Working on the Engine

 

This morning there was a photograph of an airline mechanic standing on top of a ladder while putting what looked like Duct Tape around the front of the jet engine.  The likelihood of Duct Tape being used for that particular function is minimal at best; but it might have caused a mild panic for passengers looking on.

Back in the early 1970s, while on my way back to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina (it might have been Ft. Gordon, Georgia, to complete Military Police School), I was awaiting a delayed flight out of IAH in Houston.  The delay had something to do with one of the four jet engines as I watched the mechanic standing on a huge ladder as he went over the schematic printed on the engine cover which was propped open.  His finger followed the diagram to a certain point whereupon he’d turn his head and try to follow the information offered by running his finger across the jet engine.  He did this several times; each time a scowl crossed his face as he grimaced in dissatisfaction.

He had my attention.

While talking into a portable radio, he again ran his finger along the schematic diagram while listening to the instructions being offered.  He repeated the ritual of feeling his way across the jet engine which didn’t match up with the diagram; his finger stopped as if there was a hole preventing it from moving further.  He put the jet engine cover down, similar to slamming the hood on a car in anger, and fastened the screws that held it in place; not having done anything other than shake his head in disgust.

My attention to his every action was intense as I followed his getting off the ladder and his using the stairs that led up to the passenger jetway.  After getting his attention, blocking his forward progress by standing in such a way as to make it impossible for him to ignore me, I asked if the plane was okay to fly. 

His answer did not put me at ease.  “Oh, these newer planes fly just as well on three engines as they do on all four.”  He probably thought that was a clever comeback line as he walked away, thinking that he’d have a good laugh once he reached the employee’s break-room.

I, on the other hand, was about to fly across the county in an airplane that had been delayed for about an hour and a half.  From what I could tell, nothing had been done to correct whatever had been the cause of the delay.  Aside from that, the odds of meeting up with my connecting flight were slim. 

About the only positive mark was that all the seats in Coach were filled and they had to put me in First Class.  One of the perks of being in First Class…speaking as a young Private in the Army who had never flown First Class…they served alcoholic beverages at no charge from the moment the doors closed until the airplane reached its final approach into Atlanta.  I got ‘properly snockered’; I believe that’s the appropriate term.  I figured if the plane was going to crash, I was going to be smashed before anyone else. 

Amazingly, the flight across country caught a terrific Jet Stream which pushed the arrival time making it possible for me to catch my connecting flight.  I hurried across the airport and was happy to see the connecting flight had also been delayed due to mechanical issues.  Running through the airport with a heavy buzz was a new experience; plowed would be a more accurate description, I was plowed.

They boarded everyone onto the plane while a team of mechanics dressed in overalls continued with their repairs.  I managed to engage one of them in conversation and found that something wasn’t working with the air conditioning system.  I told him about needing to get back to base to avoid being late and not to worry about the air conditioning.  He explained that the air conditioning and passengers being able to breathe were all part of the same system. 

Looked like we might have to wait for repairs; I was going to be late reporting back in, about two hours late.  I took a bus back to base around ten o’clock; it was raining, just perfect.

The Duty Sergeant listened to my lame excuse for being late, observed my alcohol induced state of readiness along with my sincere attempt to sober up.  He determined the situation really was out of my hands as I stood before him with my travel bag and paperwork.  Instead of writing me up he assigned me to work a guard post the remainder of the night. 

As I stood guard that night it might have been nice to have a roll of Duct Tape, something to hold me up till sunrise.

 

What Would You Recommend?

My sister lives just outside of Durango, Colorado, on a beautiful piece of property in a valley surrounded by mountains and plateaus covered with all manner of scrub brush and trees. She’ll send me pictures of wildlife wandering across their property to include Elk, Deer and even Bobcats. In turn, I’ll send her images of our property along with pictures of our dogs and cats.  This is about the best we can do because her location is fairly remote and her telephone reception is terrible.

