But That's Me, and I Was Just Thinking

Political pundits use words like “gutsy” to describe the President’s authorizing the raid on Bin Laden’s compound by Seals Team 6. As a soldier, I see things a little differently. I would expect no less from my Commander-in-Chief. The President, when presented with the over whelming evidence that Bin Laden was holed up in the compound, had the Constitutional responsibility and duty to act upon the intel.

There are a couple of things, though, that are troubling to me that are taking place. We have American war -fighters who are daily putting their lives on the line to protect ours, and we owe them no less than insuring that we provide them with the equipment and wherewithal to do their jobs. So, when I hear things being said and events being politicized, it upsets me.

You may remember the Jessica Lynch fiasco of a few years ago. The story was that she had been captured when the convoy she was in became lost and was attacked by Iraqi troops. Most of her team was killed during the attack and that she grabbed a weapon and fought to the bitter end and was captured. She was in a hospital in Baghdad and was rescued by an elite special ops team. However, as it turns out, some genius in the publicity department of the military decided that they needed a “feel good” event to bolster the American pride. And someone concocted the rescue of Specialist Jessica Lynch. Then brought in a crack team to bring her out. We all felt great, and the politicos began patting themselves on their backs. But like all ruses, the story began to unravel the truth came out. Had I been part of that Special Ops team, I would have been looking for that publicity mogul.

Now with OBL assuming room temperature, I see the politicos once again taking credit, and I also see things that are troubling to me.

First, the story keeps changing. First we had the feel good 40 minute firefight, a stealth Black Hawk helicopter going down and being blown in place on the way out. Then we learn, welllllllll – maybe it wasn’t a firefight after all. In fact, OBL was really unarmed, but the others in the compound were armed and part of the firefight. OBL’s wife was used as a shield and was killed – oops, it was his daughter and she was there to watch her father killed. No, it was his wife, after all, and she was shot in the leg and survived. Then it was, wellllll, actually, no one was armed, but there was a secret room with weapons ----- and the last one I heard today was that an AK-47 and a handgun were within the reach of OBL. I would rather not hear the details on how he was killed than to have a Hollywood production with alternate endings.

This was a special ops “kill” mission, as special ops missions are. You don’t send in the Seals to Mirandize the enemy.

Next, I hear that several computers and hard drives were captured and we cultivated a treasure-trove of intel. Why do I need to know that? Why alert all the other bad guys that we know a ton of stuff? That’s like announcing a surprise party for someone on Facebook.

And what about the picture? I would like to see it, but it isn’t necessary. Why did it take so long to decide not to show it and why agonize over a reason? He didn’t need a reason – he is the President. Then why was the CIA Chief, Leon Panetta, marched out to the press to announce that the photos would be released by 2 PM the next day, only to have an administration spokesman announce later that Pinetta never said that …. It isn’t like the video isn’t all over You Tube. This isn’t the 80s or 90s, you know. If I was Panetta and was being thrown under the bus like that, I tell the President to take his SecDef job and shove it. Then I would go work on Hillary’s primary campaign.

And now I hear that the CIC is going to meet with members of Seals Team 6 tomorrow. Why? These guys are stealth and their identities should never be known to anyone outside their immediate command. I only hope and pray that there are no cameras present because the minute these guy’s pictures go up on the internet, a huge target is painted on them and their families. No, this is a mistake and this is a precedent that should not be set.

There are many good things to be taken out of the operation last Sunday, so why do the politicos have to jump in once again and screw it all up. But that’s me, and I was just thinking.

But That's Me, And I Was Just Thinking

1. “Good morning, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, involves the recovery of a stolen item designated "Chimera." You may select any two team members, but it is essential that the third member of your team be Nyah Nordoff-Hall. She is a civilian, and a highly capable professional thief. You have forty-eight hours to recruit Miss Hall and meet me in Seville to receive your assignment. As always, should any member of your team be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions.” (Mission Impossible II, 2000)I am not writing this to disparage President Obama or our courageous special operations teams that took out Osama Bin Laden. I want that said because I have heard over the course of the last few days so much that is just so much bunk that I can no longer keep quiet.In the President’s address Sunday night he stated that he “assembled a team” to take out OBL. I just do not understand this statement from the Commander-In-Chief. He made sound like he was giving instructions to Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible. Special Operations teams have been around as long as there has been a United States Military. I met a man recently who belonged to a special ops team. He told me that his team was assigned to bring out a “high value target”. Without going into detail of why he was telling this story, he said that his team had been together for 10 years. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. The rest of his story isn’t important. What is important is that his team had been together for 10 years. Unlike the IMF team in the movies, you don’t just assemble a team at the last minute. These Special Ops guys are a highly trained unit and work together very closely. I expect they have been together for a number of years. I proudly salute these guys – professionals in every way. Now, something I need to say to those who have never found a conspiracy they didn’t like. As a soldier I am offended when I hear someone doubt that this team took out OBL. First, it would take a huge conspiracy and lots of conspirators to pull off a hoax like some are saying took place. I will tell you this, American soldiers are not mind numbed robots that blindly follow orders. First, there is no way a hoax could be perpetrated upon the American people without the truth being leaked; and second, no American Soldier would be a part of such a hoax. What I hear described is what Hollywood puts in the script of a B movie. This piece will not self destruct in 10 seconds, but, that’s me and I was just thinking.

