) until April, 2005. Most of us had rolled over our 401(k) accounts to new ones under the new company, but Bob had about $6,000 in after-tax money in his account, so he took it out in cash and rolled over the rest.
That shouldn’t have had any tax consequences for Bob. He told me he knew he still had his copy of the 1099 from Mercer showing no tax was owed. He just wondered if I had a contact at Mercer he could call to find out what they’d sent to the IRS.
I didn’t have a contact PERSON, but I had a toll-free phone number!
Bob brought in the 1099 and a copy of his old account statement. (Note – always keep all financial records for at least 3 years!) Armed with that, we quickly learned from Mercer that all they had reported to the IRS was the total amount of his distribution, NOT whether or not it was taxable.
Next I had Bob call the IRS. It took him nearly a half-hour to get to the person who could actually help him, but finally he managed.
The result?
IRS: “Do you have your copy of the 1099?”
Bob: “Yes, it’s right here.”
IRS: “What is the amount showing in box 2A?”
Bob: “Zero.”
IRS: “Okay. That’s all we needed. We assumed that distribution was taxable, but it wasn’t. Your case will be shown as resolved and you don’t owe anything. Thank you for contacting us. Goodbye.”
They didn’t demand a copy; they just took his word for it and wiped out his phony “underpayment” along with the penalties and interest they had already applied. Kinda. “Wham, Bam, Thank-you Ma’am.”
SO, why didn’t they just ASK for a copy of the Form 1099 to be sure before they sent him the nasty “Pay us or else!” letter?
Because they’re the IRS, and they didn’t HAVE to.
Right?
Right. (So much for “a kindler, gentler IRS.”)
Wednesday’s mail had brought him a notice from the IRS. According to the letter, he owed them $2,544 (including interest and penalties) from underpaying his 2005 taxes.
The only explanation: records indicated he had received a distribution from Mercer that he had not reported.
Oh, and the last paragraph mentioned, by the way, that if immediate payment was not received by the IRS by August 17, legal action against his assets would be taken.
Why was Bob coming to ME? Well, Mercer had been the record keeper of our 401(k) accounts (under a prior company owner) until April, 2005. Most of us had rolled over our 401(k) accounts to new ones under the new company, but Bob had about $6,000 in after-tax money in his account, so he took it out in cash and rolled over the rest.
That shouldn’t have had any tax consequences for Bob. He told me he knew he still had his copy of the 1099 from Mercer showing no tax was owed. He just wondered if I had a contact at Mercer he could call to find out what they’d sent to the IRS.
I didn’t have a contact PERSON, but I had a toll-free phone number!
Bob brought in the 1099 and a copy of his old account statement. (Note – always keep all financial records for at least 3 years!) Armed with that, we quickly learned from Mercer that all they had reported to the IRS was the total amount of his distribution, NOT whether or not it was taxable.
Next I had Bob call the IRS. It took him nearly a half-hour to get to the person who could actually help him, but finally he managed.
The result?
IRS: “Do you have your copy of the 1099?”
Bob: “Yes, it’s right here.”
IRS: “What is the amount showing in box 2A?”
Bob: “Zero.”
IRS: “Okay. That’s all we needed. We assumed that distribution was taxable, but it wasn’t. Your case will be shown as resolved and you don’t owe anything. Thank you for contacting us. Goodbye.”
They didn’t demand a copy; they just took his word for it and wiped out his phony “underpayment” along with the penalties and interest they had already applied. Kinda. “Wham, Bam, Thank-you Ma’am.”
SO, why didn’t they just ASK for a copy of the Form 1099 to be sure before they sent him the nasty “Pay us or else!” letter?
Because they’re the IRS, and they didn’t HAVE to.
Right?
Right. (So much for “a kindler, gentler IRS.”)
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Feast or famine
I look outside my room and see,
Hard rain a-streaming down.
The ditches fill, huge puddles form
Upon the sodden ground.
Low thunder growls and rumbles round
As sudden flashes pop.
I wonder when we’ll see the sun.
When will this pattern stop?
I check the radar hoping for
Relief from flooding, noxious.
But all around the map is green
With red and yellow splotches.
It’s been this way for many weeks
With hardly e’re a respite.
As if our weather were controlled
By some malignant despot.
Yet some, not far, are desperate for
The rain that we’ve been “blessed” with.
I wonder if, as some now claim,
Our climate has been “messed with.”
But surely all this flood and drought
That draws so much attention,
Is only just a local thing,
And not of global mention?
Oops! Sorry all. I’ve pledged to you,
This blog WON’T BE political!
So I won’t preach my theories here,
Lest I be hypocritical!
I’ll leave you now with just this thought,
(And hope the weather heeds it,)
May the sun please send this rain away,
(And straight to him who needs it!)
Hard rain a-streaming down.
The ditches fill, huge puddles form
Upon the sodden ground.
Low thunder growls and rumbles round
As sudden flashes pop.
I wonder when we’ll see the sun.
When will this pattern stop?
I check the radar hoping for
Relief from flooding, noxious.
But all around the map is green
With red and yellow splotches.
It’s been this way for many weeks
With hardly e’re a respite.
As if our weather were controlled
By some malignant despot.
Yet some, not far, are desperate for
The rain that we’ve been “blessed” with.
I wonder if, as some now claim,
Our climate has been “messed with.”
But surely all this flood and drought
That draws so much attention,
Is only just a local thing,
And not of global mention?
Oops! Sorry all. I’ve pledged to you,
This blog WON’T BE political!
So I won’t preach my theories here,
Lest I be hypocritical!
I’ll leave you now with just this thought,
(And hope the weather heeds it,)
May the sun please send this rain away,
(And straight to him who needs it!)
Sunday, July 22, 2007
A very personal manifestation
Several of you have expressed sympathy for my current back pain.
Thank you.
Others have pointed out that Southernbelle, in her post of July 10, has let me know in no uncertain terms that there's no one to blame for my current misery but myself.
Why?
Well, I'm the one who keeps writing about the famous "C." (Oh, heck, why should I play coy? It's already attacking me—I'll name it! The CONSPIRACY!!)
We've all known its ability to make our lives miserble through its attacks on our plumbing, electricity, appliances, cars, home electronics, and other so-called "inanimate" objects, right? Well, Southernbelle let us all know that our own bodies are not safe from the effects of this blight!