That said, she used her land line phone to call me yesterday after having noticed a couple of voice mail messages I’d left on her cellphone.  She was excited for us; having heard about the rare snow storm we’d had and wanted to know how much snow had fallen in our area.  I’d actually measured the depth using the accumulation on the roof of our car, six inches.  It turns out we, here in Buffalo, Texas, had gotten more snow than they’d gotten in southwest Colorado from this same storm.

The conversation turned to our being without electricity due to the storm and how we couldn’t watch shows on television with the internet out; however, we have a wonderful collection of movies on DVD.  I almost forgot; the DVD player wouldn’t work without power either, that pesky electricity thing again. 

She wanted us to recommend some movies to watch based on our mutual criteria, movies that really are worth watching.

I’d mentioned that if my son gets excited about a movie and recommends it to us, there’s a pretty good bet the movie isn’t worth watching since it won’t have much of a plot while depending on plenty of gratuitous sex and/or violence to carry the audience through it.  My sister was laughing at my description of the garbage being foisted off on the public as entertainment.

While this conversation was on going, we were looking at our collection, some of the better movies we’d recommend watching, movies that touched our hearts and minds enough to say they were of value.  I won’t bore you with a list; but will say that as we mentioned titles along with some of the key actors, my sister quickly added her approval, acknowledging each as better than average, outstanding or some similar recognition that we shared similar tastes and qualifications when it comes to what we’ll recommend to each other.

That brings me to the assigned topic, Being Recommended to the Lord, as we heard in last October’s General Conference talk given by Elder Rasband.  Many of you will remember how the COVID-19 pandemic created the unusual situation whereby the First Presidency of the Church came up with physical distancing directives which included shutting down Temples to avoid spreading the virus.

We figured this would last only a short while; but as weeks turned into months our ability to attend the House of the Lord becomes more and more a memory of things past rather than something we can put on next week’s calendar.  Some of us haven’t glanced at our Temple Recommends in quite some time; why bother since we can’t attend…

Temple Recommends are issued with a two-year expiration between required application for renewal.  We look forward to meeting with our Branch Presidents, Bishops and Stake Presidents for the opportunity to repeat our commitment to live up to the standards the Lord has outlined in order to enter His Holy House. 

I say we look forward to this opportunity and yet, since we can’t actually go to the Temple during these interesting times, some of us don’t consider it all that important to make sure our Temple Recommends are current and up to date. 

A Temple Recommend isn’t simply a ‘hall pass’ that let’s you get past the front door; no, it’s validation that you are on the covenant path striving each day to be the kind of individual the Lord wants you to be.  He’s more than aware of our struggles and daily failings; but understands these mortal frailties.  He expects us to repent of our shortcomings and move towards being worthy to hold the title Child of God.

During his Conference talk Elder Rasband shared the following story.

“My father-in-law, Blaine Twitchell, one of the best men I have ever known, taught me a great lesson. Sister Rasband and I went to visit him when he was nearing the end of his mortal journey. As we entered his room, his bishop was just leaving. As we greeted the bishop, I thought, “What a nice bishop. He’s here doing his ministering to a faithful member of his ward.”

I mentioned to Blaine, “Wasn’t that nice of the bishop to come visit.”

Blaine looked at me and responded, “It was far more than that. I asked for the bishop to come because I wanted my temple recommend interview. I want to go recommended to the Lord.” And he did!

 

That phrase, “recommended to the Lord,” has stayed with me. It has put a whole new perspective on being interviewed regularly by our Church leaders…”

I had a similar experience a few years ago when I went with another priesthood holder to give a blessing to a dear friend, Scott Sulski.  He had serious health issues which were life threatening; his body was literally shutting down one organ at a time.  During our visit this brother shared his testimony of the gospel with us with such strength of spirit as to defy his weakened physical state.

As we laid our hands on his head to give the blessing, we were instructed to tell him his mortal life had reached its conclusion and that he was going home.  I had never been prompted by Spirit to share such a blessing.  The look of serenity that appeared on this brother’s face assured me that he was prepared to be taken home.  Scott’s Temple Recommend was current and so he would be entering the House of the Lord.

Elder Rasband emphasized the importance of the Temple Recommend.