That's Me and I Was Just Thinking

I got to thinking about a couple of stories I have heard on the various news shows lately discussing the “epidemic” of overweight adults and kids we have in our country. In response to this problem, the “do gooder” Nannies who have taken it upon themselves to try to negatively influence the freedoms we have by telling us we can’t eat popcorn at the theaters, our children cannot have a toy in their Happy Meal because toys apparently are fattening; Chinese food has WAY to much sodium; we can’t have salt shakers on the tables in restaurants in New York City; we can’t give our kids KinderEggs because our dumb American children will choke to death on the toy; we must have twigs and stems in the school lunch programs because good stuff isn’t good for our kids (one Illinois school district has banned lunches brought from home because the district can’t make sure all Mom’s care enough for their kids to send only twigs and stems); and on and on.

Recently an “if you agree, repost” status has been going around on Facebook that says “If you were raised on home cooking, rode a bike with no helmet on gravel roads, your parents had no child proof lids or seat belts in cars, got spanked when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change, school started w/the Pledge of Allegiance, drank water out of the water hose or the Soquel Creek (Capitola River) , rode in the back of a pickup truck, and YOU STILL TURNED OUT OK re-post.”

I heard on one of those shows how our Nannies are worried because our fatso kids got fat from eating all that fast food and the Twinkies the horrid mothers are sending in their tubby kid’s lunches. And, of course Walt Disney for making movies which kids have to watch in a theater where they are eating that super fattening theater popcorn, popped in coconut oil. This made me reflect back to my own childhood and what we did as kids. In a recent post on this blog I wrote about my memories as a 10 year old. I told of riding bikes up and down the hills at the construction site of the new mall. We won’t discuss what a bad mother I had for letting me do that, and without a helmet (they hadn’t invented bike helmets yet). The thing is, we were outside riding our bikes at breakneck speeds we attained by pedaling with our legs. Our curfew in the summer was when mom and dad were ready to go to bed. We played tag and hide and seek OUTSIDE AND IN THE DARK! We climbed trees and jumped rope. When we came in at night, we smelled “like puppy dogs” and had to take a bath before we went to bed.

In school we had recess at 10 AM and 2 PM. We had an hour for lunch, and when we finished eating we spent the remainder of the hour playing tetherball, 4 Square, softball, football, tag, or just running and chasing each other. I rode my bike to school every day until I was in high school – then I walked the 2 miles each way from my house to the high school (we couldn’t afford for Frankie to have a car to drive to school – the day I graduated from high school was the only day I got to drive to school). When I was in Junior High and in High School, PE was a regular subject. I had 4^th period PE, or 1^st period PE, or whenever it was. Even after I graduated and started college, we had to take PE for three hours a week until age 21. The thing is, we had PE every single day in high school, and those 3 hours per week in college.

Compare that to today. I know that my own kids have been fighting the elementary schools in Texas and Arkansas to get daily recess back into the schools. Our kids sit in the classroom all day – go to lunch and right back to class, with very little free time. PE happens occasionally in elementary school, but in middle and high school, kids take band or choir, and that counts as PE. Singing or playing an instrument, while extremely important in the over-all development of our kids, is not running and getting exercise. We did “warm ups” every day in gym – I am not sure that kids today even understand the concept of “warm up” – unless it involves food in the microwave.

If your kids’ after school games involve a game console or a smart phone, perhaps we need to take a look at what is making our kids fat. I don’t think it is toys in the Happy Meal and I doubt kids are getting fat eating theater popcorn once or twice a month, or having a Coke at lunch. Perhaps, just maybe, it is our parents and our schools not having our kids outside running, riding bikes, climbing trees, playing tag, jumping rope – just moving around every day. I’m not saying to toss the Wii or the Nintendo 64, just turn it off an hour or so a day and run the kids out doors. You might like the results. But, that’s me and I was just thinking.

Memories of a 10 Year Old Boy

When I was about 10 years old, construction on a new shopping center began, just a half block from our home in San Jose. The orchard at the end of our street was about to become the first major retail center not located downtown. Macy’s was moving in….along with 39 other retail stores and eateries. This would begin a boom in west San Jose and mark the decline of the downtown shopping that took place during the 60s and 70s, although downtown revitalization starting the 80s revamped the downtown area.

But this piece isn’t about the economic booms and busts of my home town. This is about boys, bikes and mounds of dirt!