Her maifestation was neck pain. Then, not a week later, I got this unexplained lower back affliction. I wasn't exerting, lifting, twisting, reaching, bending, or any of those typical activities that people blame for a sore back. It just hit me!
All I had done was try to notify the blogosphere about the danger of this . . . this . . . malignancy!
Ah, well, the cross I must bear.
So, if any of you doubt the power of the "C," I just hope its manifestation in YOUR life isn't as personal as this current one is in mine.
(Don't tell the "C," but I think I AM on the mend. I can actually bend at the waist today far enough to put my shoes on.
That's a big improvement!)
Thank you.
Others have pointed out that Southernbelle, in her post of July 10, has let me know in no uncertain terms that there's no one to blame for my current misery but myself.
Why?
Well, I'm the one who keeps writing about the famous "C." (Oh, heck, why should I play coy? It's already attacking me—I'll name it! The CONSPIRACY!!)
We've all known its ability to make our lives miserble through its attacks on our plumbing, electricity, appliances, cars, home electronics, and other so-called "inanimate" objects, right? Well, Southernbelle let us all know that our own bodies are not safe from the effects of this blight!
Her maifestation was neck pain. Then, not a week later, I got this unexplained lower back affliction. I wasn't exerting, lifting, twisting, reaching, bending, or any of those typical activities that people blame for a sore back. It just hit me!
All I had done was try to notify the blogosphere about the danger of this . . . this . . . malignancy!
Ah, well, the cross I must bear.
So, if any of you doubt the power of the "C," I just hope its manifestation in YOUR life isn't as personal as this current one is in mine.
(Don't tell the "C," but I think I AM on the mend. I can actually bend at the waist today far enough to put my shoes on.
That's a big improvement!)
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Headline and lead story this morning...
In my local newspaper. Really! You can see it online at www.vicad.com.
And yes, the golf course mentioned below is where we usually play.
(Of course, with my lower back pain I wouldn't be playing any golf this weekend even if the course were playable, so . . .)
WETTEST JULY ON RECORD
A few Victoria businesses thrive, some survive and others dive during record rainfall this month.
July 21, 2007 - Posted at 12:00 a.m.
BY DAVID TEWES - VICTORIA ADVOCATE
This month is already the rainiest July on record in Victoria, but Steve Dermit doesn't need a rain gauge to know it has been wet.As manager of the Riverside Golf Course, he's gauging the amount of rain based on how few customers have been showing up.
"It's devastating for us," he said. "When we get rained out, we don't have any players. When we don't have any players, we don't have any revenue."
Dermit said the silver lining is that the grass on the golf course is nice and green.
(Note to all of you who are suffering from unusually dry conditions : Sorry!)
And yes, the golf course mentioned below is where we usually play.
(Of course, with my lower back pain I wouldn't be playing any golf this weekend even if the course were playable, so . . .)
WETTEST JULY ON RECORD
A few Victoria businesses thrive, some survive and others dive during record rainfall this month.
July 21, 2007 - Posted at 12:00 a.m.
BY DAVID TEWES - VICTORIA ADVOCATE
This month is already the rainiest July on record in Victoria, but Steve Dermit doesn't need a rain gauge to know it has been wet.As manager of the Riverside Golf Course, he's gauging the amount of rain based on how few customers have been showing up.
"It's devastating for us," he said. "When we get rained out, we don't have any players. When we don't have any players, we don't have any revenue."
Dermit said the silver lining is that the grass on the golf course is nice and green.
(Note to all of you who are suffering from unusually dry conditions : Sorry!)
Friday, July 20, 2007
No posts for a week?
Sorry.
I've been contacted by several people wondering if I'm all right. The short answer is, not really.
Last Sunday my lower back started hurting. I didn't do anything I'm aware of to precipitate it, it just became uncomfortable to sit in one position for very long. On Monday afternoon it felt better and I thought I was on the mend.
Nope.
By Wednesday it was getting quite bothersome, and yesterday and today I've been barely able to get around.
I've been struggling in to work every day because we're busy right now, I had interview appointments with several job applicants this week, and I hated to put them off.
Greg, if you're reading this, see how dedicated I am? (Greg is my boss, in case you didn't know.)
Anyway, I've been too busy at work to type out a post (Greg, not that I would EVER do that during work time -- just on a break!), and at home the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer for any length of time.
I'll be back. Soon, I hope. Carol is giving me lots of TLC, although she keep making comments about me being invalid. No, not being "an invalid," but being invalid.
I THINK she's making a joke.
Maybe.
Surely . . .
I've been contacted by several people wondering if I'm all right. The short answer is, not really.
Last Sunday my lower back started hurting. I didn't do anything I'm aware of to precipitate it, it just became uncomfortable to sit in one position for very long. On Monday afternoon it felt better and I thought I was on the mend.
Nope.
By Wednesday it was getting quite bothersome, and yesterday and today I've been barely able to get around.
I've been struggling in to work every day because we're busy right now, I had interview appointments with several job applicants this week, and I hated to put them off.
Greg, if you're reading this, see how dedicated I am? (Greg is my boss, in case you didn't know.)
Anyway, I've been too busy at work to type out a post (Greg, not that I would EVER do that during work time -- just on a break!), and at home the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer for any length of time.
I'll be back. Soon, I hope. Carol is giving me lots of TLC, although she keep making comments about me being invalid. No, not being "an invalid," but being invalid.
I THINK she's making a joke.
Maybe.
Surely . . .
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Remember those green herons?
The babies (now full grown "adults") are still hanging around.
We spotted one of them today not far from where the nest had been.
You can't tell from this shot, but he's standing in shallow water looking for some dinner. 
OH! It looks like he's spotted something! I wonder if . . .
HA! Look at that neck extend!
How do they DO that?
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I used to do this...
In an F-4 Phantom. On the USS Forrestal. A lot of years ago.
This guy does a decent job of giving you an idea of what it's like.
Night Carrier Qualifications
By Lt. j.g. Doug Masters
June 2007
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.
