Responsibility

Responsibility - © Kent Fletcher
November 29, 2006

Every now and then I get an email from a fellow up the road from me. Today I got this one:

Today's Topic - PRINCIPLE: Responsible (Principles are basic truths that, when applied, cause success to come to you easier and quicker.)

To take responsibility for your own life is one of the most freeing things you can do. When you have accepted that your life is yours, when you get that the way your life turns out is up to you, when you realize you are at the center of your own life, only then can you be free.

Don't blame others, or yourself. Don't complain. Don't equivocate. Don't whine.

Make your choices. Speak your truth. Ask for what you want. Accept responsibility, completely, totally, and without exception.

Then, include others, especially others who have accepted responsibility for their own lives.

Coaching Point: Are you responsible?

PLEASE FORWARD THIS TO A FRIEND. Thanks. Copyright 2006 Steve Straus. All rights reserved.
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Steve Straus
A Coach for highly successful people -- since 1987
195 Panorama Cir., Pottsboro, Texas 75076 USA
903-786-4786
http://www.StrausUSA.com

I can't agree more with this particular email. Accepting my own fate, my own station in life because of how I've lived my life has made me as free as anyone I know, and in a lot of cases a lot freer than most.

I messed up a lot of things in my life during my 55 or so years of consciousness, and it is I who has borne the brunt of it all. Sure there are some things I could have done better, stated better, acted better, but I didn't and I suffered for those faults. However, I accept the responsibility of all my actions, right, wrong, or indifferent.

I am the product of my parents' lifestyles to a point, of my superiors in the Navy to a point, and to my God's teachings to a point. But I am also the product of my own actions for the most part, and I've accepted the responsibilities of those actions, good or bad.

I've also learned the hard way that telling the truth in all cases possible is as freeing as take responsibility. To lie, to fib, to go around something instead of facing it head-on, is not being responsible for my actions. But to tell the truth, to be frank, to be positive and unrelenting just makes my life so much easier, so much less painful.

Ain't life grand?

Blue Northers!

Blue Northers - © Kent Fletcher
November 27, 2006

From the website http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/handbook/online/articles/BB/ybb1.html (The Handbook of Texas Online) comes this explanation for a Blue Norther:

BLUE NORTHER. The term blue norther denotes a weather phenomenon common to large areas of the world's temperate zones–a rapidly moving autumnal cold front that causes temperatures to drop quickly and that often brings with it precipitation followed by a period of blue skies and cold weather. What is peculiar to Texas is the term itself. The derivation of blue norther is unclear; at least three folk attributions exist. The term refers, some say, to a norther that sweeps "out of the Panhandle under a blue-black sky"–that is, to a cold front named for the appearance of its leading edge. Another account states that the term refers to the appearance of the sky after the front has blown through, as the mid-nineteenth-century variant "blew-tailed norther" illustrates. Yet another derives the term from the fact that one supposedly turns blue from the cold brought by the front. Variants include blue whistler, used by J. Frank Dobie,qv and, in Oklahoma, blue darter and blue blizzard. Though the latter two phrases are found out-of-state, blue norther itself is a pure Texasism. The dramatic effects of the blue norther have been noted and exaggerated since Spanish times in Texas. But that the blue norther is unique to Texas is folklore.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Dictionary of American Regional English, Vol. 1 (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1985).

When I first arrived in Texas, way back in December 1990, the weather was balmy, very pleasant for December. Temps were in the 70s and low 80s all the way up to around the 20th. On the news though, I was hearing about an arctic cold front coming in, a Blue Norther as the locals called it, kind of like a nor'easter, lotsa rain and wind. I remember that on the 20th or thereabouts I was standing in the doorway to my command at NAS Dallas, sweating to beat the band with the temps hovering in the low 80s, and in winter uniform, thinking, "Lord, puh-lease, get on with the program, let that Blue Norther in the door!"

Believe me, He did just that. I got back to my duplex around 4 that afternoon, the weather was still balmy and humid. I let Zeke and Hercules out for their daily walk. I noticed a heavy cloud line north of the area, and though, "Well, what do you know, here comes that Blue Norther the weather folks have been yakking up for the last couple of days." Oh, how little did I know.

Around 5 that afternoon, that sucker blew in with a vengeance. The temperature dropped like a brick. In a matter of a couple of hours or so the temperature outside was in the 30s. The temperature inside had fallen into the 50s as well. I found the thermostat quickly. The wind was just relentless the rest of the evening, finally tapering off late that night. Thankfully I had gotten my waterbed up and running, but with the mild temperatures I had not yet cranked up the heater. I put the pedal to the medal on that heater rather quickly!

I let the pups out the back door very briefly, as the wind wasn't hitting me in the face then, just whipping around the corners of the duplex. Not too bad, actually, but cold just the same. The pups did their thing rather quickly, getting back inside pronto without my having to call them in. The duplex was still in disarray, however, as I had only moved in a couple of weeks before. Didn't bring any furniture of substance with me, having sold a wonderful living room suite for pennies on the dollar before I left Norfolk.