When the prune orchard at the end of Monroe Street began to disappear, we boys of the neighborhood were fascinated. Every day we would ride our bikes up to the end of the street and watch the progress. The huge piles of trees parts gave way to huge fires burning the trees to ash, and we were captivated. That hasn’t changed with boys and burning brush – I notice my own grandchildren and the Fire in the Pasture at Aunt Heidi’s years later. But after a few weeks, the fires were gone and the big earth movers arrived on site. They pushed dirt from one place to another. One of the features of the center and Macy’s was the underground delivery areas and the basement shopping that was part of the center. This required huge ‘holes’ to be dug and large piles of dirt. It was those piles of dirt that became the focal point of the existence of the neighborhood boys.

Work was pretty much over for the day by the time we all were finished with our dinner. The evenings were warm and long in the summer of 1955 in San Jose. And no construction was taking place on Sunday. So we had the place to ourselves. To a 10 year old boy, the piles of dirt were huge and were captivating. One thing we noticed very quickly was the bulldozers always had a trail to the top of the mound, or hill, as we always called it. We would ride our bikes up as far as we could, then would push our bikes up to the top. Then we would ride back down to the bottom, as fast as we could. At first it was a straight shot up and back down. But everyday was different, and sometimes there were turns … a challenge in soft dirt! We had a ball! I think the biggest challenge to that point was for our mom’s to wash those dirty Levi’s we always came home in!

Soon, however, it became boring just riding up and down the hill on the trail. So we “invented” cross country downhill’s. (BMX – what’s that?) The trail up was no longer the way down. We would get to one side of the top of the hill and get going as fast as we could and ride down wherever we hit the side. This was great and the danger made it all the more fun. Sometimes we made it all the way down riding, and sometimes we wiped out. Once we were at the bottom and had our bike back in hand, back up the hill to do it again!

Today, when I see those construction sites with fences around them and security guards on their patrols, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps we boys in 1955 had something to do with tighter security on those sites. We didn’t have fancy safety equipment of the new generation of BMX bikes – no we were just boys without helmets or pads on Schwinn Cruisers and 3 speed “racers” racing up and down hills of dirt in the evenings and Sunday afternoons – memories this boy still carries with him.

There I Was, Revisited, or There We Were!

There we were – once again! So today, Holly (Ellie May) and I, Frankie Boy (Jed Clampet), took a trailerfull of trash to the dump. Now many of you have taken full trailers to the dump. But not like this trailer. Years ago I got a trailer for our pool business and it served our purpose well, until it fell apart. So, I decided to rebuild the trailer from the base up. When I got done, it had been converted to a utility trailer in which I could haul things to the dump. I put a new floor and new sides – however, for several years the trailer was used only a few times, and sat down at Holly’s behind the fence. Still not bad. Then today happened.

The trailer was full of stuff that needed to go to the dump. Holly had asked me if I could pull the trailer to the dump with my truck. Frankie Boy was ready. First I had to get the 2011 tag for the license plate… the last one put on was dated 2009. When I got down to Holly’s, I noticed that a couple of the side boards had fallen off, as had the entire tail gate. Oh well, that’s what ratchet straps are for, right? I got everything into the trailer and put the tarp over the trash and strapped it all down. Then I took the piece of the tailgate that had the license plate and put it into the back of the trailer and wedged it under the ratchet strap…. It should easily travel the 5 miles to the dump. (Remember, I’m the one who had just posted the “There I Was” series). The next hurdle was hooking the trailer to the truck … which went fine until I tried to secure the hitch on the ball…. good thing I had a hammer! Done. So, off we merrily went to the dump. About as soon as we turned onto Highway 195, heading South, a pickup truck passed us tooting his horn and pointing. Now this isn’t anything new, you see, because whenever I go to the dump, I lose a bag or a box and have to stop and retrieve it. We stopped and got out to look what we had dropped… I was sure hoping that it wasn’t the license plate. It was. Ellie May asked if we should continue on to the dump and find the plate on the way back. I thought we would be wiser to go back and get it now. At the next intersection, we turned around and drove back. We thought we saw what could have been the remains of the tail gate remains that I had loaded into the truck. So we turned back around and sure enough, the 4 foot long 4 x 6 was now a bunch of toothpicks. The license plate had come completely unattached from the board and was laying by itself, embarrassed, I’m sure … not of being detached, but that the Killeen Hillbillies were back to get her. Ellie May picked up the big pieces of wood and put them in the back of the truck, put the license plate up front with us, and off we went. And, without further incident, we arrive at the dump.

