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Ahhh, Thanksgiving's past. The House Blonde's Thanksgiving Poem, Jake's plea on behalf of turkeys everywhere, mesquite roasted turkey, a visit from Stevie the Spy (Minion of the Dark Side who denies being Harriet the Spy's daddy), the Kosmik Kid on Spodee Ode, Palm Springs at night, Sonny Bono, a great cup of coffee, and a great Bloody Mary.
Oh I know, just personal indulgence, but it's only five minutes and change. Worth a click. Thankee.
I intended to work up a little historical narrative about the amalgam of Mezzo-American, Scots-Irish, and Catholic traditions that when taken together form the nucleus of what we modern Americans call Halloween. Instead, I will defer to The Book of Counted Sorrows, which teaches us that.....
There's no escape from death's embrace,though you lead it on a merry chase.
Here at the Casa, we're done with all that pumpkin carving and trick or treating with the kids. It was loads of fun, but they are off on their own now, hanging with friends and happy to be free from parental supervision on Halloween. And that's not a bad thing.
A lot of people go whole hog for Halloween and a few years back Jake did a little free lance fright gig at a local haunted house. He was a hit and put the fear of Pennywise into more than one kid. Not these high school girls, though.
And, Mrs TWC in 2008......That may have been the year we sat in Karla's driveway and passed out wine and candy.
The House Blond as Psycho Bride, a role she played twice in the junior high school haunted house that she and her ASB cohorts created to fund school activities such as dances.
TWC nearly drowned while bobbing for apples in old galvanized wash tubs. I wasn't worth a tinker's damn at it, neither. Looking back, I think it's because my mouth was too small to get a good bite on the apple before it squirted away. Yeah, I know, nobody has ever accused moi I having a small mouth. Apparently some kids did, but I don't think we ever bobbed for apples on strings.
Back in the days of my vagrant yoot, and I'm talking about early elementary school, moms who lived on my little dirt road in the desert made Halloween treats from scratch and they were awesome. We came home with real popcorn balls, hand crafted carmel apples, and bags of home made cookies, wrapped in wax paper and tied up with festive ribbons. All that faded away with the exponential growth of the suburbs in the 1960's. We were quite satisfied to lug home pillow cases filled with loot that looked like we'd broken into the Snack Shack at the Little League field and stolen it all.
I'm not big on this young people have no idea meme, but I'm gonna tell you what.....you, Gentle Reader, cannot believe how fabuloso those popcorn balls were. As for those perfectly spherical shiny red candy apples at the grocery store? I sampled one out of the kid's treat bag a few years ago. Spit it in the trash.
Wishing my Jewish friends all the very best of their new year celebration, Rosh Hashanah, which began at sunset last night.
There were untold numbers of heroes of the Big War, most of whom are unknown and whose stories remain untold. Knud Christiansen was a Danish Olympic Athlete and had competed in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. He was also a member of the Danish resistance in 1943.
He was among the first to learn of the SS plans to arrest the Jews in one convenient mass roundup. It was planned on Rosh Hashanah, at 10 p.m. on Oct. 1 in 1943, an evening Denmark's 7,000 Jews were expected at home, almost all of whom lived in Copenhagen.
The House Blond reminds us of the roots of the revolution.
It's going to be a quiet Independence Day around the Casa. Traditionally, we hook up with the in-laws and the cousins, either here or in Tucson. But, this year the kids are off to the beach, Disneyland, and parties with friends. Mrs TWC and I will be left to fend for ourselves with a bottle of wine and grilled steak. The Horror.
I'm a big fan of the fireworks show down in Tubac Arizona. It's a gorgeous resort setting on the Santa Cruz River. Trees, grass, mountains, and far fewer people than the hordes that turn out at every venue in Southern California.
Mrs TWC & The House Blond at Tubac July 4, 2013
Bonus: Tubac skips the TSA-like experience at the entrance gates. They don't search your bags or ice chests, nor will they turn you away on account of your pocket knife. AND, you can buy margaritas. How cool is that?