As the last guys finish their dinner, we all look at each other with similar glances. Not a word needs to be said but everyone is thinking the exact same thing. The expressions say it all. It's time to walk upstairs and play ball. We've been preparing ourselves for this for years now, and it's what sets a Naval Aviator apart from every other pilot in the world. If you can't do it, the years of training leading up to this point are no good to you. As one of our paddles said, if you can't succeed at this you're useless to us as a Hornet pilot because we fly, and fight, in the dark. We have to go land this thing on the boat. At night.
We've all been behind the boat during the day. You do it in the training command in the mighty T-45. It's nerve-wracking the first few times, but once you get over the initial nerves and start getting the hang of operating around the ship it becomes a lot of fun. Day CQ in the Hornet was even better. We'd all been here before and were looking forward to coming back. Landing on the boat is what we do as Naval Aviators. It's one of the most amazing things you can experience, yet it's one of the smallest clubs in aviation. It's something you can do well, but never perfect.
Every single pass is critiqued by the Landing Signal Officers (LSOs), and you're graded no matter what your rank or who you are. Being good around the boat is what everyone prides themselves on. Now it was our turn. Time to really join the club, and prove that we can do this safely, with the sun down.
We all walk upstairs with the normal banter and ribbing that's become the norm, poking fun at each other and cracking jokes. Up several decks we get to our level and make our way to the ready room. On the television the deck cameras are up and we can all see that it really is game time. The airplane guard helo is gone (meaning airborne), and it's dark. How dark isn't quite apparent yet.
I take one last look at the line up, double-check my jet assignment and walk to maintenance control like I've done hundreds of times before this. A quick flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar with prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, then I head to the paraloft. It's business as usual below decks. If you never get outside you can really lose track of what the world out there is doing, but it's at the forefront of my mind tonight. I suit up in my flight gear as normal, make sure I've got my clear nighttime visor on my helmet, and I'm off. The walk through the ship is very typical until I finally hit the catwalk hatch taking me outside. It's dark.
I stand still for a second after securing the hatch to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and the hint of yellow sodium vapor lighting from the island. It takes a minute to realize there is no adjustment. It's dark. The middle of the ocean under a moonless sky is like the inside of a bottle of ink inside a sealed vault. The best way to describe it is to walk into your closet with all the lights in your house off, at night, then blindfold yourself.
As I step up the catwalk I realize the tail-end of a Superhornet is over my head, as well as a 70-foot drop to the water to my left. They're packed like sardines up here. They're also turning, and I need to get to the other side of the deck. My senses peak out of pure self-preservation. I'm instantly aware of everything going on within 50 yards of me, and it's a lot. I don't need to walk into a prop or a tailpipe. Something else becomes readily apparent. I'm getting wet. "What the .... ?" Well, if we're gonna do this, might as well pull out all the stops.
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange light. The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces himself with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect. Something familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the back half of my jet is out over the side of the ship. Looks good from here, time to man up and get out of the rain.
Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running with a solid INS alignment and no real problems.
Let's do this.
"Tower, 303 up and ready, 38,000 pounds."
Okay. Done this too. Cricket, cricket. Damn, wrong freq. I get the appropriate freq channelized and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and tiedowns.
My airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands (the handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face. Great, was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to start rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me past a few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands down the flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector (JBD), which is up protecting me from the jet 20 feet ahead that's at full grunt about to be shot off the front of the boat. I marvel at the choreography that's gotten me to this point. Somehow I've managed to fit into this silent dance (with two left feet) that is the moving of jets around a moving flight deck, which is launching and recovering aircraft simultaneously, at night, without a word ever being said, and mainly by guys and girls not even old enough to legally drink.
As the JBD comes down, I double-check my trim settings, radar altimeter set to alert me to any settle off the front of the ship, double-check my ejection seat is armed, all radios, navaids and datalink are turned on. My three multifunction displays are all set appropriately, and I continue to taxi onto the catapult. I roger up the weight board for the jet's weight with a circular motion from my little flashlight (too dark for hand signals) and the holdback is attached to my nose gear. The holdback is what physically restrains the jet from rolling forward at full power, but breaks free when the catapult fires.
I spread the wings and continue to taxi forward to set the holdback. The launch bar comes down, and I'm directed to roll forward a few more feet. Then it comes -- the signal to take tension. With a familiar "thunk" I feel the launch bar drop into the shuttle as I advance the throttles to full power. The jet squats down under the strain of the engines, I wipe out the flight controls and run through my take-off checks one last time; I'm also rehearsing my "settle off the catapult" procedures should the worst happen, and touching the ejection handle to make sure it's not folded under my leg or something. With a check of the flight control page, the trim settings are correct, no computer problems and check list complete; now a repeater of the head-up display is brought up on the left MFD, a repeater of the attitude indicator on the right. Should something happen on the cat I've got four redundancies of the jet's attitude now staring at me. I should also add that from the JBD coming down to me takin g the catapult has all taken place in about 25 seconds.
With the jet at full power, just shy of the afterburners, and a quick triple-checking glance, I look left at the catapult officer and give him a salute. Not really for him, he can't even see me, it's too dark. More so for my own familiarity. With my pinky finger on the throttles I click forward the exterior light master switch, and the deck comes alive with the light of the form lights, red and green nav lights, and strobes. This is the official salute that I'm ready.
Left palm open and pressed against the throttles (so I don't inadvertently pull them back from the force of the cat shot), right hand up on the canopy grip, and I press my head back against the seat looking forward down the cat. The only light in front of me is the green cat status light. I'm about to be shot into a black rainy sky, why? With that thought the jet squats again and then it comes. WHAM! I slam the throttle to full afterburner and stare at the airspeed to make sure I see three digits by the end of the cat stroke. Over the span of the next 310 feet and roughly two seconds, myself and my jet have accelerated to over 175 knots. At least that was the last speed I saw prior to the jolt of coming off the front of the ship. It almost hurts. As the jet rotates itself to a nice climb attitude I grab the stick, raise the gear and pull the throttles out of blower. You know what? It's freakin' dark out here.
I make my airborne call and get switched over to marshal. Kind of like approach control for the ship. I also realize that I'm in the weather, and it's dark. This sucks.
I check in and my marshal instructions are immediately force-fed to me.
"303 take angels 7, marshal mom's 310, expected final bearing 124, expected approach time two one."
If they could see me right now, they'd probably wipe the drool off my chin as my brain tries to remember what was just said. Amazed at myself for actually catching all that, I climb to 7,000 feet and point myself northwest.