So I sat on the floor with my pups for a bit, watching the weather forecasts in earnest, still dressed and even wrapped in a blanket. Dang, it was cold in there! Around 10 or 11, I had had enough of the cold, so we went to bed. The waterbed was warming steadily, but it was still rather cool. I threw a couple of extra blankets on top of the sheets, threw the comforter on top, put a blanket on top of that, and we crawled in for the evening. The pups even crawled under the covers with me.

When I got up the next morning, the temps were in the low 20s and the wind was still blowing out of the north. Not quite as hard, but blowing just the same. I made my coffee, turned on the TV to the weather channels, got an inkling of what was to come for the rest of the day, and crawled back under the covers. By midday that day, the bed had warmed sufficiently, so that's where I stayed unless the pups needed to go out or I needed something to eat. At least the day before was the last day at work before Christmas rolled in, so there was no particular place I had to be.

Actually, the pups were in heaven with the cold weather, running and playing, peeing and pooping all over the place, yapping at the wind, and in general just in a frolicking attitude. The old man couldn't get warm however, so their outside time was pretty limited. Not knowing the neighborhood very well at all, I didn't let them stay outside by themselves, but watched and attempted to play a little myself.

But there was no snow, no sleet, no ice, just plain and simple cold, cold, cold. Thankfully a couple of days later the temps climbed back above freezing, comfortable enough for me to get outside a little more, even taking the pups for their compulsory walks. By Christmas Day there was hardly a remembrance of the cold snap.

Well, today, November 27, 2006, the weather forecasts are calling for yet another Blue Norther. I utilize a weather website, my-cast.com, to stay up with developing conditions, and all the stations I have tagged to the west and northwest of my abode are predicting the same thing: Drastically falling temps and rain, ice, and sleet beginning late Wednesday afternoon. As I now live with a roof over my head, I still live in a drafty, 30-year-old mobile home. The manufacturers way back then didn't think too much about insulation in the walls or overhead, no double-paned windows, lotsa gaps in the sheet metal covering. It's not too bad in the spring and fall, but summer and winter can be trying for any semblance of comfort.

One other little teensy-weensy thing: The houseflies around here are the worst I believe I've ever seen. As I've written before, as long as the weather outside is comfortable, I have an open-door policy. Plus the fact I've got four kinda-sorta permanent house cats and one little pooch, I see no need to keep all the doors closed on breezy days. But the damned flies are getting a little on my edge. As I asked God back in 1990, "Please, God, give me some relief!" I'm sure He's going to answer my fervent plea in the next 48 or so hours.

I've been out and about with my blind friend, taking him places where he had some business to attend to. The preemptive rains have come and gone, and the wind is still out of the south. It's still balmy and humid, in other words, and the flies have set up shop at the front door, have to wave my arms a lot just to get in the door. But I have GOT to go outside, remove three window air conditioner units, stuff the crevasses with newspaper, old blankets, bedrolls, or maybe even some caulking or fiberglass.

Tomorrow, Tuesday, I have to go to Fort Worth and Arlington for several things, one of which is a follow-up appointment with the doctor who pulled my toenail off several months ago. If I get crackin' now, at least tomorrow I can do little piddly things on shoring up the home place for the coming Blue Norther. Otherwise, I'm going to be living in my waterbed for a few days. Fancy that!

Thanksgiving 2006

Thanksgiving 2006 - © Kent Fletcher
November 22, 2006

Once again a prominent family-focused holiday rolls around, and for the third year some loved ones are in harm's way over there. It appears there is a major shift coming from the politicians getting ready to ascend to prominence once again after a 12-year lull. It appears one of their main focuses will be to either bring all the troops - Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard - home, or in their words, "redeploy" them to places yet unknown. As much as I would love to see this happen, I'm sorely afraid the Democrats are going to sink the US ship in the long run.

I will be among the first to admit I am not a happy camper with the Bush administration. Talk about sword rattling, evidently Bush took notice of Saddam Hussein's sword rattling. For what it's worth, I really wish Bush would either authorize all-out annihilation of the insurgency and the insurgency's instigators, or as the Democrats wish, get the hell out of there, and let happen whatever will happen. The US has lost close to 3,000 personnel total personnel over there, most to violent deaths, some to non-violence. Regardless, close to 3,000 personnel are not, or will not come home alive.

I'm finally getting toward the end of a good book - not a great book but a good one nonetheless - titled Age of Tolerance by Glen Reinsford, who is the editor of the anti-terrorism website, TheReligionofPeace.com. This book is a fictitious projection of what the United States would be had Albert Gore won the infamous election of 2000, and suffered the same consequences as the Bush administration. Believe me, it's sobering, even knowing the work is presumptive in its allegations. I would suggest it be read by everyone. As the back page of the book states, "Be careful what you wish for..."

Having made that statement, let me assure you I've not given up on the United States, not in any shape, form, or fashion. Times are about to change here at home, and hopefully for the better. Time will tell.