“Your temple recommend reflects a deep, spiritual intent that you are striving to live the laws of the Lord and love what He loves: humility, meekness, steadfastness, charity, courage, compassion, forgiveness, and obedience. And you commit yourself to those standards when you sign your name to that sacred document.

Your temple recommend opens the gates of heaven for you and others with rites and ordinances of eternal significance, including baptisms, endowments, marriages, and sealings.

 

To be “recommended to the Lord” is to be reminded of what is expected of a covenant-keeping Latter-day Saint. My father-in-law, Blaine, saw it as invaluable preparation for the day when he would humbly stand before the Lord.”

Did you catch that? “Your temple recommend opens the gates of heaven for you…” 

I have a Texas Driver’s License and keep it up to date; but that only let’s me drive my vehicle on public roads.  An old friend of mine, Gary Lewis, wrote along these lines the other day.

“I am reminded of a 1965 Ford Fairlane 500 car, that my mother allowed me to borrow during my later teen years. It was a treasured privilege, and I learned to handle it responsibly and maintain it properly. Eventually, it wore out, and would no longer function.

For a period of time, I was without a vehicle. I still had a driver's license, and still had my driving skills, but I was on foot.

 

In the same way, we borrowed our mortal bodies for a season. We each learned how to use it responsibly, and enjoyed its privileges. Eventually, it will wear out, and we will walk in the Spirit World for a season.”

 

My Temple Recommend, while similar to a Driver’s License in that it offers certain benefits, opens the gates of heaven.  Is it important to have it up to date and in my wallet regardless of whether or not I have the ability to attend a Temple? 

Getting back to the phone conversation with my sister…and having recently watched an old classic movie, The Ten Commandments, with Charlton Heston playing the part of Moses.  I’m pretty sure if I asked the Lord for a Recommendation of good movies, The Ten Commandments, would be on His list.

Here’s what Elder Rasband had to say about Moses.

“Consider when Moses climbed Mount Horeb and the Lord Jehovah appeared to him in a burning bush. God told him, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”

 

Putting off our shoes at the door of the temple is letting go of worldly desires or pleasures that distract us from spiritual growth, setting aside those things which sidetrack our precious mortality, rising above contentious behavior, and seeking time to be holy.”

{…}

I remember hearing President Howard W. Hunter in his first general conference address as the 14th President of the Church. He said: “It is the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church worthy to enter the temple. It would please the Lord if every adult member would be worthy of—and carry—a current temple recommend.” I would add that a limited-use recommend will set a clear path for our precious youth.”

In case you just walked in, or woke up…being the holder of a current Temple Recommend should be of great importance to each and every member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  If you are in the process of becoming eligible to obtain one, then strive to meet the requirements.  If your Temple Recommend is up for renewal then make sure to meet with your Branch President or Bishop in order to have the necessary interviews.

I look forward to that day when we may once again attend the House of the Lord without having to be concerned with physical distancing.  I leave this admonition with you in the Name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

I've posted this after having delivered it to the Huntsville Ward of the Conroe, Texas Stake on January 17, 2021  (As for the interesting font adjustments and formatting changes that took place; I've no idea why Blogger does that.)

Alias F U

Since becoming a member of the Retired Houston Police Officer’s group on Facebook various incidents from the past have been surfacing in my memory.  There was one time when I was sitting in court, having been subpoenaed on a DWI case that I’d made several months earlier.

While listening to the proceedings where the prosecutor and the defendant’s lawyer were up front working out some kind of plea agreement, the judge halted them while holding the arrest blotter form in his hand.  He appeared to be miffed as he pointed and had me approach the bench.

“Officer Stern, do you think this is funny?”  I honestly had no idea what he was talking about until he had the prosecutor hand me the arrest blotter form, pointing to where Alias had been filled in with “F*&^ You”.  I did smile while reading the information; but quickly reassembled my thoughts and explained to the judge why I’d entered that information.

“Your Honor, when I arrested the suspect and asked him his name that is what he told me.  I entered his name as an alias just as he gave it to me, Sir”. 