The marshal distance is a function of altitude to keep things simple. Add 15 to your marshal altitude. I've got my radar looking out in front of me, and before long there are several hits on my radar in front of me, above and below.
It's the marshal stack. This is a good thing as it means I'm going to the right place, those hits are my friends out there already established in holding and I get warm and fuzzy. As I look down at my clock and speed up to roughly 400 knots, I realize my push time is three minutes away, and I'm 30 miles away. Not gonna happen. I request a new push, and establish myself in holding. For the next few minutes I've got "comfort time," which really is just used to think about what I'm about to try and accomplish.
Something finally goes my way when I hit my marshal fix at exactly 22 miles just as the clock ticks through my push time.
"Marshal 303 commencing, state 7.4, altimeter 29.75."
"Roger turn right 150."
"Sweet," I think to myself. Vectors means I don't have to fly the full arcing approach. As I descend I keep checking my radar altimeter bug and rolling it down. More than a few guys have lost track of what they were doing and flown themselves into the water, after all, it's a dark black hole out here. Especially in the weather. With a quick glance at my weight I see I'm a few hundred pounds above max trap weight. Perfect, I'll arrive behind the boat right at max trap weight. No need to dump gas to lighten up. As I get vectored behind the ship for a datalink approach (an ILS of sorts), I level off at 1,200 feet and realize I'm out of the weather. How can I tell? There's a light off to my left at about 14 miles. I have to land on it.
They did studies in Vietnam, and guys had higher pulses and blood pressures behind the boat at night after a mission than they did when they were getting shot at. I now know why-it's dark out here. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. Back into the weather I go as I get a quick turn to final and intercept the ACLS, which brings me down to about 1,000 feet before it drops lock.
"303 negative needles, negative bullseye." This night just got better.
"Roger continue, reattempt lock on at 2 miles."
"Yeah, sure," I say out loud to myself, and I continue down using the tacan radial to navigate. Just then I break out and see out in front of me a flashing red light, amongst the 12 or so lights I can see that comprise the postage stamp out in the distance I'm supposed to land on.
It's the laser line up behind the boat telling me I'm left of course, of course. Why drop lock on centerline? Well, I can solve line up, there's a start. With a steady amber light telling me I'm lined up with the ship now, I just work to get "on the ball." At a mile approach finally just gives up with the ACLS.
"303, ¾ of a mile, call the ball."
"303 Hornet Ball, 6.9."
With a calm "roooger ball" the familiar voice of paddles takes the edge off a little. I'm working the strongest crosswind I've ever experienced in my 25 trap career, flying the ball out the left side of the canopy, rather than through the HUD like normal. This sucks, and it's flippin' dark out here. As I fight line up I can feel the burble that the ship's aerodynamic wake puts out as I approach the ramp, and the ball reflects this as I try to fly my head through the four-foot window it represents.
The "ball" is a yellow light between a set of green horizontal datums. It represents your position to the appropriate glideslope. Above the datums you're high, below you're low. At the start of the pass at three-quarters of a mile, from full high to full low is about 21 feet of altitude. At the ramp it's about four feet. Right at the wires, each cell of the ball represents nine inches (so says paddles).
I bring on the power to stop the settle. As the ball starts to sag in close I bring on more power and in my peripheral vision I can see I'm over steel. A few split seconds and a few more power corrections as I stare down the ball staring back at me and a familiar WHAM. I touch down with a rate of descent of around 900 feet per minute, enough to destroy most other airplanes. I bend the throttles over the stops going to full afterburner, but I'm greeted with a familiar feeling of being slammed forward in my straps as I slow from 145 knots to zero in about two seconds. With the jet at a stop, and the blowers still blazing, I throttle back and hear the one thing I reminded myself not to do.
"Lights on deck."
DAMN! Lights come off on deck at night. Lights on indicates an emergency and I told myself to remember that. It's just not part of the habit pattern during the day. At least not yet for me. This is all in the two seconds since I've stopped of course, but I'm still irritated. With a familiar yank backwards the wire drops away from the tail hook, I see some yellow wands giving me the hook-up sign. I roll out of the landing area, folding my wings and cleaning up the cockpit (resetting flaps, trim, my radalt, etc).
Thirty seconds later I'm sitting behind the JBD , takeoff checks partly complete, trim set, with the jet in front of me at full tilt ready to be shot. Happy to still be alive, I think about the last pass, and how I can better energize the jet, and where I need to make power corrections to fly a better pass. Then the JBD drops, and some yellow wands in the darkness start motioning for me forward onto the catapult. It's dark up there, and I have to do this about a half-dozen more times. This is going to be a long night.
John R. Nelson
2210 E. Timberlake W Dr.
Shelton,WA. 98584-7931
This guy does a decent job of giving you an idea of what it's like.
Night Carrier Qualifications
By Lt. j.g. Doug Masters
June 2007
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.
As the last guys finish their dinner, we all look at each other with similar glances. Not a word needs to be said but everyone is thinking the exact same thing. The expressions say it all. It's time to walk upstairs and play ball. We've been preparing ourselves for this for years now, and it's what sets a Naval Aviator apart from every other pilot in the world. If you can't do it, the years of training leading up to this point are no good to you. As one of our paddles said, if you can't succeed at this you're useless to us as a Hornet pilot because we fly, and fight, in the dark. We have to go land this thing on the boat. At night.
We've all been behind the boat during the day. You do it in the training command in the mighty T-45. It's nerve-wracking the first few times, but once you get over the initial nerves and start getting the hang of operating around the ship it becomes a lot of fun. Day CQ in the Hornet was even better. We'd all been here before and were looking forward to coming back. Landing on the boat is what we do as Naval Aviators. It's one of the most amazing things you can experience, yet it's one of the smallest clubs in aviation. It's something you can do well, but never perfect.
Every single pass is critiqued by the Landing Signal Officers (LSOs), and you're graded no matter what your rank or who you are. Being good around the boat is what everyone prides themselves on. Now it was our turn. Time to really join the club, and prove that we can do this safely, with the sun down.
We all walk upstairs with the normal banter and ribbing that's become the norm, poking fun at each other and cracking jokes. Up several decks we get to our level and make our way to the ready room. On the television the deck cameras are up and we can all see that it really is game time. The airplane guard helo is gone (meaning airborne), and it's dark. How dark isn't quite apparent yet.