Enough said. I hope everyone who reads this has a Happy Thanksgiving, can be with others in a peaceful presence, and who will remember those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines who are in harm's way. And also, please go to this site, as it about says it all: http://www.sgtstrader.org/msg/2006tdm1.html

Veterans' Day 2006

Veterans' Day, 2006 - © Kent Fletcher
November 11, 2006

Today, November 11, 2006, this nation will celebrate Veterans' Day. Flags will be flown at half-mast, speakers will make speeches around the country in small communities and large cities alike, some folks will go to cemeteries to place flags by the head-markers of those veterans who have passed on lately as well as years ago. Small towns and large cities will hold parades, veterans groups such as the VFW and the American Legion will participate on floats, in cars, in marching units, and standing along the sidelines celebrating the veterans who have given the ultimate sacrifice for the freedoms they all enjoy now.

Of course, there will be multitudes of other folks who will work on Saturday for any number of reasons, and still others who have no inkling of the debts they owe the veterans, could care less, will bitch and complain because the holiday falls on a Saturday instead of during the work-week so they can have a day off work.

This nation has survived all the days of the republic mainly because of the men and women of our armed forces. Without being able to mount a defense, even a minute one, the republic we all so cherish would fail at the first hint of armed conflict. As we all know appeasement just simply does not work. While the United States has never - to my knowledge - gone the appeasement route, many other countries around the world have. France, England, most of the European countries tried appeasement to Germany, and what did they get? Stomped on, conquered, belittled.

This country now has a new Congress, with a different majority party in both house. There is much dread believed by the losing party of the eventual outcomes in the War on Terror, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation Enduring Freedom. The active forces are said to be in a state of shock, knowing the Democrats lethargy and ambivalence toward war, toward conflict. I heard this morning on the radio that there is now yammering in Congress about having all the troops in Iraq 'redeployed' by summertime 2007. Pretty demoralizing as a whole, but also the will of the party in power. So be it.

However, the men and women serving in our armed forces today have nothing to be ashamed of. They are the best trained, best equipped, most powerful of any military units around the world today. I'm proud of them, and for them, and nothing will change that, nothing.

To those men and women of past and present times, who fought, lived, and died valiantly on battlefields the world round, I owe them plaudits I cannot imagine. Thank you, Veterans all, for giving me the freedoms I enjoy today, and the freedoms I will enjoy in the future, and for the freedom to express myself in this little commentary.

Kent Fletcher
YN1, USN Retired

Old Values Die Hard

Old Values Die Hard - © Kent Fletcher
November 10, 2006

Many years ago when I was but a child, I remember going into the barbershop with my father when he got a haircut. A wondrous time and the cuts only cost a quarter or so. I think I remember when they went up to fifty cents, and thought it was robbery. Haircuts today run anywhere from ten bucks up, depending on where one goes. Of course some of them are free, like when one goes to boot camp or has a barber or hairstylist in the home.

Concerning the boot camp stuff, I remember that day pretty well. There were long-hairs and short-hairs in the group and a few with beards. Of course after telling the barber to leave a little, it was all gone in no time thanks to high-speed clippers. For the next twelve weeks, a trip to the barber was a community thing every two weeks. After a while the short hair kinda grew on me as an easier way of life.

After a four-year stint, I departed the Navy pattern, returning home for some much-needed rest. I also began to let my freak-flag fly, in the words of CSN&Y, letting the hair grow for all it was worth. Admittedly my hair was pretty thick back in those days, and being in the Mississippi Delta in the summertime was not particularly pleasant, especially with long, thick hair. It eventually reached my shoulders, but I never did grow a beard to amount to anything. Facial hair wasn't my bag - then.

After much soul-searching I decided to reenlist in the Navy in a special program. Doing my duty at Millington, just north of Memphis, I was already sworn in early in the morning, and went for the regulation haircut. On the way there I was busted by some second class Navy person for wearing Seafarers - a kind of dungarees or jeans - and being out of uniform. He also busted me for my hair. He was trying to impress the little girls in his group, and he did a pretty good job. Giggle, giggle, giggle, and off he strutted with these little girls on his bumper.

As I finally found the barbershop, I eased in and looked around. There was some airman, a student, getting his weekly trim in a chair and one of the barbers spoke up, "Can we help you, sir?" I told him I did need a haircut, kinda like that airman but not quite as short. When I told him I had just reenlisted, he brushed the hair off the chair and invited me to sit down. And away we went, clip, clip, clip, the hair falling in bundles to the floor.

Funny thing he worked on one side first. After the hair was off my ear, I said something like, "Wow, it feels so strange to feel the air conditioned air on my ear." With that statement he stopped clipping for a few minutes, swung the chair around, saying, "Well, if you think it feels funny, take a look at how your head looks!" An eye-opener, I'm telling you.

From then, November of 1975 until the day of my retirement ceremony in December 1995, I never again had hair that reached beyond the tops of my ears, except for the brief period of time I was but a drilling reservist, only wearing the uniform once a month. And still no beard, as the Chief of Naval Operations banned beards in 1977 or 78. I sported a mustache from time-to-time, but it was more hassle keeping that lip line to regulations than it was worth.