There was a slight rumble of muffled laughing from those present in the courtroom as the judge considered my response.  The judge thanked me for the additional information as he turned to the prosecutor and defense attorney to continue with this incident’s conclusion.

“This court will not accept the plea agreement as proposed.  Police officers will be treated with dignity and respect; go back and try to find a more appropriate arrangement” 

The judge smiled as he thanked me for my appearance and nodded as I left the courtroom.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you just get lucky.

New Year Surprise I’d Like to See

 

Lots of folks are waiting for the January 6^th showdown where President Trump’s team of lawyers will find out if they will be permitted to present evidence of the corruption used to steal this last election, an election which so many have claimed was legally won by Joe Biden.  Rather than go into that at this time, there is a much larger surprise I’d like to see.

Sometime between today and January 6^th I would gladly turn on the news to hear that a military tribunal had been authorized, sealed indictments were being carried out and that individuals who were involved in the attempted overthrow of our government had been arrested.  The “fit would hit the shan” as those involved with these treasonous actions looked for cover, only to find that with each arrest, those arrested were spilling their guts in order to obtain leniency for their minor role by snitching out those in charge.

Eventually the big fish would be looking for one-way airfare to countries with a Non-Extradition policy.  They would have packed and silently vanished like a fart in the wind.

Dang, that was a neat dream to wake up to here on the second day of 2021.

My Best Play in High School Baseball

This past week I’ve been enjoying a Christmas present from my sister, the history of Baseball, a set of DVDs put together by Ken Burns.  Having loved baseball, playing sandlot ball with my friends and practicing in a neighbor’s back yard until the sun went down and we could no longer see the worn-out baseball, a ball we’d salvaged with black cloth tape to hold it together; baseball has been an important part of my life.

Baseball was a means of getting through childhood, a chance to be the greatest ball player in history as long as imagination opened that door to the future. Mike Palermo and I tossed the ball to or at each other for hours on end.  We could hear the voice of Mel Allen, as if he were paying attention to our antics, announcing each dive at a sharp grounder, the pivot and transfer of the ball, each impossible toss over to first base.  Top Yankee scouts were on hand waiting for a chance to sign us, holding up our uniforms with pin-stripes; that’s how good we were in Mike’s back yard.

In Little League, I played for B and B Sunoco one year, then the next for Pittsburg Plate Glass before my family moved to Houston, Texas.  That was the same year the Mets and Colt 45s became expansion teams so it was easy to make Houston my replacement “favorite” team.  The Yankees would have to be number two from then on.

Next came high school baseball where I learned that some guys could play the game better and I had to accept that perhaps Cooperstown was only a pipe dream. 

I did actually get to be on the high school baseball team for Madison Senior High, their B team; but it was still a chance to play.  I’d watch the really good ball players and figured out fairly quickly that openings for the next level up were not in the cards.

I wasn’t a power hitter, not much of a threat unless you counted singles or an occasional double.  I threw sidearm to three-quarter overhand which drove coach Ashmore nuts.  It didn’t matter to him that my throws were accurate to first base; he said I was hiding the ball, making it more difficult for the first baseman to see.

I was playing Shortstop and threw a ball sidearm style over to first, again.  Coach Ashmore shook his head as he said something towards the dirt.  He then took the Fungo bat, tossed a ball into the air preparatory to hitting one over my head so that I’d have to go chase it down and made contact with the ball.

Normally such a swing would have launched the ball in a sweeping arc far into left field where I’d have to run to the fence and retrieve it, a reminder not to throw side-armed while playing infield.  Instead, the ball was hit on a line several feet above my position; but I timed its flight perfectly as I leaped, fully extended and snagged it, my body suspended momentarily high above the playing field.  I’d caught it cleanly, much to his surprise, and a huge smile graced my face as I landed, tossing the ball joyfully back to him.

Coach Ashmore wasn’t as pleased as I was.  He may have acknowledged my singular act of athleticism; but that didn’t keep him from attacking another ball with his Fungo bat, this time making sure the ball reached the fence. 