I take one last look at the line up, double-check my jet assignment and walk to maintenance control like I've done hundreds of times before this. A quick flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar with prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, then I head to the paraloft. It's business as usual below decks. If you never get outside you can really lose track of what the world out there is doing, but it's at the forefront of my mind tonight. I suit up in my flight gear as normal, make sure I've got my clear nighttime visor on my helmet, and I'm off. The walk through the ship is very typical until I finally hit the catwalk hatch taking me outside. It's dark.
I stand still for a second after securing the hatch to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and the hint of yellow sodium vapor lighting from the island. It takes a minute to realize there is no adjustment. It's dark. The middle of the ocean under a moonless sky is like the inside of a bottle of ink inside a sealed vault. The best way to describe it is to walk into your closet with all the lights in your house off, at night, then blindfold yourself.
As I step up the catwalk I realize the tail-end of a Superhornet is over my head, as well as a 70-foot drop to the water to my left. They're packed like sardines up here. They're also turning, and I need to get to the other side of the deck. My senses peak out of pure self-preservation. I'm instantly aware of everything going on within 50 yards of me, and it's a lot. I don't need to walk into a prop or a tailpipe. Something else becomes readily apparent. I'm getting wet. "What the .... ?" Well, if we're gonna do this, might as well pull out all the stops.
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange light. The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces himself with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect. Something familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the back half of my jet is out over the side of the ship. Looks good from here, time to man up and get out of the rain.
Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running with a solid INS alignment and no real problems.
Let's do this.
"Tower, 303 up and ready, 38,000 pounds."
Okay. Done this too. Cricket, cricket. Damn, wrong freq. I get the appropriate freq channelized and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and tiedowns.
My airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands (the handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face. Great, was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to start rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me past a few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands down the flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector (JBD), which is up protecting me from the jet 20 feet ahead that's at full grunt about to be shot off the front of the boat. I marvel at the choreography that's gotten me to this point. Somehow I've managed to fit into this silent dance (with two left feet) that is the moving of jets around a moving flight deck, which is launching and recovering aircraft simultaneously, at night, without a word ever being said, and mainly by guys and girls not even old enough to legally drink.
As the JBD comes down, I double-check my trim settings, radar altimeter set to alert me to any settle off the front of the ship, double-check my ejection seat is armed, all radios, navaids and datalink are turned on. My three multifunction displays are all set appropriately, and I continue to taxi onto the catapult. I roger up the weight board for the jet's weight with a circular motion from my little flashlight (too dark for hand signals) and the holdback is attached to my nose gear. The holdback is what physically restrains the jet from rolling forward at full power, but breaks free when the catapult fires.
I spread the wings and continue to taxi forward to set the holdback. The launch bar comes down, and I'm directed to roll forward a few more feet. Then it comes -- the signal to take tension. With a familiar "thunk" I feel the launch bar drop into the shuttle as I advance the throttles to full power. The jet squats down under the strain of the engines, I wipe out the flight controls and run through my take-off checks one last time; I'm also rehearsing my "settle off the catapult" procedures should the worst happen, and touching the ejection handle to make sure it's not folded under my leg or something. With a check of the flight control page, the trim settings are correct, no computer problems and check list complete; now a repeater of the head-up display is brought up on the left MFD, a repeater of the attitude indicator on the right. Should something happen on the cat I've got four redundancies of the jet's attitude now staring at me. I should also add that from the JBD coming down to me takin g the catapult has all taken place in about 25 seconds.
With the jet at full power, just shy of the afterburners, and a quick triple-checking glance, I look left at the catapult officer and give him a salute. Not really for him, he can't even see me, it's too dark. More so for my own familiarity. With my pinky finger on the throttles I click forward the exterior light master switch, and the deck comes alive with the light of the form lights, red and green nav lights, and strobes. This is the official salute that I'm ready.
Left palm open and pressed against the throttles (so I don't inadvertently pull them back from the force of the cat shot), right hand up on the canopy grip, and I press my head back against the seat looking forward down the cat. The only light in front of me is the green cat status light. I'm about to be shot into a black rainy sky, why? With that thought the jet squats again and then it comes. WHAM! I slam the throttle to full afterburner and stare at the airspeed to make sure I see three digits by the end of the cat stroke. Over the span of the next 310 feet and roughly two seconds, myself and my jet have accelerated to over 175 knots. At least that was the last speed I saw prior to the jolt of coming off the front of the ship. It almost hurts. As the jet rotates itself to a nice climb attitude I grab the stick, raise the gear and pull the throttles out of blower. You know what? It's freakin' dark out here.
I make my airborne call and get switched over to marshal. Kind of like approach control for the ship. I also realize that I'm in the weather, and it's dark. This sucks.
I check in and my marshal instructions are immediately force-fed to me.
"303 take angels 7, marshal mom's 310, expected final bearing 124, expected approach time two one."
If they could see me right now, they'd probably wipe the drool off my chin as my brain tries to remember what was just said. Amazed at myself for actually catching all that, I climb to 7,000 feet and point myself northwest.
The marshal distance is a function of altitude to keep things simple. Add 15 to your marshal altitude. I've got my radar looking out in front of me, and before long there are several hits on my radar in front of me, above and below.
It's the marshal stack. This is a good thing as it means I'm going to the right place, those hits are my friends out there already established in holding and I get warm and fuzzy. As I look down at my clock and speed up to roughly 400 knots, I realize my push time is three minutes away, and I'm 30 miles away. Not gonna happen. I request a new push, and establish myself in holding. For the next few minutes I've got "comfort time," which really is just used to think about what I'm about to try and accomplish.
Something finally goes my way when I hit my marshal fix at exactly 22 miles just as the clock ticks through my push time.
"Marshal 303 commencing, state 7.4, altimeter 29.75."
"Roger turn right 150."
"Sweet," I think to myself. Vectors means I don't have to fly the full arcing approach. As I descend I keep checking my radar altimeter bug and rolling it down. More than a few guys have lost track of what they were doing and flown themselves into the water, after all, it's a dark black hole out here. Especially in the weather. With a quick glance at my weight I see I'm a few hundred pounds above max trap weight. Perfect, I'll arrive behind the boat right at max trap weight. No need to dump gas to lighten up. As I get vectored behind the ship for a datalink approach (an ILS of sorts), I level off at 1,200 feet and realize I'm out of the weather. How can I tell? There's a light off to my left at about 14 miles. I have to land on it.