A razor had not touched my face since December 2, 1995. There were times when the beard reached nearly to my belly button, but that was rare. Most of the time it was within reason, as I didn't like the look of excess, for it got all scraggly, food got stuck in it, I tended to chew on the ends from time-to-time. However, in the winter it did serve a purpose by thwarting chilly winds. It's always nice to have a warm face, you know. On several occasions I did clip it short, short, usually when I erred on trimming it, or like back in February 06 when I clipped it short the day before my dental surgery.

My sister-in-law has been after me for years to cut the thing off. My surgeon has done the same. But no women-folk have mentioned it in all these years. Strange. Must be something about the beard that either attracts the women, or totally disagrees with them. But it was my face, and I really never cared what others thought of it. Until lately.

I've been watching other men in my community with various lengths of beards and mustaches. Some are quite handsome and quite characteristic of success and good living. However, there are others that are downright despicable, dirty, full of food or tobacco juice, yuck. So I started toying with the idea of getting rid of my own.

A couple of weeks ago I stopped by the barbershop I use locally and asked them if they still gave shaves. "Of course," they said, "step right in and we'll get to you shortly." I told them I was just asking and that I would be back in a week or so.

I've got a dinner to go to tomorrow night in Dallas, mostly old retired Navy Intel farts I served with back in the heyday. As I wrote earlier, I've not been without a beard since 1995, and as this is a reunion of sorts, I thought this day would be as good as any for a "fresh" look. So I tripped on down to the barbershop this afternoon, having made up my mind to get sheared and shaved. After all, it's not an everyday event, and the last time I got shaved was in Norfolk some thirteen or so years ago.

As I finally eased into the chair, the barber asked me what I wanted done. "Shave and a haircut, please, sir."

"You want me to shave your beard off, including the mustache?"

"Yep, I need a new look for a change. And if I don't like it, well, the beard can always grow back."

"How short you want the hair? Do you part it on one side or the other?"

"No, no parts. Imagine Frank Sinatra's hair, and how the hair lay on his head. That's what I want."

A fellow waiting to get his own haircut said, "Well, can you sing like Sinatra?"

Telling him I couldn't, and after several chuckles around the room, the barber started his task. In about thirty minutes I was slicker'n snot, all cleaned up, and ready to go jukin'. All this cost me $15, quite a way from the quarter or half-dollar haircuts and shaves of yesteryear. But when I walked out to the car, wouldn't you know it, the wind had turned briskly out of the north, and my face was chilled. Ugh! Don't like that!

But it is worth it. A good friend, looking quite astonished, said I looked five years younger than when she saw me this morning. Hm. Maybe that's a good omen. Besides the beard was totally white, a dead give-away to age, huh?

Old values die hard, sometimes, but this one did not. I think I'll hold this new value for a little while. And I better get a picture of this new look.

Act Of Faith

Act Of Faith: To Believe The End Is A Beginning - © Kent Fletcher
November 8, 2006

Funny how the title just popped into my head just now, as I was pondering jotting down my thoughts about the Republican fiasco which I think has gelled pretty solidly today. I picked the title up in a Chinese fortune cookie while I was stationed in Norfolk in the late 80s, and it holds true even today.

First off, let me tell you how I voted, yesterday. If there was a Libertarian listed, he or she got my vote. If nothing other than Republican or Democrat was offered, I voted Republican. And in one instance I actually voted kinky, Kinky Friedman, that is, as another manner of protest. I nearly forgot something - I did vote Democrat once yesterday, for a feller who has helped the Veterans in his district far and away more than anyone else, 43 included. All said and done, I did vote, and now I have the right to complain down the road for at least the next two years.

I've been watching several blogs, folks who were on top of the ball all the way down the line. Several had predicted dire circumstances for the Republicans, others only cautious awareness. As it turns out, the dire circumstances have prevailed. As you should already know, the House of Representatives has moved left to the Democrats, and the Senate is still undecided, last I heard or read, but also leaning left. Wait, I just heard/read that Webb has defeated Allen in Virginia, although a recount is likely, very likely.

I know I've argued this fact before, that 43 was elected fair and square twice, regardless of what the Democrats and other disgruntled people across the nation have vouched. Because of the questionable tactics, dirty tricks, out-right lies and condescension used by the winning party, there has been no end to the disgrace the Presidency has put upon itself, in power legitimately or not. It's as if the losing party did not use their own tactics, dirty tricks, out-right lies and condescension to get at least what they got.

As 43 so ineloquently stated this afternoon, the Republicans got "thumped." I would say they got hammered, with a ball-peen hammer, at that. The Republicans lost their focus long enough for the Democrats to rally and take back what they lost way back when Newt Gingrich was around. Remember that time? I do, although I wasn't so caught up in politics then, and didn't really care.

