Roll Out The Barrels

I received the plaque below from my fellow aviators in the 1st Platoon of the 175th Assault Helicopter Company in February 1972. It was a tradition to issue plaques to all departing members of the unit that were tongue in cheek in nature with inscribed narratives relating some of the humorous and dumb events that transpired during our tours.  The plaques were always awarded in the Officers Club in a semi-official ceremony that resembled a roast more than anything else. It also gave us a good excuse to drink too much and brag about how we were the best pilots Vietnam. Our motto was OUTLAWS RULE THE DELTA!  Included in the list of my heroic accomplishments as an Outlaw pilot was one of the last lines on the inscription which read,  "THE ONLY "P" TO USE A BARREL TO PRE-FLIGHT THE 42."

The "P" stands for "Peter-Pilot," a title assigned to all newly assigned pilots in the platoon. When I was a "P" one of my assignments on each aircraft pre-flight inspection was to check out the tail rotor gear assembly on the UH-1D helicopter (known as the "Huey"). The tail rotor gear shaft assembly was situated at the end of a drive shaft and was configured at a 42 degree angle from the horizontal shaft. In our lingo, that was simply, "the 42."

The 42 was situated about 8 feet or so above the ground and could best be inspected by standing on the "stinger" which was a metal rod extending out underneath the aircraft tail, designed to prevent the tail rotor from striking the ground if the ship approached the ground with too severe a "tail-down" attitude. When you have short legs like I do, standing on the stinger is not a problem. Getting up onto the stinger is another story. My solution was to grab the nearest empty 55 gallon drum, drums in plentiful supply around the revetments where our Hueys were parked, roll it over and under the stinger, climb up and stand on the drum and use it as a stepping stone to then stand on the stinger and perform the inspection.  I thought it was a brilliant solution. My platoon members thought it was humorous. I kind of agreed and got a kick out of their mentioning it on the plaque but in general I just thought it was an expedient solution to perform a task and that was that.

That may be true. Then again, maybe not. I never knew what was originally inside those empty 55 gallon drums.  Never gave it a second thought. Until the other day when I had my annual physical at the VA.  The VA physician was informed about my MDS diagnosis and had done extensive blood tests with results similar to the recent results my hematologist/oncologist had obtained. Knowing I was a Vietnam vet, the physician asked me if I had signed up for the Agent Orange Registry. It's possible my MDS was caused by agent orange. And here's an interesting note: agent orange got it's name from the fact that it was stored and transported in 55 gallon drums with an orange stripe painted on them. I don't remember seeing orange stripes on the drums I used for my 42 inspections but that was 40 years ago! You never know. I'm set up to go back to the VA next month for an exam for the Agent Orange Registry. It will not determine if agent orange caused my MDS. But it might help define my qualification for disability benefits.  We'll see what happens. In the meantime rest assured if I have reason to climb up on any 55 gallon drums I will make sure I know what was inside them before they became empty.

MDS Numbers Update

Had my hematology/oncology appointment Thursday with blood work to see how my MDS is doing. White blood cell count up a little bit, red blood cell count down a little bit but even though both are lower than "normal" range they aren't moving much.  That's a good thing. Platelet counts dropped a bunch on this test but no clue why.  The doctor questioned me thoroughly on any signs of bruising or bleeding easily. Kind of hard to define "easily" so showed her a scraped knee and a recent scar on the back of my hand that I'd gotten from a dog's nails. Neither impressed her as anything to worry about and I wasn't overly concerned about them either. So the platelet count was low (65.0 vs normal range 140 - 400) but I still have no symptoms associated with MDS or anything else for that matter. My wife told the doctor that I nap a lot and that's true. Usually in front of the TV either in the afternoon or, more often, at night. But that's nothing new so, again, we're not looking at my occasional snoozes as being a sign of anything worse than just being a boring old guy who can nap at the drop of a hat.

So the game plan continues to be watch and wait for awhile. I go back in two months to check the numbers again.  And in the meantime, no restrictions beyond common sense (not always my strongest suit, but what the heck) and that means a green light for some upcoming travel and excursion plans.

THEY HAD ME AT 50%

YOU HAD ME AT WOOF by Julie Klam was my inspiration for the title of this posting. So sue me if you think I've plagiarised the concept. I thought it was cute and when I saw the book's cover at Borders I couldn't resist buying it. I looked at the face, glanced up at the title and I was hooked.