Not only that, but I actually backed up the trailer into the dump area without running into the fancy-dan truck parked next to us. We unloaded our load in good time – but I noticed that in the back of the trailer was the left wheel fender that I forgot had fallen off some time back. So our trip to the dump was hauling an illegal trailer – one that had no wheel cover. Remember the side boards that had fallen down? I felt it prudent that we reattach those before we left. So I got a wrench out and began tightening the bolts that held the boards in place, right there in the dump, while people were outside waiting for me to vacate my spot. Of course, none of my good wrenches would fit the bolts, so I got our the crescent wrench, which worked fine, except and every other turn, it slipped off the bolt and out of my hand, and onto the ground. But, I kept on keepin’ on and soon the trailer was ship shape, and the guy waiting for us to move was relieved we got done. Except we still had no wheel cover, but I decided that would need to wait for another day or time. So off we go, headed back to the house. Did I mention that we plugged in the lights on the trailer, but they had stopped working long ago? Anyway, we got all the way home and as we were backing the trailer to its parking spot, the right side tire blew…. Just went flat very fast. So we unhitched the trailer and had to leave it where it was until Jethro (Leslie) got home to muscle it back into its parking place. Yes, Frankie Boy and Ellie May had quite a day.

The Journey Begins

My nickname was Tubby. I was in elementary school, but not everyone called me that, just my best friend. But I always remember being called “Tubby”. I do remember a time, about the 5th or 6th grade that my mother bought me husky jeans, but that was okay because my cousin wore 6X clothes. My mother put me on a diet, once, for a couple of weeks. I guess I lost enough weight because I don’t remember it lasting that long. She fed me steak and other proteins… a real Dr. Atkins forerunner! But, in all that, I never considered myself fat. I didn’t run like the wind, even with my PF Flyers, but I could run. I could play softball, but was always the last one chosen. But when I look at pictures of myself from back then, with the exception of when I was on a diet, I didn’t look fat.

I think it was because I never could see myself as fat that I got fat. During my career as a soldier, I had to take an annual flight physical. In twenty years I never failed one, although a time or two I had to lose a few pounds. I was never put on what we called the fat boy program. If I had to lose a few pounds, I always did. Back in those days I was young and in my prime. I ran PT every day (despite what my children will tell you). I could outrun most of the young soldiers in my unit when I was 40. Once in Korea, when I was on the mountain at Evenreach for 4 months, I did pack on some weight. We were a self contained air traffic control outpost and we had our own chef. There were 5 of us assigned there, and whenever we would sit down to watch television, the chef brought us a hamburger or a piece of cake. While on shift, he would bring us food. Whenever I had to drive down to the base camp, I always had a huge packed lunch, usually a couple of steak sandwichs, chips, potato salad and dessert. Before long, I had ballooned up to 250 pounds. When I was reassigned back to Seoul, I went on a diet and lost 80 pounds and was 170 when I went home.

It was after I retired that I started gaining weight. There were times when I could keep it off really well, but those times started coming fewer and further between. I was doing no PT and running ice cream and cookie restaurants. Later I was always in jobs that required me to sit at a computer or desk and got very little exercise. I knew I was fat, but I never saw myself as fat, if that makes sense. One of the things that allowed me to keep deceiving myself was that my blood pressure and blood levels were those of a skinny dude! My cholesterol level never exceeded 150 at my heaviest, and was 105 at my retirement physical. So, I kept fooling myself. And yet, all the time I knew I was fat and needed to do something. In Korea I lost 80 pounds on the Dr. Atkins Diet, so over my life I would always try to pattern what I ate based on Atkins, but I was never able to do it. I have a weakness for fast food and never thought twice about having a burger or fries, if the opportunity was there to have them. In fact, I considered Whataburger as “fine dining”. Whenever I went TDY, I usually managed to lose a few pounds because I could stock my quarters with only those things I should eat. But even then, if a hamburger called my name, I was there. And despite what Jared says, you can “eat fresh” at Subway and still gain weight.

The final blow came a couple of years ago when I was going TDY to Hawaii. I had gone to the Oncologist for my semi-annual checkup and the blood pressure machine was on the fritz. The nurse told me I needed to go to my primary care doctor and have them take my blood pressure. Since I had never had high blood pressure in my life, and because I was flying to Hawaii in two days, I decided it could wait until I got back in two months. And off I flew to paradise. About a week or so later I got a call from my primary care doctor wanting me to come in and follow up on having my blood pressure checked. I explained I was TDY in Hawaii and would come in when I got home. So when I got home, I made an appointment and went in. For the first time in my life, my blood pressure was off the charts. The doctor immediately ordered an EKG and found that I was in atrial fibrillation. He ordered an immediate consultation with the Cardiologist. Jannie and I were planning a trip just before Thanksgiving to drive out to Fort Knox to see Hilary, Paul and the kids, and then stop in Arkansas for Thanksgiving with the family. The doctor said absolutely not! He finally said I could to Arkansas for Thanksgiving, but not Kentucky. Later, the Cardiologist determined that my A-Fib was being caused by hyperthyroidism and that I had to have my thyroid removed. In the meantime, I was put on some heavy drugs to lower my blood pressure and keep my blood from clotting to prevent a stroke. I had my thyroid removed and with some additional treatment, my heart was shocked back into rhythm.
With no thyroid, I gained more weight. I ballooned up to a size 50 pants. I can remember not too many years earlier when Todd and I were in Hacks Western Wear in Killeen, seeing a pair of size 50 Levis, and thinking that no one could really be that big. At the end, though, I wore size 50, and mostly because I couldn’t find a 52! I finally admitted to myself that I was now fat. I wondered if I could get the doctor to refer me for a gastric bypass. I was determined to ask him when I went in for my physical in a few weeks. At the doctor visit he told me that my last physical had all my blood numbers way elevated, although my blood pressure was being controlled by medication. He asked me if I had ever considered having a gastric bypass. I said “sign me up”.