Here I am, in my seventieth year on this spinning planet and this one play came to me as the best play I’d ever made…and it made me smile for having done a great job.  I find that more than remarkable.

You may have guessed by now; I was never that good at playing the game of baseball.  That hasn’t deterred my love for the game; I still savor nearly every aspect of it.  What my experience as a mediocre ball player in high school did was point out the reality of life and how we should appreciate those moments when everything does go right.  For most of us, that doesn’t happen all that often.  

At the end of the year, I got a “Letter Sweater” since I was a member of the team and it’s still hanging in the closet next to the Dress Greens I wore as a member of the U.S. Army Reserves. For some reason I no longer fit into that uniform; it must have shrunk.

Do you want to hear about my best shot in the game of golf?  It involved hitting the hubcap of a passing car…Never mind…

Toenails and Super Glue

 

I don’t have sufficient funds to go and let professionals perform various services which means I’ve learned to become industrious and creative.   Take for example this morning when I jabbed my big toe into the base of a piece of furniture tearing up a portion of the toenail.  If I had plenty of money and the inclination to do so, I’d go see a podiatrist and let that individual remove or repair the damaged portion of toenail.

But there’s quite a bit of Scotch and German ancestry working against wasting hard earned money; I’ll fix it myself.  …And in the past, I’ve been successful repairing this kind of minor damage.  We keep a small sheet of clear flexible plastic, the kind that wrap small items onto a piece of cardboard when you purchase those items.  I’d cut a piece of plastic into the shape of a which ever nail had been damaged, sand the edges down and then place a few drops of Super Glue on the nail.  A few minutes of pressing and waiting; good as new and twice as strong.

A little more sanding around the edges and you can put a pair of socks on without snagging the torn-up nail.  That was the plan this morning…and it should have worked, having done it many times in the past. 

I opened a fresh tube of Super Glue, cut out a piece of plastic, shaped the plastic to contour with the nail and was satisfied that all was ready.  While sitting on the edge of the bed I made sure to have a couple of Kleenex tissues handy just in case along with a three by five index card to place the opened tube of Super Glue to prevent any from getting on the night-stand table.

The Super Glue covered the broken nail; but it also managed to spill over and coat the side of my big toe while I was applying the pre-cut plastic toenail covering.  That’s when I noticed the glue had also failed to unite with the top of the toenail or the plastic; however, it had come in contact with my fingertips.

While wiping away the glue that had managed to stick to the fingertips, the Kleenex stuck to my fingers and then, in turn, stuck to the fingers on my other hand.  (stop laughing, it’s not over yet)

The old solution for removing Super Glue was to apply Nail Polish Remover; but the new and improved Nail Polish Remover does absolutely nothing to Super Glue.  Apparently, they’ve changed the formula to get along with the Save the Earth crowd.  Fortunately, we do have some Goo Gone that comes in a can similar in appearance to the old Lighter Fluid products.

I was able to free the big toe from the one next to it, remove the particles of Kleenex from the top of my toenail and from my hand.  I then got some paper towels from the kitchen and squirted a healthy portion of Goo Gone onto the neatly folded paper towel.  That stuff has a powerful odor; but does a great job dissolving Super Glue from between stuck toes and fingers.  I also used it to remove the Super Glue from all the other locations.

The chunk of toe nail that got snagged had become welded back down so as to be reattached to the toe.  I then sanded the rough edges down and came to a realization, no plastic covering was needed this time.  I then sanded off Super Glue that had dried on the sides of my toes and fingers as was permitted without sanding down to blood vessels. 

Christmas Magic

 

There was a challenge handed out the other day, what did your family do at Christmas?  A handful of memories floating around so I’ll start with writing a wish list.  This was done either on Thanksgiving or very soon thereafter.

We’d jot down, in our very best handwriting, items we considered worthy of asking Santa for. It didn’t matter if the requests were based in reality; but as a rule, these items had been seen on television or in one of the many catalogs, catalogs which many folks referred to as Wish Books.