I suppose my entrance into politics began several years ago, shortly after 43 decided to invade Iraq on the basis of claimed Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) among other things. With all the build up and sword rattling by 43, Saddam had more than ample time to hide, destroy, or move said WMDs, and I seriously doubt the US will ever know for sure what was or what should have been.

Regardless, the fact remains the US is still entangled in Iraq, if there is NOT a civil war going on, I wonder how they classify the killings of Iraqis, oh, no, it's sectarian violence, a.k.a. civil war. The way I see it, the US will be in-country until someone either tells the troops to go for it with whatever it takes to get the job done, or the Democrats under Pelosi turn tale and run. Then the "paper tiger" nuance will be set in stone. After all, there was dancing in the streets in the Middle East today after the Republican debacle was declared.

I'm really tired now, physically from fighting with the danged toilet problem earlier today, as well as mentally for all the posturing, rhetoric, claims and counter-claims made in the interests of politicians and laymen alike. Act Of Faith: To Believe The End Is A Beginning. That about wraps up this note.

Off The Cuff - Plumbers

Plumbers, God Love 'Em - © Kent Fletcher
November 8, 2006

A couple of days ago I was told there was a leak in the bathroom at the far end of the house. I went down and inspected and sho' nuff, there was a leak. The carpet was wet around the toilet, and the el cheapo paneling was bowing. I had stuff to do Monday and Tuesday, so by the time I got around to it today, the same carpet was soaked.

This loo is just wide enough for a person to sit, no fun and games allowed. Got to feeling around under the tank and there was definitely a drip there. So it was off to the races, draining the tank, fixin' the filler-upper so the water couldn't return to the tank, mopping the tank out, and finally turning the water off, all the way at the other end of the house. No, no ball valve below the tank, although that would have been easier than running back and forth to the turn off.

I determined a new valve was needed so it was off to the hardware store. I got the prescribed items and returned to the job at hand. Upon further inspection of the problem, only then did I determine the valve thingy didn't need replacing, just the flow pipe into the tank needed tightening. So now I have an extra valve and flapper on hand, just in case something happens down the road. You never know when you'll need something like that in the middle of the night, or on Christmas Day, or whenever no one is open, say around midnight, perhaps.

I did the dirty, adding a little silicone to the connection, tightened 'er up, turned the water on. Nope, that didn't work, I was still getting a leak from the bottom of the tank. Back to the turnoff at the other end of the house, and then back to the tank problem, draining it, fixin' the valve to stop the flow of water, mopping out again. Booorrrring!

About the time I thought I had the flow pipe firmly seated to the valve in the tank, the other end of the line that connects to the water line broke off. A clean break, too. Good old PVC. When it gets old, it gets brittle, and it won't take much flexing to break it. So, back to the hardware store to get the proper connections. Copper to brass to PVC. A wonderful innovation, don't you think? NOT!

The supplies cost me around three bucks, which was loose change. So back at the house, I spliced all this stuff in, did the PVC gluing - that stuff will either get you drunker than a skunk, or simply take your breath away. Turned the water back on lightly, passed by the computer, decided to stop to check my email, and a loud scream from the other end of the house. "Where's the turnoff switch, there's been an explosion in the bathroom!"

Luckily I was only steps away from the valve. When I returned to the bathroom, sho' nuff', water all over the place. The fill pipe had again slipped its joint and had soaked the room. I did another adjustment on the thing, and turned the water back on lightly. Finally, there was no leak at the tank, but there was now a leak in the pipe at the baseboard. Turned the water off one more time. Looking at the problem I saw the pipe itself was cracked along with the T joint. I had already used the available PVC I had, so yet another trip to the hardware store. I got a few extra joints for a total of another three bucks.

I had to rip out the entire section of PVC, about four feet worth, including the prior repairs. If only I had done all this to begin with. I've found out, however, through trial and error and sometimes expensive trials and errors, that when I run into something that has been jury-rigged, it is easier in the long run to simply replace the whole danged thing, and usually cheaper, too.

Long story short, be nice to that plumber you call on when you've got something going awry, something beyond your ability, or just something you simply don't have time for. If you are one to tackle it yourself, take a full assessment, get the parts you think you'll need, and go for it. Just don't call me for advice.

Off The Cuff - Oh, Man, Did I Do That?

- © Kent Fletcher
October 31, 2006

Returning from Dallas yesterday, I stopped at Luby's in Cedar Hill for a late lunch/early supper. I got the Angus chopped beef thingy with clear gravy, fried okra, turnip greens, and I thought a regular chunk of cornbread which turned out to be Mexican cornbread, replete with jalapenos. Only took one bite of that and put it back on the plate. I don't do jalapenos at all. I like to taste my food, not soothe the burning sensation on gallons of water. The beef thingy also had onions on it, sweet and very tasty. I also got some pasta salad on a lark. Yum, yum, it was ALL good. Except the cornbread.

I finally laid myself down around 11 last night, knowing I needed to rise early to go to Fort Worth, Arlington, and Grand Prairie on bidness. Just about the time I thought I was going to drift off to dream-land, something told me I'd best get to the bathroom, pronto. The greens did what they were supposed to do, and maybe the okra, too. I was finally able to return to bed around 3 this morning.