They did studies in Vietnam, and guys had higher pulses and blood pressures behind the boat at night after a mission than they did when they were getting shot at. I now know why-it's dark out here. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. Back into the weather I go as I get a quick turn to final and intercept the ACLS, which brings me down to about 1,000 feet before it drops lock.
"303 negative needles, negative bullseye." This night just got better.
"Roger continue, reattempt lock on at 2 miles."
"Yeah, sure," I say out loud to myself, and I continue down using the tacan radial to navigate. Just then I break out and see out in front of me a flashing red light, amongst the 12 or so lights I can see that comprise the postage stamp out in the distance I'm supposed to land on.
It's the laser line up behind the boat telling me I'm left of course, of course. Why drop lock on centerline? Well, I can solve line up, there's a start. With a steady amber light telling me I'm lined up with the ship now, I just work to get "on the ball." At a mile approach finally just gives up with the ACLS.
"303, ¾ of a mile, call the ball."
"303 Hornet Ball, 6.9."
With a calm "roooger ball" the familiar voice of paddles takes the edge off a little. I'm working the strongest crosswind I've ever experienced in my 25 trap career, flying the ball out the left side of the canopy, rather than through the HUD like normal. This sucks, and it's flippin' dark out here. As I fight line up I can feel the burble that the ship's aerodynamic wake puts out as I approach the ramp, and the ball reflects this as I try to fly my head through the four-foot window it represents.
The "ball" is a yellow light between a set of green horizontal datums. It represents your position to the appropriate glideslope. Above the datums you're high, below you're low. At the start of the pass at three-quarters of a mile, from full high to full low is about 21 feet of altitude. At the ramp it's about four feet. Right at the wires, each cell of the ball represents nine inches (so says paddles).
I bring on the power to stop the settle. As the ball starts to sag in close I bring on more power and in my peripheral vision I can see I'm over steel. A few split seconds and a few more power corrections as I stare down the ball staring back at me and a familiar WHAM. I touch down with a rate of descent of around 900 feet per minute, enough to destroy most other airplanes. I bend the throttles over the stops going to full afterburner, but I'm greeted with a familiar feeling of being slammed forward in my straps as I slow from 145 knots to zero in about two seconds. With the jet at a stop, and the blowers still blazing, I throttle back and hear the one thing I reminded myself not to do.
"Lights on deck."
DAMN! Lights come off on deck at night. Lights on indicates an emergency and I told myself to remember that. It's just not part of the habit pattern during the day. At least not yet for me. This is all in the two seconds since I've stopped of course, but I'm still irritated. With a familiar yank backwards the wire drops away from the tail hook, I see some yellow wands giving me the hook-up sign. I roll out of the landing area, folding my wings and cleaning up the cockpit (resetting flaps, trim, my radalt, etc).
Thirty seconds later I'm sitting behind the JBD , takeoff checks partly complete, trim set, with the jet in front of me at full tilt ready to be shot. Happy to still be alive, I think about the last pass, and how I can better energize the jet, and where I need to make power corrections to fly a better pass. Then the JBD drops, and some yellow wands in the darkness start motioning for me forward onto the catapult. It's dark up there, and I have to do this about a half-dozen more times. This is going to be a long night.
John R. Nelson
2210 E. Timberlake W Dr.
Shelton,WA. 98584-7931
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
An International Incident?
Michelle from South Africa has returned following a 2+ week absence from her blog.
She actually blames ME for the events in her life! Can you IMAGINE?!?
Her tale is worth a look, especially for Jan, who is also mentioned.
You'll just have to go there to find out what it's all about (Alfie).
You know you're dying to know. So go already. Bye!
She actually blames ME for the events in her life! Can you IMAGINE?!?
Her tale is worth a look, especially for Jan, who is also mentioned.
You'll just have to go there to find out what it's all about (Alfie).
You know you're dying to know. So go already. Bye!
Monday, July 09, 2007
Drought?
During the week Carol often walks at the local mall in the mornings.
Why? Well, for exercise. It keeps her slim and trim. But I think there's another reason -- it's her chance to interact with other people who walk at the same time.
This arrangement offers several advantanges. If she wants to slow down and walk along with others and visit, she can. But if she'd rather not, or if the subject matter is unpleasant, she can excuse herself and walk faster.
She knows by first name most of the folks who walk at about the same time as she does each morning. And she knows their personalities. All are harmless, but some are "cute," some "jerks," and some are just "nice." Most are older than she is.
One of the "cute" ones, an older man, spoke to her this morning. She slowed her pace to match his and engaged in conversation. After normal pleasantries, he mentioned the drought we're experiencing.
Carol wasn't sure she had heard him correctly, so asked him to repeat what he'd said.
He said, "So, what do you think about this drought?"
She wondered if he was getting senile. (If you didn't read my last post, scroll down now and look at the pictures from Saturday!) It's been a VERY wet spring and summer thus far. We haven't had as much rain as SOME parts of Texas, but we have had some flooding, even here.
The silence between them stretched on, as Carol couldn't figure out how to respond.
Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. He deadpanned, "I mean, it's been almost 20 hours since the last drop fell. What are we going to do?"
Later -- MUCH later, as is always the way -- she realized she should have told him that maybe we need to use the dry spell to make some more progress on the ark we're building.
Oh, and for those of you who asked me to send some of this rain your way, I'm working on it. Honest!
Why? Well, for exercise. It keeps her slim and trim. But I think there's another reason -- it's her chance to interact with other people who walk at the same time.
This arrangement offers several advantanges. If she wants to slow down and walk along with others and visit, she can. But if she'd rather not, or if the subject matter is unpleasant, she can excuse herself and walk faster.
She knows by first name most of the folks who walk at about the same time as she does each morning. And she knows their personalities. All are harmless, but some are "cute," some "jerks," and some are just "nice." Most are older than she is.
One of the "cute" ones, an older man, spoke to her this morning. She slowed her pace to match his and engaged in conversation. After normal pleasantries, he mentioned the drought we're experiencing.