The only downside is the warrant-less stop and sniff on the way out, which comes courtesy of the Federales checkpoint. The Fourth Amendment don't apply here, Thankee. And if the dog don't like how you smell, you'll spend some time in the other lane while they toss your car. The spot was well-chosen by the Border Patrol because there's no escape from it. Believe me, I've wasted a lot of gas on back roads leading to nowhere, only to end up back in line waiting for the Green Man and his flashlight. Some of the locals don't think much of the checkpoints, neither, which are more about drug interdiction than they are about stopping illegal immigration.
May your Independence Day celebrations be blessed. Though the execution wasn't without flaw, the founder's vision was for a country that elevated the individual above the king and the state. That was a new wrinkle in the continuum.
Back in the days of my vagrant yoot, Pop drove a truck for Knudsen Dairy Products. Long before the sun came up, he'd snaffle a bowl of hot Cream of Wheat. His mid-morning snack was hot-out-of-the-lard-fryer donuts washed down with a quart of half and half. He was a big burly guy who needed a lot of energy because slinging milk cases built of galvanized steel and hardwood was tough work.
Five year old TWC was mighty proud that Dad was responsible for delivering those little cartons of five-cent milk that Del Sur Elementary School was happy to pre-warm to room temperature before serving at lunch.
Although he rarely had two days off in a row, the money was pretty good and the taxes were light. It was 1950's America and we had our slice of the comfortable life.
These days Dad is 85 and still cuts his own firewood though it takes him a bit longer than it once did. He also takes care of his invalid wife.
Father's Day 2009-Mesquite Nevada
Father's Day 2012
Tip of the glass and a Happy Fathers Day, to all the hard working dads out there.
None of these 58,000 some-odd people got away for the weekend at Lake Havasu. They won't be tipping a cold frosty while grilling burgers with friends and family. You won't find them chilling at the beach, the park, or running a 10K on this CONgressionally mandated, three day weekend that mostly marks the first onset of summer.
That's not a scold or a guilt trip..... I don't fault anyone for spending time with family and friends. We all work hard and it's a three day weekend. Enjoying life in the face if what is meant as a somber occasion doesn't mean that people don't care about the war dead, most do.
That said, Robert McNamara, the idea man and purveyor of the Viet Nam War, died at 93. He lived decades longer than any of the people whose names are etched upon this wall. He was called a Wunderkind, but his real contribution to our culture was to ensure that none of these people would ever hold a grandchild in their arms. He, along with LBJ, JFK, and Nixon, bears the moral responsibility for financing the carnage and putting into place economic policies that set the stage for the ruinous inflation of the 1970's and Jimmy Carter's recession.
Sending young men off to die in old men's foreign wars is a time honored tradition. Next time let's send the McNamara's to the front lines. With M-16's that malfunction regularly*.
*Despite being described as “the best individual infantry weapon ever made” in 1965, the XM16E1 began to exhibit catastrophic problems in 1966. Reports from the field indicated that U.S. troops in Vietnam were experiencing chronic failures to extract. In the malfunctions, a cartridge’s brass case would seize fast in the chamber and the extractor would tear through the rim. Such a stoppage could only be cleared by pounding the case out of the chamber from the muzzle end using a cleaning rod—something that was terribly impractical and dangerous to do in the middle of a firefight. This situation was exacerbated by the fact that XM16E1s were not issued with cleaning rods at this stage in production. In fact, they even lacked compartments for cleaning kits in the buttstocks. When a cleaning rod could even be scrounged at all, troops resorted to taping them to the forward handguards of their rifles. Through the end of 1966 and into 1967 these malfunctions reached chronic levels and resulted in lives lost on the battlefield. After one especially violent battle, a Marine wrote home to his mother saying “Before we left Okinawa, we were all issued this new rifle, the M16 … practically every one of our dead was found with his rifle torn down next to him where he had been trying to fix it.”