The process from that day to the 29th of June, the day of my surgery, took about 7 months. But I did follow thru and had the surgery. I am now just a little more than a week past the procedure, and I am losing weight, learning to eat again, and changing my whole life style, at least as to how I see food in my life. My goal is to get back down to that 170 pounds I weighed when I got home from Korea those many years ago. Don’t know that I can get that far, but I will sure try. Today I am down 25 pounds from my official start weight, and I am down to wearing size 48 pants again. I feel good and am healing well. So the adventure begins. This is just the beginning of my weight loss story.

My Beaches

This is an open letter to my family and friends on the west coast, the gulf coast and the east coast. These are my thoughts and your comments are welcome; and you are welcome to pass them on, if you so desire.

I was raised on the west coast of central California. My entire life revolved around going to the beach. I love the beach. I love the sand and the salt air. I love the Monterey Bay and the Pacific Ocean. The sound of the surf breaking on the shore has been, at times, to me, very therapeutic. As a child I built sand castles and sand angles. I swam in the cold pacific and loved every minute of it. We went to the beach and always laid our towels and blankets as close to the ocean as we could get without the water running up to us and drowning out our “spot”. When the tide began to role in, we moved just a little further back. As kids, we spent entire days at the beach. On family trips to Capitola, we craned our necks to be the first one to see the ocean as we topped Depot Hill and descended down into the Village and the beach. And I knew that I would always live near the Pacific Ocean, for it captivated me.

Then life got in the way. At 19 I began serving my mission for our church and was called to serve in New England and on Long Island. I came to love another ocean – the Atlantic. Its waters were as cold as my beloved Pacific, but that didn’t matter because as a missionary, we couldn’t swim. But we could watch the boats – and even played football one P-Day on the beach at Patchogue --- in March, and had to hike over the snow to get to the sand. Later in the spring, several of us went out early on P-Day and strolled the beach. It was beautiful. And the white sand beaches rivaled the golden beaches of California. In Maine I marveled at the fishing boats and I knew that one day I would have a hide-a-way cabin on the New England Coast.

My introduction to the Gulf Coast came in the height of the Vietnam War. I was drafted and had to leave my bride in California to attend Army training ---- at an Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi. I quickly learned that Biloxi was known as the Gold Coast of Mississippi. It was really quite pretty. The white sandy beaches were not quite the caliber of what I had become accustomed on the East and West coasts, but they were nice. Biloxi sat on the shore of Biloxi Bay and the water was sheltered by barrier islands from the Gulf of Mexico. An afternoon boat trip to Ship Island and I was immediately hooked on the Gulf of Mexico. In the bay, the water was calm, much like a lake. But on the Gulf side of Ship Island, we had surf, and wind and beautiful white beaches! I knew someday I would spend many years on the beaches of The Gulf of Mexico.

About halfway thru my tour in Vietnam, my bride and baby daughter found ourselves on R and R in Hawaii. I remember Jannie and Heidi coming from the West Coast Jannie melting in the humidity. I, on the other hand, coming from the jungles of Southeast Asia, was so grateful for the dry climate of the Islands. Dying of humidity and reveling in the comfortable weather, we fell in love with Hawaii. Upon my completion of duty in Vietnam, I was stationed at Fort Rucker, Alabama. After a month or so, I reenlisted and got my choice of duty stations, and we were headed to the Island of Oahu! While this turned out to be our least favorite assignment in the Army, I did fall in love with Hawaiian beaches and the warm waters of the Hawaiian Pacific. And we had a chance to buy a condo right on the beach and at a price a young Sergeant could afford, and I knew that I would be spending much of my life on the beaches of Hawaii! All I will say is that it didn’t work out. And we headed back home to the home of Army Aviation.

We arrived at Fort Rucker in April 1973. Our first Christmas there, we had family come and visit. My mother came down and on New Year’s Day we drove down to be beach at Panama City. Heidi, Brett and Todd were all the kids we had then, and it was a beautiful day. I realized there and then that if I could go to the beach on New Year’s Day that I loved the Deep South! Over the next nearly 10 years we ventured often to the beach. The early years we found the Fort Rucker Recreation Area at Niceville, FL. It wasn’t directly on the Gulf, but on the bay. The beach was small and the water was flat and you could walk out in the water forever and the water was never deeper than your waist. With small children, it was the perfect beach. But the children didn’t stay small, and as the years flew by, so did the ages of the older kids. So it was time to move to a different beach – one with more stuff to interest the kids. So we began going to Fort Walton Beach and Panama City Beach. Some day trips; and some trips when we rented a house for the week. We had fun, and Panama City Beach became our favorite. And having been in Alabama for so long, we had come to think that we would retire from the Army there, and I was excited to think that I would be able to spend many years at the beaches in Florida.