Can't look at this cover without cracking up!

I haven't read it yet so can't vouch for it but from the few paragraphs I browsed over it promises to be a good one. I'm hoping it'll rank right up there with Marley and The Art Of Racing In The Rain. But, as they say, you can't judge a book by it's cover. But you know what? They can say that all they want..I do it anyway. I have to! When you're a reading junkie like I am you have to judge books by their covers or you'd ending up buying every book you saw on the shelf!

I talked about my local Borders store closing last February. It's getting down to crunch time now with only a few days left before the doors close for good. I had mentioned then of my guilt for taking advantage of Borders' 50% discounts when offered  in email advertisements. I confessed, they did indeed have me at 50%. Now that they're clearing out the store (including the shelves!) the discounts are mounting toward irresistible levels...see for yourself:

I bought three other books besides WOOF at 70% and 80% off last weekend. Today I drove by while out doing some errands and my steering wheel, like a divining rod, forced the Sorento into the Borders parking lot and I bought three more. Dumb, I know, but it's tough to pass up bargains like this. For dopes like me anyway. So if anyone reading this post has a Borders store closing in their neighborhood, better get there fast.  Everything must go! If you happen to see me in the vicinity feel free to cut me off, block my Sorento from entering the parking lot, and throw me a hip check at the entrance.  Help me to help myself...I can't afford any more bargains.

Sixty Six Plus Sixteen

Today marks a milestone for me as it is the sixteenth day after my sixty sixth birthday. The number has been on my mind for quite awhile, not so much as a goal but as a day of significance to me personally. I knew that if I woke up this morning, this sixteenth day after my sixty sixth birthday,  it would mean that I had outlived the duration of my father's life. He died on the fifteenth day following his sixty sixth birthday. It's been fairly easy for me to do the calculations of the formulas above because 1) I remember my father's birthday was March 11th, and 2) my father died on my birthday, March 26th, forty years ago.

The King ancestors I have descended from don't have too great a record in longevity, not the men, anyway. My father's father died when he was 59. His father died at 60 years of age. His father died when he was just 49 years old! And, finally, when we go back one more generation, my 3rd great grandfather somehow managed to survive to 107 years old!  Maybe he used up more than his share of the old age genes?  Here's hoping a few snuck through and are lodged somewhere within the epidermal layer of my internal timer. Only time will tell.

My father died of a heart attack. It was his third one in the last ten years or so of his life and the final one was severe. He hung on for weeks after suffering the attack, hospitalized in a town in Florida just a few miles from the small town where he was born and raised until he was about 15.  The doctors told us his heart was very weak and he would be "severely impaired" for quite some time if he survived. I sure couldn't correlate that diagnosis with his appearance and demeanor.  When I saw him he was tired and resting in his hospital bed but seemed alert, cheerful, and couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. He spent his 66th birthday in that hospital and as I've noted, fifteen days later he died. He wasn't very active physically in his job as a clergyman. I recall seeing him participate in a limited way in sports, more as a social endeavor than for physical conditioning. He would join me and my friends to shoot hoops on the basketball backboard mounted on our garage, but it meant he had to undo his tie and roll up the sleeves of his starched white dress shirt. And at church outings he would play baseball but, again, just in a limited way to share the socialization part of it all rather than to display any prowess. He loved the Red Sox and found business purposes requiring his presence in Boston from time to time, which wisely he combined with visits to Fenway Park. An althlete, he was not, but he was an intellectual superstar when it came to reading, researching, studying, and all the things related to supporting his ministerial duties. But physical exertion in the years I knew him, the 1950's and 1960's, wasn't part of many men's lives unless you count bowling and drinking beer. He did neither. So it's not surprising his heart didn't get the exercise it needed and gave out on him at 66 years of age.