After completing the assignment we’d place our lists on a plate along with some cookies and a bottle of Coca-Cola.  The idea was to make sure the Big Guy was rewarded for having traveled over to our house and considered our requests.  We were told that Santa wore magic mittens and that while holding up our notes to be read, those mittens would catch the pieces of paper on fire; proof that he’d read them would be ashes left on the plate.

We didn’t need an alarm clock to get up the next morning as we all raced to the dining room table to witness the miracle which had occurred during the night.  There would be a scorch mark on the china and a small clump of burnt up ashes.  It was the beginning of the Christmas Season, official and verified.

My folks must have been gluttons for punishment as they’d also told us that Santa was the one who decorated our Christmas Tree, that all we had to do was pick out a good one, keep it watered out behind the garage until Christmas Eve and then haul it inside to the living room; Santa would do all the rest.  Once the tree was in the living room it was easy to convince us to get to bed.

I should mention that I learned some of my locksmith trade vocabulary from my father, who never was a locksmith, as he struggled to get the trunk of the tree to fit inside the classic tree stand.  Apparently, other trades, auto mechanics and carpenters come to mind, use similar vocabulary to express frustration.  I later found these magic words remarkably similar to terms used by police officers.

I can’t imagine how late my folks stayed up that night putting lights, ornaments and tinsel on the tree as they also put together bicycles, doll houses, wrapped and sorted gifts to be put under the tree and… I almost forgot, fill our stockings and hang them at the end of our beds.  It makes perfect sense, now that I’ve gotten older, that my folks would want to sleep a little later on Christmas morning as our excitement level climbed slightly higher than the Empire State Building.

We were to wait in their bedroom while my father made sure Santa had actually come.  That translated means he went to the living room and plugged the extension cord into the wall so the Christmas Tree lights would be on when we came in.  Remember, the night before when we’d gone to bed that very same tree was bare; but as we entered the room it was dazzling, pure magic.

In my teen years, having pretty much figured out the Christmas magic thing, I remember hearing my father carefully open the door to my room as he carried a stocking to place on the end of my bed.  As he did his best not to make a sound I smiled and respectfully called out to him as he exited, “Goodnight, Santa”.  He smiled back and accepted the fact that I was no longer a little boy, and, as I recall, he even winked back. 

Taking Care of Families in Need

 

Several years ago, there was a story printed, or perhaps I might have heard it from the pulpit; some of the details have left my memory so I’ve taken ‘creative license’ to replace that which I’ve forgotten.  Accept my apology for not remembering the original author.

A congregation was asked to donate an extra portion during the Christmas Season to help families that were struggling.  The challenge was given the week of Thanksgiving with the intent of having enough money collected before Christmas to offer relief for several families; a fine meal with all the trimmings, new clothing and shoes, some toys for the children and such depending on how much money could be collected.

One family had a meeting when they got home from church to consider various ways they could help with this wonderful project.  The father said that after getting home from work he’d collect fire wood and sell it.  The mother would take in laundry and use that income to add to their contribution.  Their son said he’d collect empty soda bottles and redeem them at the store while the daughter would baby sit. 

They did this for the entire month of December leading up to the final week and collected a little over fifty dollars which they proudly handed over to their minister.  The father knew their contribution was probably smaller than most since he wasn’t one of the more affluent members of their congregation; but he wanted to know how much had been collected, thinking perhaps he could figure out a way to make up the difference by cutting down on some of his regular expenditures.

The minister sat quietly considering the moment as he tried to explain the situation in a way which would make sense. “We’ve received just over forty dollars in contributions so far, you being the only ones to have taken up the challenge.”  The minister sat silent for a few more moments before continuing his thoughts.

“You see”, he looked heavenward for assistance as he struggled to further explain, “…your family was on my short list of those who could have used a little help during the Christmas Season”. 

I’m sure there are many among us who could use the message contained in this story as we approach the day we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Five Frank Twenty Six Nights

 

A friend sent me a video link that explained how the television show, 1Adam 12, was made; details about the characters, use of actual police incidents and tidbits that might have been missed otherwise. It set my mind off on a trip into the past; having served and retired as a patrol officer for the Houston Police Department.