The reality of life is that we retired in Central Texas, many, many miles from the beach. Our pool has replaced the lake and the ocean, and we have fun here. But deep in the recesses of my heart, I love the beach and when I have a chance, I go. Since we have been here, I have had the chance to go back to some of my favorite beaches. I have been to the fishing villages of New England, been TDY to Southern California for almost 3 months, living in Huntington Beach and walking in the sand almost daily. I have been to Capitola several times, and less than two years ago was able to go TDY to Oahu and stayed in a condo in Turtle Bay, on the North Shore. I spent many evenings sitting on Hawaii’s Sunset Beach, and others. To me, the beach will always be my special place and I long to visit them again in my life.

But today, many of those beaches are threatened. The habitats for many fish, oysters and water fowl have been wiped out. The beautiful marshlands are coated with oil. Wildlife is under siege. The beaches of the Louisiana Gulf Coast are being fouled. Livelihoods are threatened and the fishing industry will be destroyed for generations. Today marks the 60th day of the gulf oil disaster, and there is no fix in site. To date, nothing has worked, and the oil keeps gushing. I watch and listen to the news; I see fingers being pointed and the blame game in full force, but what I do not see is much progress, (in the words of President Obama) plugging the “damn hole”. Instead, this is what I see.

I see a speech of empty rhetoric from the Oval Office that just fixed blame, called for a new energy policy and assured us the he is on top of the situation, but I don’t see the oil flow easing.

I see the Congress, the ENTIRE Congress incensed with righteous indignation, and grilling the BP Oil execs for hours in front of the television cameras, seeking a photo op and perhaps 10 seconds of footage that can be used in a reelection commercial, but I do not see much going on to clean up the mess.

I see the executives of BP promising to make the Gulf of Mexico and its people whole, but I don’t see much money flowing into the economy and the bank accounts of the families.

What I do see is very disturbing. I hope I can make this clear and understandable. First, BP is in great trouble. We have yet to know the full scope of how much of this accident was caused by poor safety practices, etc. We may never know, but this much I do know, BP has some explaining to do.

As does the Government of the United States and its leaders, starting at the top. Why did it take over 10 days before the oil disaster was ever addressed by the President? Oh, I have heard him and many others say that he has been on top of it since day one, but that statement is not borne out by the facts. Why was it weeks before he ever bothered to leave the golf course and head to the Gulf? It was only after he was taking a beating from his own party and watching his poll numbers head south that he packed up and headed south, blaming BP and sending scores of lawyers to sue BP and whoever else they find, was the response of the government.

I find it very amusing, if amusement can be pulled from this crisis, that the President and Congress demonize BP on the one hand, and on the other say that only BP has the ability and technology to stop the leak and clean up the mess. So BP is the bad guy and the good guy, all at once.

At about the 30 day mark we heard disturbing news. The day of the explosion and the detection of the massive leak 5000 feet below the surface, several foreign governments, including Netherlands, Great Britain, and several others, offered assistance and technology to clean up the spill. The ability to skim off the oil before it reached shore. After all, it was far enough out in the gulf to allow the positioning of the equipment and operations to begin before the first drop of oil came within miles of a grain of white sand or a bed or oysters. But the administration turned down all the offers of help, in writing. Why? The reason was a 1920’s law called the Jones Act. This law requires that only members of trade unions be authorized to participate in disaster clean up. The provision of that law also allows for the President to suspend its use. Every President from the time the law was enacted to now has suspended the use of the provision when disasters have occurred, for disaster cleanup. This included the clean ups of major hurricanes like Camille and Katrina, as well as during the cleanup of the Exxon Valdez oil spill. Why now, does a President refuse help when it is available? In the Army we referred to that as the 4-Ps – Piss Poor Prior Planning. Sixty days later, we quietly go back to those governments with our hands out asking for help…. But the oil is no longer miles out to sea…it is on the shore.

Several private companies in the United States offered help with technology that could clean up the mess. They were told no. Actor Kevin Costner had developed a process that sucks oil from the sea and separates the oil from the water, and demonstrated how it worked. Through the process he developed, the oil is funneled into a container and clean salt water is sent back into the sea. He was told no. And why are there miles of protective boom sitting in warehouses throughout the country, idle? Why has the Governor of Louisiana not been given the authority by the Feds to build sand barriers to keep the oil off the beaches and out of prime fishing and oyster areas? Last week the Louisiana Governor authorized oil skimming barges to go out into the Gulf and start skimming oil – a process that was working. Why did the Coast Guard, under orders from the Department of Homeland Security shut down the operation, require all the boats return to harbor to be inspected for fire extinguishers and live vests? And why has the EPA, in the excuse of preventing an environmental disaster, stopped the use of chemicals that disbursed the oil and broke it down so that the microbes in the sea can eat the oil and the atmosphere can evaporate it? Isn’t the oil coming ashore a worse environmental disaster? I am not making this up. Check the stories in the press. They have reported all of this.