I don't know the causes of death for any of our King ancestors. I have pictures of my grandfather and he looks pretty trim and fit. My father wasn't fat but he might have been mildly overweight. To my teenage eyes I classified him as fat.  In pictures I can see now that he wasn't fat at all.  Just inactive. I'm the one shaped like a pear with some serious love handles mushrooming around my waist. But I do stay active with stretching, weights, calisthenics, and walking. Occasionally I'll jog and have done a few 5k runs employing both walking and jogging. But my ankles and my back are quick to report back to me that walking is the preferred method of exercise.  And I try to listen to my body.  So far, my MDS hasn't contributed any symptoms to alert me of a problem. So at this point, myelodysplasia is just a theoretical infliction, making itself known through blood cell measurements but not affecting my day to day activities.  So far so good on that front.

I could have put these thoughts on my genealogy blog but I think it rightly belongs to my blahs...just spewing out nonsense about things on my mind. And lately, mortality is on my mind.  Not in a depressing or morose manner, just out there to be considered from time to time. Yup. Sixty Six big ones. And so far, still living. Think I'll try to stay on this path for awhile longer. I'm not putting a number on it. No goals. Just a lot more time.  I've got a few more things I want to hang around for.

Bill Profiles

       
I like to practice taking nature photographs whenever I get the chance and the inspiration.  I want to hone my photography skills for an anticipated Alaska tour/cruise later this year. Just about every sunny day a group of turtles like to climb out of the pond behind our home to sun themselves on the grass bank. But they are sensitive to any noise or movement and are hard to capture with a camera because by the time I get close enough to take a picture they have scrambled back into the water. That leaves me with plenty of photo opportunities of ripples in the water but that's about it.  Today was different.  Different subject and different sensitivity. The spoonbill in these pictures was too busy spooning around in the muck to worry about me taking his picture. Even seemed to preen a little bit by circling around from time to time as he worked his way along the edge of the pond. That was just my imagination, I'm sure, but he did give me a variety of profiles to photograph.

OK, spoonbill pics completed. Bring on the whales! Bring on the seals! Bring on the bears...the small furry animals I can run away from if they look menacing.

Cry My Beloved Bookstore

I just had one word to say when my wife called and told me the news. "No." I said. Well, OK, that's a grammatically correct rendition of what I said but it doesn't exactly catch the phrasing and tonality of my one word response. Truth be told, it was more along the lines of something like this:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

With a nasally-whiney sort of inflection like you hear from that often observed little snot-nosed brat being dragged out of the store (take your pick, any store will do)  by his mother clutching his earlobe as she drags him back to their car while yelling into his other ear, "You don't need it, I'm not gonna' buy it, so get in the car and shut up!" That's the kind of tonality I'm talking about here. And, by the way, I'm on that mother's side when it comes to dealing with misbehaving kiddies even if it means a little pop on the butt. But the exclamation I'm trying to describe here is the kind that erupts from the shock and awe of sudden disappointment. In my case, deep, deep disappointment. My Borders store is closing.

I knew tragedy was brewing but I didn't expect it to rear its ugly head so soon, so abruptly, and so close. I had received the email from Mike Edwards, CEO of Borders,  a week or so ago assuring Borders customers that, sure, they were reorganizing, and sure, there might be a few stores closing here and there, but Mike said he was confident the restructuring process would go smoothly and enable the company to get back on its feet. So I shouldn't have been surprised when my wife called to tell me she had just gone by my store and there were signs plastered all over the windows declaring 60% discounts due to STORE CLOSING!!  But surprised I was and saddened as well.  I had dared to hope Mike wasn't talking about my store when he said Borders would be closing underperforming stores. Never for a minute did I suspect that my Borders store would be classified as underperforming. I was doing my part to keep the enterprise profitable. I mean, come on Mikey,  there's only so much I can do on a retiree's income for cryin' out loud! Granted, since I retired I've gotten more books on loan from the library and from my son than I ever  purchased from Borders but I've got to say this in my defense...every single time, I say again, every...single...time that Borders offered 50% off sales, I was there, man, I was there!  Borders Rewards card in one hand, VISA debit card in the other. Nobody was going to beat me to the draw during 50% off sales events, NO-BODY!  But my wife said 60%!!  That's Six-Oh! Geez, I thought, maybe I screwed myself (and my store) by taking advantage of those fifty percenter deals and it resulted in... underperformance?  God, I hoped not but I started to feel guilty that maybe it was all my fault. Hence, my disappointment. And my sorrow.