The last eight or nine years of service was on night shift patrol out of the Northwest Sub-Station. There were two separate shifts included with the designation, Nights; Early and Late.  Early was from 10pm through 6am while Late was from 11pm through 7am.  This would accommodate folks getting off on Evening Shift or folks coming on Day shift the following day. 

When I first transferred to Nights I was assigned Lates and it took a few months to move to Earlies.  Getting off at 6am meant a world of difference since I also was a full-time locksmith during the day.  I would joke that I got my four hours of sleep every day whether I needed it or not.  I was burning the candle at both ends and got away with it, the light at the end of my retirement schedule being already on the calendar.

I’d have to admit my mind and body were unaccustomed to working all night.  Those last couple of hours were torture as I strained to stay alert to the end of shift.  I remember the first week riding by myself and pulling off to the side of Antione, pretending to set up on an intersection to catch red light violations.  Actually, I was so tired I was fighting just to stay awake as the pre-dawn hours clicked away.

You can imagine my panic when I was awakened by a beam of light coming through the front window of my patrol car, the sun had been up; but for how long?  Shaking the cobwebs from my head I realized I’d fallen asleep and should have already gone home.  I drove to the station, filled up the patrol car with gas and walked in the back door. 

The Station Sergeant greeted me, half laughing since he knew I was new to night shift work.  “You can’t fill out an overtime request for… over sleeping’, pausing as he finished those last two words.

He had me and all I could do was blush for proving I was human.  If you’ve never worked night shift then hold your judgement; it takes considerable time and effort to get your body accustomed to it.  I don’t think I ever mastered that part of life.

Each night when most officers would look for a place to have a meal; instead, I’d go find a quite secluded spot to park my patrol car.  I’d call out as if at a place to eat to make it official and then take a thirty-minute nap. 

I did this for several years until my supervisors got on a war path looking for a way to make things difficult.

I should backup and explain that we’d gotten a new Captain, the same guy who’d tried to get me fired for insubordination several years earlier when I was working downtown; but that’s a whole other story…

I was comfortably setup, protecting a warehouse loading dock from potential burglars, when the Sergeant tapped on my window with his flashlight.  He accused me of calling out at a fictitious location; but in actuality I’d simply used the hundred block address from the Stop and Go store on the other side of the intersection. 

In either case, it really didn’t matter since sleeping on duty was a violation, minor as it might be; but a violation of the regulations.  I suspect, and this is only speculation, that he wanted me to become insubordinate, raise my voice or some such behavior that would seal my fate.  That didn’t happen.

While at the station in the Captain’s office…doesn’t that seem strange, that the Captain would be in his office at 3am?  Where was I…while at the Captain’s office I thanked the Sergeant for being concerned for my well-being, enough that he would go searching for me when I’d already given my location to the dispatcher.

We also had a new Lieutenant who may not have had a clue as to my history with this particular Captain.  He sat listening with a puzzled look on his face, wondering why anyone would be upset with a night shift officer taking a nap while called out to eat.  I think he actually laughed when I mentioned how it touched my heart that the Sergeant was concerned for my well-being.  He could see what was going on and was impressed with my response.

Instead of getting me riled up and in deep trouble, something that in all likelihood would have gotten me fired, they placed an official letter of reprimand in my already monstrously large personnel folder.  From that night on during my last year before retiring I had to be especially careful about taking naps on duty. 

Before moving on…the Sergeant who went out of his way looking to catch me sleeping on duty; that fellow should have remembered how he’d fallen asleep in his patrol car one night in the middle of an intersection, that several police units were dispatched to an “Officer down” and that everyone laughed it off as just one of those things, that we’re there to take care of each other.  Yeah, that guy…

Moving right along…my call sign for many years on night shift was 5 F 26, pronounced Five Frank Twenty-Six as the title indicates.  Every rare now and then, when we were short-handed, I’d be assigned as 5 F 10; but with the understanding that I’d really be in the same basic area, just that I would also be covering the adjoining beat.