Carol wasn't sure she had heard him correctly, so asked him to repeat what he'd said.
He said, "So, what do you think about this drought?"
She wondered if he was getting senile. (If you didn't read my last post, scroll down now and look at the pictures from Saturday!) It's been a VERY wet spring and summer thus far. We haven't had as much rain as SOME parts of Texas, but we have had some flooding, even here.
The silence between them stretched on, as Carol couldn't figure out how to respond.
Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. He deadpanned, "I mean, it's been almost 20 hours since the last drop fell. What are we going to do?"
Later -- MUCH later, as is always the way -- she realized she should have told him that maybe we need to use the dry spell to make some more progress on the ark we're building.
Oh, and for those of you who asked me to send some of this rain your way, I'm working on it. Honest!
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Rainy Days and Mondays
Well, it's not Monday, so . . .
(All these were taken at around 3:00 pm on Saturday, 7/7/07.)
(All these were taken at around 3:00 pm on Saturday, 7/7/07.)
My back yard.
Same basic shot, but focused on the lake rather than the rain falling from the patio roof.
Speaking of rain falling from the patio roof . . .
Our front street, taken from inside the garage.
Our front yard and street.
And finally, our front walk.
Oh, and for what it's worth, when I went outside before the rains hit I was swarmed by mosquitos.
I think we'll forego golf and all other outdoor activities for a while. Possibly a LONG while.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Lost in translation?
Carol decided we needed a countertop machine that makes ice cubes. For our camper.
Thorough to a fault, she went online and began comparing models for features, size, and price. One of those she liked had the following description:
(Please do read through it. Aloud, if possible. There's a reason.)
Wrapped in commercial grade stainless steel, the new Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display allows you to make ice virtually anywhere there is 110 Volt power. Just pour water into the internal reservoir, plug this portable ice maker in, and enjoy! Within ten minutes you'll have your first batch of cold, refreshing ice. It's great for home bars, offices, and more. Plus, the commercial grade stainless steel wrapped exterior (with silver lid) matches almost any decor. Between the compact countertop size and the stainless steel finish, there's no need to hide this ice maker under a counter!
Here are the reasons the EdgeStar Portable Ice Maker with Stainless Steel finish and Digital Display is in a class of its own:
Digital display:The electric blue read-out on the digital display is easy to to read and understand.
Self-cleaning mode: This is the first EdgeStar ice maker to feature a self-cleaning mode!
Wrapped stainless steel finish: New and improved, the EdgeStar stainless steel portable ice maker features a body wrapped in true commercial grade stainless steel for unparalleled durability and style.
Upgraded internal components: This EdgeStar ice maker features upgraded internal components for increased durability and reliability. This includes a reinforced pump housing, a redesigned compressor system, and newly designed interior hinges. Rest easy knowing that your new EdgeStar stainless steel portable ice maker will keep pumping out ice in style for years!
The EdgeStar stainless steel portable countertop ice maker produces up to 35 pounds of ice per day, and it stores up to 2 1/2 pounds of ice in an insulated storage compartment. No drain is required, and you can even select the ice cube size (three selections.)
The Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display is the perfect solution for your ice making needs.
No, I'm not tring to sell these things!
Carol then found another listing for the identical model on a different web site. Its description had apparently been translated out of the original Mandarin Chinese (my guess) by a translation machine. Or an alien from Mars. Or. . .??
Read this identical description aloud -- even if you didn't read the first one. You'll want to scroll up and down to compare.
Put down your drink if you don't want to snort it out your nose.
Wrapped in commercial-grade score stainless steel, the young Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display allows you to do steel,0 to all intents and purposes anyplace on that point is 110 Volt force. Just rain buckets irrigate into the intragroup source, stop up this steel,1 steel,2 steel,3 in, and savor! Within 10 transactions you'll feature your 1st lot of moth-eaten, reviving steel,4 It's outstanding in opposition to national bars, offices, and more than. Plus, the commercial-grade mark steel,5 steel,6 wrapped superficial (with silvern eyelid) matches towards whatever decor. Between the thickset countertop sizing and the steel,7 steel,8 destination, there's no demand to hide out this steel,9 Portable0 below a heel counter!
This countertop Portable1 Portable2 produces up to 35 pounds of Portable3 by means of daytime, and it supplies up to 2 1/2 pounds of Portable4 in an insulated storage division. No run out is required, and you tin regular cull the Portable5 dice sizing (three selections.)
The Edgestar Portable6 Portable7 Portable8 Portable9 Stainless0 Stainless1 Stainless2 Stainless3 is the hone root by reason of your Stainless4 fabrication indispensably. Reasons this Stainless5 Stainless6 Stainless7 is in a division of its ain embody:
1)Digital Stainless8 The electrical racy read-out on the Stainless9 Steel0 is easygoing to to say and translate.
2) Self-cleaning musical mode: This is the 1st EdgeStar Steel1 Steel2 to feature film a self-cleaning musical mode!
3) Wrapped Steel3 Steel4 destination: New and improved, the EdgeStar Steel5 Steel6 Steel7 Steel8 Steel9 features a personify wrapped in rightful commercial-grade mark Ice0 Ice1 as antidote to unparagoned lasting quality and title.
4) Upgraded intragroup components: This EdgeStar Ice2 Ice3 features upgraded intragroup components beneficial to increased durableness and reliableness. This includes a strengthened cross-question lodging, a redesigned compressor scheme, and new intentional midland hinges.
Rest leisurely wise that your young EdgeStar Ice4 Ice5 Ice6 Ice7 Ice8 testament stay fresh pumping come out Ice9 in title on the side of years!
Gee. Which one would YOU buy?
Thorough to a fault, she went online and began comparing models for features, size, and price. One of those she liked had the following description:
(Please do read through it. Aloud, if possible. There's a reason.)
Wrapped in commercial grade stainless steel, the new Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display allows you to make ice virtually anywhere there is 110 Volt power. Just pour water into the internal reservoir, plug this portable ice maker in, and enjoy! Within ten minutes you'll have your first batch of cold, refreshing ice. It's great for home bars, offices, and more. Plus, the commercial grade stainless steel wrapped exterior (with silver lid) matches almost any decor. Between the compact countertop size and the stainless steel finish, there's no need to hide this ice maker under a counter!