I could go on and on for pages and pages to show how the Administration, like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight, has bungled this entire operation – from the day one they claimed to be on top of it. But I am too upset. I cannot think of anything recently that has upset me more. Why? I saw on the news tonight that today the oil has started washing up on Panama City Beach!

Mr. President, you are on the golf course today at Andrews Air Force Base with the Vice President and several of the leaders of your Administration. Why don’t you put down your golf clubs and your incompetence, stop playing the blame game and looking for “someone’s ass to kick”, order and authorize the procedures that will allow the cleanup to begin and to “PLUG THE DAMN HOLE!”

Mariela Abigail Pritchard

In the April 2010 Home Teaching message, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, spoke of listening to promptings and acting upon those promptings. He told the story of Solomon Chamberlain who, in 1816, had a dream in which he was told that he would live to see the restoration of the Lord’s gospel upon the earth. In 1830, Solomon was traveling by boat down the Erie Cannel to Canada on business. When the boat stopped at Palmyra, NY, he was prompted to get off the boat. He did. While visiting with the townsfolk, he learned of a man named Joseph Smith and his gold bible. Solomon says that when he heard the words “gold bible”, the words sent “a power like electricity [that] went from the top of my head to the end of my toes.” He met Joseph Smith and left Palmyra with 96 unbound pages of The Book of Mormon. He traveled to Canada, using the manuscript to teach of the restored Gospel. Solomon was present on that day when the Church was organized on April 6, 1830. Solomon had a prompting and acted upon it and received great blessings in his life.

I am thankful for promptings. This week has been a very special one for me as a father and grandfather because my son followed promptings given to him. Eighteen months ago a story ran in the local newspapers of a 2 month old baby girl who had been admitted to a local hospital with 9 broken bones. Her parents were in jail because of the abuse of her father. My son, Brett, an attorney heard of this case and was prompted to talk to his wife, Cindy, and see if they could get this baby. They have 5 of their own children, the youngest just one day younger than the foster baby. He spoke to the judge, and they were awarded temporary custody of this baby. This was unusual since they had not been to the certification training for foster parents. After a few days in the hospital, Mariela was released and came into their home. This baby was not an easy baby because she was not only abused and broken; she was also a “special needs” child, having a severe form of mental retardation. Following several months of having the baby in their home, Brett was prompted again that the baby should go to her family – not her parents, but an aunt and uncle. I remember the day she left their home and how Brett sobbed and sobbed. As I recall, so did we. But it was the right thing.

After just a few weeks it became obvious that the aunt and uncle could not care for the baby, and the judge ordered the baby to be placed back in the full time care of Brett and Cindy. Now they not only had her, they now wanted to adopt her. But a battle was about to ensue. Though the father had already given up his parental rights, the mother had not and the possibility loomed that when she was released from jail, she would be deported back to Mexico because she was here illegally, and take Mariela with her. Brett asked the family to fast for Mariela and his family. A few days later, we heard that the mother might give up her rights. And a sometime later, she did.

On Friday, April 30, 2010, in the District Court building in Bell County, Texas, Mariela Ruby Arismendez was adopted by Brett and Cindy. Along with her adoption came her new name, Mariela Abigail Pritchard. In the eighteen months that this baby has been in the family, she has taught us a very important life lesson – to love unconditionally. Though this baby will never walk or run, never talk or do things normal children do, she had given us a great and lasting gift. My congratulations to Brett, Cindy, Brandon, Rebekah, Rachel, Austin and Eathyn… and especially to Mariela. We love you all and the Lord has blessed you beyond your greatest dreams. Thankfully, you followed the prompting.

Random Thoughts from Me

Some random thoughts from me. Meant to provoke thought, not emotional outbursts. I offer them up and for what it costs you to read, that is what they are worth.
First, I watched the debacle today in the formerly august body of The United States Senate. I was not surprised at the line of questioning by the elite committee holding the hearings on Goldman Sachs. I thought it was a fascinating show on the part of the Democrats considering that almost all of President Obama’s cabinet members are former employees of Goldman Sachs. I am also amused that the Chairman of Goldman Sachs is not only a liberal Democrat, but a personal friend of the Obama’s. No wonder the press has had a heyday with the timing of this committee and its investigation (right when the President wants the Congress to reform and regulate Wall Street). Goldman takes a hit, pays a fine of a few million dollars and is then, somehow, exempted from the new regulations, and makes billions. The old Democrat play book is to divide and conquer and right on cue they try to pit Main Street against Wall Street.

