Becoming an F-4 Fighter Pilot

I have mentioned that I flew F-4s but that did not start out the way most Air Force, Navy or Marine pilots learned to fly. I had one orientation flight that I talked my way into at Eglin AFB, Florida. With over 2,000 hours as an Electronic Warfare Officer buried in the bowels of B-52Bs at Biggs AFB, El Paso, fighters were a new experience. So were fighter pilots, a whole different breed compared to "Bus Drivers". Little did I know the bet was on; how long it would take to make me barf in my hat. Whoever had "under 15 minutes" won the bet. Scared to death in the back of an F-4, I wish I remembered who that pilot that did wing overs on take off and pulled more Gs, especially negative Gs, than I knew existed.

My next back seat ride was my first combat mission. A nice, safe functional check flight for an engine change out of Da Nang AB, Vietnam was okayed. Just about the time we lifted off the ground and started the gear up, the good engine blew up! Four feet off the ground, one newly changed engine, one non-functioning engine (except for the fire warning lights and no thrust), trying to make it over the top of the village off the north end of the runway between us and the water. After running as much as the overall checklist as we could and dumping fuel, we came in from the south for a landing. Due to having to make a one engine straight-in approach over bad-guy territory south of the base, we landed and post-flight showed 34 holes in the airplane from enemy groundfire. Never even thought of barfing; too busy learning how to be a back seat fighter pilot. My pilot said, "Just another day at the office."

Life is Too Short; Don't Blow Your Top

Rain

Sitting here with the door open to the back yard, listening to the rain falling on the aluminum sun cover. When you really need to do this early in life, there is no time. When you are retired and really need to stop and listen to the rain making music on roofs or sunscreens, you are still too busy. So take the time right now, you owe it to yourself. Dare to think out of the box.
Born and raised in Seattle, I couldn't wait to get out-a-town! So, six years in El Paso and three years in New Mexico washed that idea right out of my hair.
outadahbox

Doing Away with the Penny?

I have read several articles about doing away with the US penny, one cent, copper etc. Yeah, so I realize that all cash registers could use that extra slot for the new US one dollar coin, Sacajawea , Susan B. Anthony and now all the President's dollar coins. Well, it ain't gonna to happen so long as the government continues to spew out paper dollars. They last for such a short time period that it is cheaper to mint dollar coins, unless, yeah unless, they quit making paper dollars and force the public and industries with coin-o-mats to convert. And, all the gas stations.

And besides, I have a bigger complaint. Think of all the tenth of a penny that we are being overcharged by these gas stations that charge $3.15 9/10 per gallon. If we buy three gallons of gas, the charge should be $9.477. So they make us pay $9.48. Who gets that extra 3/10? I want that back, it is mine! Unless, all pumps are rounded up to a full cent and charged us $3.16. That is what we are paying anyway. New gas stations would save on one slot for each pump and the signs couldn't be sued for false advertising. And, that would make room for the meters to show $148.18 since there is no room to show purchase over $99.999. Can't wait to pay that much for gas!

Person Susan B. Anthony

Right click for SmartMenu shortcuts

Knitting

A friend posted an article about a very talented knitter who recently passed away. I would like to share the story of another great knitter and the impact she has had on three generations. She lived and died in Canada many years ago. This lady was blind. She taught her two daughters to knit and when she died, the daughters divided her needles and added to them, knitting and creating their own designs. One item the Grandmother knitted was a blanket of colored wool squares, seamed together for a granddaughter's blanket. More than just wool was knitted into that blanket; love was included in its creation.

Those two daughters knitted similar "blankies" for each of their children, about the same three foot square size as the original, and love was included in those blankets, as it was with many other items they knitted. One of those daughters had two daughters and those two daughters learned to knit. And when that Mother passed away, her daughters were given the knitting needles, dozens of many different sizes, along with knitting books dating back to their Grandmother's day. And having been taught with love and patience, they returned to the skills they had learned as young girls.