Nevertheless and responsible or not it started to dawn on me that I needed to go there, to that hallowed ground, to see what's up for myself.  Sadness? Oh yes, sadness in massive quantities. But despite tragedy there were reports of significant bargains being available (ie. six-oh) and thus, bittersweet emotions were swirling through my head.  I sort of had those feelings I imagine one would have upon being invited to attend the hearing of the will after the death of their favorite uncle.  An uncle who also happened to be rich.  I mean he (the imaginary rich uncle) was a pretty swell guy and we (imaginary me and my imaginary rich uncle) always got along and everything in a cordial rich uncle/poor underachieving nephew sort of way but if there's a lot of stuff being bequeathed to friends and relatives at this will hearing, why not just mosey down there and see if  any bones get thrown in this doggy's direction, right?  I mean, it can't hurt or anything just to go and have a look-see, can it? It's not like disrespectful or anything, it's just keeping eyes and ears open for good deals. As soon as I hung up the phone (like you can "hang up" a cell phone, right?) or as soon as the phone call ended, I put aside one of my current reads, The GUN, by C.J. Chivers (purchased at 50% off at Borders) aside and proceeded to change out of my miracle-whip & mustard stained T-shirt and put on something a little more suitable for public dress appearance and headed down to Borders.

Not only were the store windows plastered with bright yellow, red, and black posters loudly proclaiming slashed prices off everything, they even had a sign carrier positioned out on the road divider on the street in front of the store, waving the same signs at every passing motorist. Or at least I think that was the intent, to have him wave to every passing motorist but he wasn't doing any such thing.  Much of the time I observed him he was leaning on the sign with very little movement at all and the rest of the time sort of half-assedly moving the sign side to side or up and down but in a rather unenthusiastic fashion.  Underperforming was the word that came to mind and I briefly thought perhaps I should report the situation to CEO Mike but on second thought I evaluated the situation to be a Catch-22 sort of thing for an underperforming sign bearer to be working for an underperforming Borders store. So why bother?  One thing was for sure, this dude would never cut it working for the Liberty Tax people...he did a pretty good imitation of a statue but failed miserably to show any excitement for his mission.

The first thing I noticed upon arrival at my Borders store was that my wife's reconnaissance was flawed. There wasn't anything like a 60% discount on display, not even on the signs held by Rip Van Sign Bearer out on the traffic island. But I don't think she lied. She probably just took the "20 to 40% off" propaganda and added them together. Besides, my old self-imposed 50% threshold was always limited to one item. At least 20% and maybe 40% off everything would apply to as many items as I wanted so it sounded like a good deal to me. The second thing I noticed was that the parking lot was full.  Obviously, the demise of my beloved bookstore had drawn out the buzzards in its death throws. Not me, mind you, I'm still feeling the grief that comes from losing a friend. I'm there to verify the truth of the shocking obituary. And if I can pickup some good deals on a couple of book purchases while I'm at it? Well, who could find fault with that? That's just good old American pragmatism. Pragmatism with the proper respect. Nothing wrong with that. Inside the store a somber scene awaited me. The first thing that struck me was the silence. Very quiet.  Hushed is perhaps the best description. Respectfully hushed. The old cafe section was roped off like a crime scene and all the lights were off.  I peeked in and surveyed the floor as best I could in the darkness half expecting to see chalk lines outlining the fallen positions of those who fell there. But I knew my imagination was rushing far too close to the macabre and pulled myself back to reality, forcing myself to head to other sections of the store in no particular order.  I have certain sections I always visit but my progression from one to the other is in random order depending on whatever mood I'm in at the time. My bookstore browsing habits are not terribly structured. I do a lot of roaming. The usual customer suspects were there in abundance. Sometimes I feel like I'm in the bar scene of Star Wars,  just one more of the weirdos seeking refreshment, in this case,  reading refreshment. In the fiction section maze I always half expect to run into Chewbacca around the next corner. And if I have to step around one of the intense readers sitting cross legged yoga style in the isles I imagine them to be R2-D2 out of uniform. What I'm describing I guess is just the usual gang of geeks hanging out at the bookstore on any given day. And yes, I'm one of them.  I don't have any piercings (or at least none that I'll admit to) and I don't sit on the floor but I guess I'm still strange enough to fit in with the crowd. I don't shave my legs either so I have something in common with lots of my female reading comrades.