Here are the reasons the EdgeStar Portable Ice Maker with Stainless Steel finish and Digital Display is in a class of its own:
Digital display:The electric blue read-out on the digital display is easy to to read and understand.
Self-cleaning mode: This is the first EdgeStar ice maker to feature a self-cleaning mode!
Wrapped stainless steel finish: New and improved, the EdgeStar stainless steel portable ice maker features a body wrapped in true commercial grade stainless steel for unparalleled durability and style.
Upgraded internal components: This EdgeStar ice maker features upgraded internal components for increased durability and reliability. This includes a reinforced pump housing, a redesigned compressor system, and newly designed interior hinges. Rest easy knowing that your new EdgeStar stainless steel portable ice maker will keep pumping out ice in style for years!
The EdgeStar stainless steel portable countertop ice maker produces up to 35 pounds of ice per day, and it stores up to 2 1/2 pounds of ice in an insulated storage compartment. No drain is required, and you can even select the ice cube size (three selections.)
The Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display is the perfect solution for your ice making needs.
No, I'm not tring to sell these things!
Carol then found another listing for the identical model on a different web site. Its description had apparently been translated out of the original Mandarin Chinese (my guess) by a translation machine. Or an alien from Mars. Or. . .??
Read this identical description aloud -- even if you didn't read the first one. You'll want to scroll up and down to compare.
Put down your drink if you don't want to snort it out your nose.
Wrapped in commercial-grade score stainless steel, the young Edgestar Portable Stainless Steel Ice Maker With Digital Display allows you to do steel,0 to all intents and purposes anyplace on that point is 110 Volt force. Just rain buckets irrigate into the intragroup source, stop up this steel,1 steel,2 steel,3 in, and savor! Within 10 transactions you'll feature your 1st lot of moth-eaten, reviving steel,4 It's outstanding in opposition to national bars, offices, and more than. Plus, the commercial-grade mark steel,5 steel,6 wrapped superficial (with silvern eyelid) matches towards whatever decor. Between the thickset countertop sizing and the steel,7 steel,8 destination, there's no demand to hide out this steel,9 Portable0 below a heel counter!
This countertop Portable1 Portable2 produces up to 35 pounds of Portable3 by means of daytime, and it supplies up to 2 1/2 pounds of Portable4 in an insulated storage division. No run out is required, and you tin regular cull the Portable5 dice sizing (three selections.)
The Edgestar Portable6 Portable7 Portable8 Portable9 Stainless0 Stainless1 Stainless2 Stainless3 is the hone root by reason of your Stainless4 fabrication indispensably. Reasons this Stainless5 Stainless6 Stainless7 is in a division of its ain embody:
1)Digital Stainless8 The electrical racy read-out on the Stainless9 Steel0 is easygoing to to say and translate.
2) Self-cleaning musical mode: This is the 1st EdgeStar Steel1 Steel2 to feature film a self-cleaning musical mode!
3) Wrapped Steel3 Steel4 destination: New and improved, the EdgeStar Steel5 Steel6 Steel7 Steel8 Steel9 features a personify wrapped in rightful commercial-grade mark Ice0 Ice1 as antidote to unparagoned lasting quality and title.
4) Upgraded intragroup components: This EdgeStar Ice2 Ice3 features upgraded intragroup components beneficial to increased durableness and reliableness. This includes a strengthened cross-question lodging, a redesigned compressor scheme, and new intentional midland hinges.
Rest leisurely wise that your young EdgeStar Ice4 Ice5 Ice6 Ice7 Ice8 testament stay fresh pumping come out Ice9 in title on the side of years!
Gee. Which one would YOU buy?
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Safely home
And thanks to all of you who wished us a safe trip.
We had one.
Golf the last day was the best in terms of both score and weather. We had low cloud cover and good breeze all morning, and then partly cloudy skies and an adequate breeze in the afternoon. For some unknown reason I found some rythym in my swing and actually hit the ball pretty well for a while. Fun!!
It was a long and rainy drive home, but we're here and unpacked. Tomorrow I get to go back in to the office. But it's just for two days before the weekend hits again.
I hope you all had a great holiday (if you're located where today WAS a holiday!). I'll try to get around to all of your blogs tomorrow.
We had one.
Golf the last day was the best in terms of both score and weather. We had low cloud cover and good breeze all morning, and then partly cloudy skies and an adequate breeze in the afternoon. For some unknown reason I found some rythym in my swing and actually hit the ball pretty well for a while. Fun!!
It was a long and rainy drive home, but we're here and unpacked. Tomorrow I get to go back in to the office. But it's just for two days before the weekend hits again.
I hope you all had a great holiday (if you're located where today WAS a holiday!). I'll try to get around to all of your blogs tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Tell?
All good writers are urged to, "Show, don't tell."
But the commenters to my last, brief post wanted me to tell.
To them I say, use your imagination. Hey, go wild! You may be off the mark, or right on. I think I'll respect (daughter) Christina's wishes and let you just imagine what's going on in our camper when the door is locked and it's rocking back and forth.
Maybe Carol is vacuuming. Maybe we're dancing. Maybe...
Regardless, the golf has been grand (does that mean my score went over the 1,000 mark? I'll never tell!), the time away from home has been fun, and as for the rest, well...
Use your imagination!
Tomorrow we drive home (LONG day, made shorter by listening to a recorded book as we drive), and then I go back to work. I'm starting to REALLY look forward to retirement. But... (SIGH) Not for a few more years.
Have a happy Independence Day, all you Americans. As for you furriners, have a great Wednesday.
More to come...
But the commenters to my last, brief post wanted me to tell.
To them I say, use your imagination. Hey, go wild! You may be off the mark, or right on. I think I'll respect (daughter) Christina's wishes and let you just imagine what's going on in our camper when the door is locked and it's rocking back and forth.
Maybe Carol is vacuuming. Maybe we're dancing. Maybe...
Regardless, the golf has been grand (does that mean my score went over the 1,000 mark? I'll never tell!), the time away from home has been fun, and as for the rest, well...
Use your imagination!
Tomorrow we drive home (LONG day, made shorter by listening to a recorded book as we drive), and then I go back to work. I'm starting to REALLY look forward to retirement. But... (SIGH) Not for a few more years.
Have a happy Independence Day, all you Americans. As for you furriners, have a great Wednesday.
More to come...
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