One daughter began by repairing the blanket made by her Grandmother for her more than 50 years earlier. She then studied the blankets her Mother had made for her sister and her. This return to knitting started after she had grandchildren; she had some catching up to do. She began to knit. She knitted blankets for three grandchildren. Her sister made Christmas stockings for her nieces and nephew, these grandchildren. As each of the other grandchildren arrived, there was first a blanket ready and waiting and then a Christmas stocking for their very first Christmas.

That brings us to this Christmas. The ninth blanket was ready when Noelle arrived November 11th. When she comes with her parents for Christmas, her stocking "will be hung by the chimney with care". You see, the original knitter was my wife's Grandmother. One of her two daughters was my Mother-in-law. And, one of HER two daughters is my wife, the current knitter. My wife's standard baby gift to friends is a baby blanket; knitted with love.

This story may be just like knitting; a work in progress. Two of our five granddaughters have been taught with the same loving care to "cast on" and knit.

THE LAST COLOR ENTRY

I guess it is appropriate to say my face is Red for not providing more steady and consistent entries. Long senior moment could be the excuse, but I offer none. I am going into another topical seige for viewers; the color stories are dead for the moment. But I did finish the Color book.

I recently purchased a Nikon Coolscan 5000 to recapture quality images from those 3 million 35mm slides that seem to be in everyone's closet or garage. Follow the adventures of how to and how NOT to attack the task. Maybe you will even be encouraged to just chuck your slides in the trash.

Either you, your parents or grandparents took them. Then no one used them for years. The slide projector froze up and nobody could figure out what to do with the slides. When your parents or grandparents died, they usually got pitched because none of the survivors knew what to do with them. Besides, no one was around to figure out, " is this the neighbor that lived next door to us when we lived in the house on Jaworsky Street or is that Grandma's cousin, Betsy, who married that guy that used to put the lampshade on his head after a few drinks?

So, I am doing what my cousin, Sandy, said someone has to do, "to preserve the family history". I will make a career of scanning in the 3 million slides to digitize them onto the computer, then edit using PhotoShop if possible or dumping the useless ones. Yes, I know about saving ALL images and assigning the STAR listings as well as categorizing. Next the images have to be organized into meaningful groups and prepared for entering into Apple's iMovie. This allows creation of a sound track that will let me tell everyone that this is, "Grandma's cousin, Betsy". I can then make a DVD(s) with Ken Burns effects with sound track.

God help me, I actually remember seeing Aunt Betsy's husband with the lampshade on his head, dancing on the table and making a fool of himself at a family picnic on Lake Washington. Even though I was about 9 or 10, I vowed to never take a lampshade away from its precious lampstand; a promise I have kept to this day. Lampshades of the world, you are safe!

THE COLOR RED

Were it not for a friend brain-washing me into reading Victoria Finley’s book, Color, A Natural history of the Palette, I would have overlooked an article in the Los Angeles Times, dated May 26, 2007. Sam Enriquez’s article, “A long-tended dream is open for business” tells about a project started by the women of Oaxaca, pronounced Wa-har-ka, Mexico. This city is located well down in the southwest corner, about 50 miles inland from the Pacific Ocean.

The collective determination of 160 women took six years and $1.4 million to begin production in a factory that will eventually produce 20 tons per year of nopal for sale in California and other U.S. states. You may know nopal by its more common name, prickly pear. Catalina Sanchez, one of the co-founders, said the main purpose is not making money selling the Mena brand nopal to expatriates. They miss the tang of chopped Mexican cactus leaves in a vinegary marinade. This is one of the early efforts to create jobs for husbands and sons so that they will stay home rather than seek jobs north of the border. Twenty-five per cent of the money came from money sent home by their men; $900,000 came from Mexican federal funds; the rest from foundation grants and state government. Workers abroad currently provide over $20 billion annually, a potential resource for similar projects.

Now to the connection with Finley’s book. Explanation of the origin of the color, Red, begins on page 134. For thousands of years, one of the best sources of red came from the cochineal beetle that relies upon nopal as its food source. Use of the color obtained from the cochineal in modern times includes lipstick and other women’s cosmetics, dye for cloth and too many other uses to mention, except for one; the color additive E120, included in making Coca Cola’s Cherry Coke. So who says, "Have a Cherry Coke, get your fill of beetle blood!"?