Sadly, my bookstore visit came to a close. They really beefed up the checkout process by manning, make that womanning up each cash register with a clerk to handle the increased volume of sales. Back in the good old days a good part of each store visit was taken up waiting for an available clerk to check us out. Each clerk repeated the mantra that "all sales are final, no returns allowed" that sort of added to the finality of it all. It was all sadly efficient. No underperformance in evidence here, Mr CEO Mike, so maybe you should give my branch a second chance?  Tell you what, if the store is allowed to survive, I promise to come back for 40% off sales.  I won't hold out for five-oh.

The Basketball Spectators Have Spoken

I must admit, I didn't get it. I just didn't get it. What's worse is I didn't know I didn't get it. I had no clue that all my preconceived notions of what it meant to be a basketball spectator were so far off the mark that I probably should have just stayed home and watched the game on TV.  But there I was, Duh-doot! Duh-doot! in the St Pete Times Forum in downtown Tampa with excellent seats about 8 rows back from the players bench anticipating the chance to watch a basketball game between the University of South Florida Bulls and the Syracuse University Orange. Granted, the Bulls are not doing very well this year and the Orange have a very good team (ranked 17th nationally at the time of this game, I believe) but knowing the Forum was a step up from the Sun Dome where the bulls usually play and especially knowing my season tickets location in the Forum was going to be courtside instead of 21 rows up in the 2nd level in the Dome where I almost need binoculars to see the game, had me pumped for a good game. I hoped the Bulls felt the same.

Those who know me and my wife are aware that we are among the vertically challenged. Not defeated, just challenged.  Dunking a basketball by either one of us, for instance, is not in the realm of possibilities, even if she was seated on my shoulders and I was standing on a ten foot ladder. On the other hand, both of us would literally tower over the Roloffs on TLC's Little People BIG WORLD. The only reason I bring up this stature issue at all is to clarify our predicament as spectators in most sports venues.  If someone especially tall is seated in front of either one of us our view can be obstructed.  Someone short or tall and wearing a silly hat (Green Bay Packer Cheese Heads come to mind) we pretty much have to try to view between the head gaps or resort to hoping we can look up at a jumbotron sort of apparatus to see things. Stadium seating in movie theatres is wonderful! Flat surface seating, like in a gymnasium or meeting hall, might as well stand in the back row because that's the only way you're (as in my wife and I) going to see anything.  In the Forum, designed for hockey games, the first level seating is gradually inclined down to court level. So when we got to our seats for Bulls vs. Orange we were sitting pretty. The drawback was there was a large contingent of Syracuse fans present, most clad in Orange, and many exuberantly cheering, well before and into and throughout the game. The bonus to offset being in the minority was that when we sat down 30 minutes before the opening jump ball, two rows immediately in front of us were empty!  No stupid hats in front of us. No head gaps to peer around and in between. Perfect seats.

Until five minutes before the game started. The two empty rows filled in immediately. Orange fans, all wearing orange shirts. All carrying Budweiser "deeps" (16 oz cans). Mostly guys, a few girls. All young but obviously past student age, I'd guess mid to late twenties.  All pretty buzzed and all exhibiting that high level of exuberance we noticed in most of the Syracuse fans we saw that day. I don't hold that against them; they have a great team that gives them reason to cheer and be excited.  Upon the opening jump ball it became clear that viewing the game, even from excellent seats was going to be a problem. Pretty much every basket scored by the Orange was rewarded by their fans standing, issuing high-five hand slaps, toasting with deeps, and in general whooping it up pretty good.  When I complained that they were obstructing our view they pretty much laughed me off and ignored my protests.  They did manage to settle down a little bit but that was probably a combination of the Orange running up so many points over the Bulls and the crowd in front of us consuming vast quantities of beers. I think they pretty much grew weary of arguing with an old short curmudgeon whining about not being able to see around them. At one point my complaint was answered by the question, "What is your problem?" When I responded that my problem was that I didn't object to them standing and cheering after an especially nice play, but I didn't understand why they had to stand up after every basket!

Syracuse fan (on left) stands even during a time out!

But one of them was kind enough to explain it to me. In very simple terms that even an old man like me could understand. He said, "We're standing because this is a basketball game, Man! Basketball!"  Thus, the basketball spectators have spoken.