I woke up at 7:30, and just laid there for a while. Stomach and bowels weren't rumbling or anything, but hoooeeee, I was tired. Got up, fed the tribe of cats, reheated some day-old coffee, got on the computer checking emails, bank statements, USADS private board, all those weird things. As I said, I needed to go to the metroplex, get some errands done, so I finally got off my duff, took a shower, fed the pooch, threw on some clothes and sandals, trucked on north. The pooch indicated she wanted to go for a ride, and as the day was not supposed to get hot, why not?

Got to Fort Worth in plenty of time to find a parking space, ankle across the street, elevator up to the third floor, get my item, and return to the car within 10 minutes. I had deposited some 65 cents in the meter, thinking the task would take longer. Drove over to the NFCU, deposited the check. Returned to the car, and noticed just before I sat down, the pooch had upchucked on MY seat. Thankfully, I had a sweatshirt still in the car from the trip to MS a couple of weeks ago. She sure didn't think anything of it.

Drove on over to Arlington to see my financial advisor before I went to Grand Prairie to pay a vet bill. I was sitting talking to the secretary, waiting on the advisor to finish taking some sort of self-test. I got to working my feet around, and I was wondering if I had already worked the insole below my big and next toe out of my relatively new sandals. Something just didn't feel right. I kept fidgeting and finally got up the gumption to take a look-see at what I was feeling.

Oh, Man, did I really do that? In my running around this morning, I reached under my computer desk to get my sandals, not paying attention to what I was really doing. On my left foot was a new sandal. On my right, a two-year old sandal. Even though they kinda-sorta look alike, they are not. While I don't think I really got red-faced, I got to thinking about just where all I'd already been, and where else I was going to go, wondering had anyone noticed anything askew at the big building in downtown Fort Worth, or even as I walked into the bank where the advisor was. No, I guess not.

But I felt like a country bumpkin, a little. While my 'normal' attire may be just jeans and a t-shirt, and a pair of sandals without any socks, and maybe a ballcap, I don't consider myself a ragtag country bumpkin at all. But when I looked down and saw those mismatched sandals, I was just beside myself.

Funny thing, though, I forgot all about this when I walked out of the advisor's place of bidness. On to the veterinarian's office, and to see a friend at his workplace when returning. I did make a quick stop at WalMart and nobody noticed anything, much less looked at my feet. Of course, only a person in a business suit or tuxedo would be out of the ordinary at WalMart.

There Was A Time

There Was A Time - © Kent Fletcher
October 28, 2006

There was a time when I was younger I felt as though age differences made a difference. Everyone was general placed in classes in schools by their age ranking, or at least based on the age they entered school. Of course, there were folks who were held back a year or two for insufficiently completing a required matric or who were advanced a year or two based on their excelling in a class. Those folks were just normally assimilated over the course of time so that the age differences didn't matter.

As I progressed through life, I most often time equated age differences between me and someone else as a measure of life experiences in toto. To a point that assumption is correct, yet not all the time. For instance, when I went to boot camp in the Navy I was the oldest one in the company at the ripe age of 23. A lot of those kids could run circles around me at first, but through perseverance and the goading of the Navy chiefs who were company commanders, I soon excelled in the physical aspects, thankfully. I think I even impressed some of the other boots.

When I arrived for my Navy school in Norfolk, VA, again I was older than most of the students; however, there were a few there who were equal in age because they had worked their way up through the ranks and had been selected for that particular school. So it didn't make much difference in the long run.

I finally arrived for my first duty station, OP-943 Navy Flag Plot in the Pentagon. By this time my peers were running along the same age - 24 and up - and the differences were getting foggier and foggier as the years rolled on. The only times when I was conscious of the differences was when someone asked of my background, or someone really, noticeably younger happened on the scene. On occasion I felt like Grampa Jones.

In my late 20s and early 30s the gaps were closing very subtlety. I dated a sweet young thing for a couple of months in Arlington, VA, and while there was an obvious difference, our times together made up for it. I still had the stamina to flow with the younger generation then, and I felt good about it.

A couple of weeks ago my high school celebrated its 100th anniversary. There were folks there from the classes of the 1930s forward, some who I knew personally, a lot of whom I did not. I visited with folks who were in my on Class of '64, obviously, but also on the classes on either side. And you know what? There was no succinct differences in looks, in actions, in remembrances. It's as though we were all raised in the same community, and we were, the only differences being where we've been in life, what experiences we've had outside the community surroundings, whether we've left "home" or not.

I marveled at the dancers on Saturday night, boogieing down like they were still in high school. Well, most of them anyway. Young and old, gray-haired and no-haired, skinny and heavy, a few black folks who have graduated in the years after integration and white folks. The celebration as a whole was definitely enjoyed by all, I think. I know I enjoyed it, and I really hated to see the weekend end.