One thing I found interesting was the insistence of the Committee for Goldman Sachs to make public all the internal emails from the company. The courts long ago have determined that emails are protected by free speech and are private. Taking emails and making public only portions of them – taking them out of context – is an old trick used by the Congress politicos of both parties, and the press. I wonder, if the Congress can force Goldman Sachs, a private company, to make public its emails; if we could make all 100 members of the Senate, who are public servants and whose emails belong to We, the People, make public their emails. I would venture they would not because they contain the very same embarrassing type content that is in the Goldman emails.

Secondly, and much shorter. I am aghast at the county I have called home, where I was born and raised; Santa Clara County, California. It seems that the all knowing SCC Commissioners have deemed McDonald’s Happy Meal toys to be fattening and dangerous to our young children. I wasn’t aware that toys contained calories or fat. Now certain meals containing more than a specified number of fat grams and calories cannot be served with toys (fries yes, plastic, no). The Nanny Statists feel that children are eating the fatty meals to get the toys, and that by eliminating the toys; children would not eat those meals and get fat.

May I suggest something else? As little as a generation ago, when my children were young, they were outside playing football, basketball, tag, or any number of activities that involved lots of running and jumping. We didn’t have the obesity problems in children then as much as we do today. Now if I ask my grandchildren if they want to play football, they do --- on X-Box or PS3. If we want to get our kids back in good health, banning a cheap toy from a Happy Meal won’t do it. How about parents being parents and turning off the X-Boxes, hand held games, and texting telephones, and doing what my mother did –running them outside and having them play hard. Turn off the games and soon they would be tossing the football. Would it really work? I say, why not give it a try.

A Fire in the Pature 2009

It started earlier this year than in other years. In fact, it has been going on since last year’s fire in the pasture was drowned in the rain. The excitement of the Thanksgiving holiday over the years has grown, until this year’s fire is more of a “fire in the belly” than a “fire in the pasture”. For sure, there will be a fire burning in the pasture for the kids to poke and stoke, but I am talking about the fire in the boys and some girls to be out on the hunt. The closer we get to our annual trek to the small farm in Arkansas, the more the talk and the bigger the stories. Since last year’s bust in the woods, a lot of hunts have taken place. Deer stands have been built and put on Texas deer leases. Hunts have taken place on private lands that have not been hunted in many years. And visits to the small farm in Arkansas have been extended in order to help Shawn put more deer stands up for this year’s hunt. This year there is not a deer within all of southwest Arkansas that is safe! Boys with guns --- thru the centuries, nothing has changed.

It doesn’t seem that long ago when Thanksgiving was about the dinner; and the dinners were served on plates with roses on them and sterling silver utensils to eat with. Pink stemmed goblets, and later, rose covered glasses held the water. The hamburger bun dressing was done to perfection and the pies were baked and ready to eat. The bell was rung and kids and grandparents sat around the Capitola table and we gave thanks and ate till we were thankful for Rolaids. And that was before the dessert! There was roasted turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy and a colorful array of wiggly, jiggly molded salads. Those Thanksgivings will always have a special place in the hearts of those of us who sat at that table and loved those dinners.

Our annual family reunion Thanksgivings reminds me of the Thanksgivings of my childhood. As a child, we had our Thanksgivings at the beach, in the Capitola house, sitting around that same Capitola table, or the two or three kids tables sitting in the living room. We didn’t have a fire in the pasture, but we had a river on the beach and a wharf in the ocean. It was November and the weather was not unlike what we have now in Arkansas; some years we had warm sunny days, and some were chilly and rainy. We took them all and loved every minute. We ran in the sand and “sailed” our ships from the end of the wharf. And those dinners – oh my gosh…. Such delights as dry turkey and two kinds of dressing – wet and dry! Mom’s getting up and putting the turkey in the oven at 2 AM for a noon dinner…turkey cooking right up to putting it on the table. Mom’s apple and pumpkin pies and Aunt Dee’s pecan pies topped off the dinner. And the slice of apple pie swiped after dinner and put under the bed for later. I would be willing to bet that many pieces of pie were found when the mom’s cleaned the house before closing it up when we all went home. And the memories that have lasted a lifetime to those of us who were the children of the Capitola Thanksgivings.

The key to those Capitola Thanksgivings is the same as the key to our Arkansas Thanksgivings – kids. All we do is for them – to make memories that will last into adulthood and will become the stories of the Thanksgivings of their youth. For some, it will be their first buck, and for others, the first time they drove a 4 wheeler. As I look forward to our trek to Arkansas in just a few days, I am excited to watch the older boys playing with the fire or their DS’s; to watch the girls talk moms and aunts into taking them to the mall, or to give the boys pointers on tending the fire. I am anxious to put on my boots and pick up my walking stick, and take the hands of 2 and 3 year olds and take them for walks with Mimi to see the horses, cows and chickens. This is turning into a GREAT Thanksgiving….a wonderful Fire in the Pasture that will give us a warm glow for the rest of our lives. And like our lives continue, so will this post!