As I wrote a friend earlier today, "And I guess my conversations with Kenny at the dance were a wonder, too, as I know we were in different circles in high school. But our evolutions over time, with different lifestyles, with different events in our lives have also made us closer.

"I noticed this, too, with most all the folks I saw, I spoke with, and others I just gazed upon. At 60, or in the vicinity of 60, it seems the age differences are just no-brainers, as we are all part of one institution and will be forever. Age differences are for the young at heart, I suppose, for now it just doesn't really matter, does it? And all the life experiences made by each of us doesn't really matter, either, as long as we know someone else, as long as we 'stay in touch', albeit a phone call, an email, a letter, just knowing an acquaintance, a friend is out there, somewhere, doing his or her thing."

What a neat feeling to be part of the seniors of the world and yet still have a feeling of youth and ambition, enough so that while I age, there are still things and places I want to do and see. But most of all I want to "stay in touch" with my friends and acquaintances during my life.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

R-E-S-P-E-C-T - © Kent Fletcher
October 10, 2006

As I sit here at the computer on a gorgeous, rainy morning in a drought-stricken area of Texas, a couple of things come to mind, first being it's nice and cool and I need to go to Fort Worth, but because of the flash-flood warning out at the moment, plus the roads will be slicker than snot for the wont of rain, second being the emails I've received in the past couple of days regarding respect for the Flag of the United States of America. While the first thing is a very welcome sight for very sore eyes, the second notion is of more concern to me, at the moment.

One day last week I received an email from an old friend in Norfolk, VA, who had forwarded a statement from a retired Navy Admiral, the context here:

Subject: Fw: Veterans Saluting
Date: Fri, 22 Sep 2006 18:33:16 -0400

Veterans Saluting

Of late, a number of my retired friends and I have talked about veterans saluting instead of placing their hand over their heart when the national anthem is played, the pledge of allegiance is recited, the national colors pass in review or are posted, honors are rendered, or when Taps is played while salutes are fired at military funerals. The hand over the heart has simply been a custom. For military folks, saluting uncovered or indoors seems a bit unnatural, but somehow the hand over the heart never felt comfortable. For us, it was more natural to salute, plus we felt we had earned the right to salute if we wanted.

Now we are in yet another shooting war, adding new veterans every day. If the hand-over-the-heart custom is to ever be changed for us, now would be as good a time as any. We feel that thousands of veterans saluting at NFL, MLB, and/or NBA games while the national anthem is being played would send a patriotic message to the crowd and perhaps the TV audience. It would be visual evidence of how many have served, all still patriots if they are saluting - a fact otherwise unknown.

Recently a poll was conducted in the Military Officers Association of America (MOAA) monthly magazine, prompted by an Army friend of mine, Major General Vernon B. Lewis, USA (Ret.). General Lewis wanted to see if other veterans agreed that the hand salute was a more appropriate way for veterans to honor the flag, fallen comrades and our country. His e-mail address was included in the poll.

Several hundred veterans responded electronically to the MOAA poll, with over 80% favoring the salute over the hand-on-the-heart method of showing respect. General Lewis received over 100 e-mails that reflected an even greater percentage of salute approvals. So it seems apparent that the vast majority of veterans feel more comfortable with the salute. I know I do. Those who oppose the idea could certainly continue the former method. It is a matter of the heart, pride, and personal choice. MOAA, of course, is an officers' association, but I find it difficult to believe the enlisted veterans would feel any differently.

Veterans are by and large a proud and patriotic group of Americans. Most want to share their love of flag and country with others. So the sponsors have decided to encourage other veterans to salute if they are comfortable doing so, and to spread the word through unit organizations, associations, and veterans' publications. We believe this movement will pick up momentum and proliferate and very soon have a life of its own. We welcome the help of all vets in their own organizations and circles.

Rear Admiral S. Frank Gallo, USN (Ret.)

This morning I received yet another email from an acquaintance on the west coast, who also forwarded a message from a retiree:

From: "Mike Frady"

Date: 2006/10/09 Mon AM 10:05:52 EDT
Subject: RESPECT

Good day all,

Just a line or two to pass on an observation. This past weekend the wife and I attended the Flora MacDonald Highland Games in Red Springs , NC . We were there primarily to participate with our S.A.M.S. Post (1775) in the Color Guard. It had been quite some time since either of us had done this, but even with the poor weather, we had a great time. I was surprised, to say the least, to be given the honor of carrying our country's flag. As we marched around the field, memories flooded back of past times, and pride swelled up inside. But as we passed the bleachers, I noticed that there were quite a few people who chose not to stand and pay respects. Why? I wish I had an answer for that. Too cold? Too wet? No place to set their food/drink down? Lazy? Whatever the reason, it saddened me somewhat. But as we turned the corner and made our way back towards the reviewing stand, I saw out of the corner of my eye an elderly man, no doubt a veteran of some past conflict, struggle his way up from his wheelchair with the help of crutches and a family member, stand and snap a sharp salute as we passed. This made the whole thing worth it.

Pass this on to others, so that they will hopefully take a moment or two to pause and think about those who stand ready to defend this nation and it's people 24/7 while they sit comfortable in their seats. And hopefully, they will take just a second or two to put down the funnel cake, soda, or book, and stand as the Colors pass by.

All gave Some, but Some gave all.

You've got to stand for something, or you'll fall for ANYTHING.

For those who fought for it, FREEDOM has a flavor that the protected will NEVER know!

Mike Frady, USAF Ret.

There are few folks in this day and time who really don't give a hoot about the flag they live under, for the sacrifices of those who have gone before them, and who still live among them, some mangled by war, some mangled by PTSD. It's funny how these men and women who have been there and done that are so casual in their everyday attitudes, and yet will stand and render as sharp a salute as any still serving, knowing they had something to do with the way the US populace lives today.

Respect. A simple term, and like the word "if", it bears a whole lot of meaning for the veterans. It is sad, to me, that more people here in Texas will rise to the occasion of the Mexican flag than the US flag they live under. What is wrong with this picture?

Next month, Veterans' Day rolls around for the men and women who have served in the US armed forces around the world. It's beginnings are long and tried, and you can find that history here: http://www1.va.gov/opa/vetsday/vetdayhistory.asp . I encourage you all to go read it, so that perhaps you can glean a better understanding of the veterans. As it was proclaimed by Congress on June 4, 1926, the 11th of November 1918 was the official end to the Great War. Originally known as Armistice Day, the event has been celebrated for going on 88 years. It is a day to be celebrated by ALL Americans, and more by all the free people of the world who have benefitted from the ultimate sacrifice of so many men and women of the United States.

Lastly, whenever the mention of the veterans comes up and their respect for the flag, I am reminded of a picture I once saw. The picture shows an old man rising from a wheelchair as the colors come by during a parade, the only man rising in fact among a group of people sitting on their arses enjoying the day. A sad day for all who really don't know what the hell they've got, except for that one old man, possibly a veteran, probably just a man who knows of the sacrifices made by others.

Please, feel free to pass this writing on to others, if you deem it worthy. It is just MY opinion, after all, but one which I proudly proclaim.

Three Vagabonds

Three Vagabonds - © Kent Fletcher
September 12, 2006

Gosh, some days the memories flow from my mind so fast, I can hardly keep up, can hardly get them down on cyber-paper quick enough before the next one flow. Perhaps I should at least jot them down on paper scraps, but my pockets would fill too fast.

Once upon a time, three kids used to roam the streets of Cleveland, MS, for reasons known and unknown. A Catholic, a Jew, and a Protestant. What a combination. Jody Correro, Chester Kossman, and Kent Fletcher. If Chester wasn't available, Jeffrey Livingston would fill in. All of us were welcomed into each others' homes, no pretense of bigotry was present. We were who we were, and who really cared, anyway, as long as we didn't get into really, really bad trouble.

I remember one distinct time when we three were at the funeral home, trying to draw pictures of Cadillac or Buick or Oldsmobile trucks. What an unheard-of thing back then. Oldsmobile closed down its plants several years ago in favor of the Buick, and I believe Buick now has some kind of SUV. I know Cadillac does have a pickup. Wild, ain't it?

One day, the three vagabonds decided to go "camping". Chester picked up Jody, then they came by my house to get me. Off we went on College Street, heading out west. At that time, College Street abruptly ended where the zig-zag curve is now. Nothing but one of the Aguzzi's fields out there, all the way to Bishop Road, which was graveled then, not blacktop or concrete.

On the north side of said field was a drainage ditch. Guessing, it would have been about in the backyard of where Leon Kamien's house is now. It had trees growing from the fertile soil, and when we were there, that day, the ditch was dry as a bone. But it was a "neat" place, a place where we could play our games, or just sit back like old folks and watch the time slip away. So we hung out for a while, eating the sandwiches and drinking the water we had brought along.

After too short a time, all three of the vagabonds began to get a bit thirsty. The sun was riding high, and it was summertime, too, so soon the thoughts of cool, clear water began to overtake whatever activities we were doing. None of us really wanted to return home, so Jody decided the closest water would be over at the Aguzzi's house at the corner of Bishop Road and Yale Street Extended.

I can see it now, some 50 years later: Three kids half walking, half stumbling across a vacant but plowed field, making a beeline for a house in the distance. Seems like it took forever to get there, but Jody was the determined one, and Chester and I were lagging behind, big time. All of us were probably sweating like dogs, and I do remember finally arriving at the appointed house. Jody knocked on a side-door (remember when the front doors were mostly for important guests or just decoration?) to ask for some water from the garden hose outside. Of course, the Aguzzis were Catholic, too, and recognized Jody right off the bat. The three vagabonds had their thirst slaked from that water hose, that good, good Cleveland water.

After resting a bit, the three of us sauntered down Yale Street Extended, which was also still graveled, back into town, caught South Fifth Avenue, each of us dropping off at our respective homes. What an adventure! What fun! Never happened again.