An hour or so into the shift the dispatcher called out, Five Frank Ten, waiting for me to respond, Five Frank Ten…still waiting and then calling out, Five Frank Twenty-Six?  It dawned on me, she was calling for me to respond as a rash of mike clicking filled the air, my fellow officers getting a chuckle.  Having a great dispatcher was one of the benefits on our shift.  She knew each officer and did her best to stay on top of her job without being bossy.

I’ve ramble on a bit; but having watched the video on 1 Adam 12 brought back so many memories.

Gratitude Expressed for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar

 

In keeping with the Prophet’s challenge to express our gratitude each day some folks have been sharing their Testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ or their thankfulness for really important aspects of life such as a loving husband, children and extended family to be around or simply the ability to call them on the phone.  I too am grateful for the more important things in life.

That said, this morning I’m most grateful for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar.  Okay, stop laughing and I’ll explain why.

We’re Puppy Sitting for my son while he and his family are out of town on vacation.  Luna is a about four months old, just a guess from how sharp her teeth are, that along with a never-ending supply of energy that is driving the other beasties nuts. 

Yesterday we let the two Senior Puppies take charge of showing Luna the property.  That translates into giving two old fogies a chance to sit back and catch our breath.  After giving her the quick tour of where to go to the bathroom, outside, since this concept apparently was new to Luna; where was I…they took Luna to our next-door neighbor’s hayfield to hunt gophers.

Our Ellie puppy is quite good at figuring out where a gopher is hiding; maintaining attention either to the smell or perhaps movement under the soil.  In any case, Ellie pounced and retrieved a nice-looking specimen, shook it victoriously and then turned the carcass over to her young apprentice. 

A couple of minutes later Luna came prancing out of the hay field, the prize being tossed in the air, shaken upon landing and then tossed again to show off her hunting skills.  I was able to capture some of her theatrics on a short video clip; but our internet connection was too slow to permit sharing that moment.

What has this got to do with being grateful for an Empty Peanut Butter Jar; I’m getting there, be patient.

Luna played with the dead gopher until it was time to come inside for the evening.  I knew that first thing in the morning; well, second thing, after taking care of ‘business, both one and two, that Luna would be looking for the dead gopher.

I was correct.  She found it and immediately began tossing it in the air, maybe to see if there was any life left in it.  Then she gnawed on it a bit, carried it up the stairs to the house and pranced around on the porch, ending up at the other end where we have a shelter built for the puppies to keep them protected when it rains or gets too chilly. That’s where she decided to drop the dead gopher.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of plastic bags, the kind you take groceries home in.  These make excellent temporary surgical gloves for picking up small dead animals; mice, rats, rabbits, snakes, armadillo; just about anything we find here on our property from time to time. The dead gopher was small and I was able to double sack it to make sure it was packaged in such a way as not to leak or permit odors to escape once placed in our kitchen trash bag.

I washed my hands with On-Guard disinfectant soap and decided it was time for breakfast.  We have some sliced Rye bread that, if lightly toasted, goes well with peanut butter and a glass of chocolate milk.  I’d gotten down to the bottom of the jar and was about to toss it into the trash when it occurred to me, and this was purely inspirational, “Use the Empty Peanut Butter Jar to place the gopher in”. 

So… now the remains of that gopher are secured within a sealed Empty Peanut Butter Jar awaiting its final voyage to the blue dumpster at the end of our private road.  Luna will have to wait for another day to learn about the joys of rolling in the carcass of a dead gopher.  That means I won’t have to give Luna a bath this morning.  So much to be grateful for in this life.

Is it really over?

 

I read a comment issued by an old friend who happens to be a Biden supporter.  She was gloating, as if her intellectual superiority in assessing issues had prevailed, prematurely I might add.  “The election process is over; the final count had been done in Georgia”.  I’ve a great deal of respect for this individual and so rather than go for her throat, a rather crude way of saying we disagree; instead I remained silent, temporarily, which is why I’m writing now.

There is room to wonder what she meant with her remark, it’s over.  In all likelihood a reference to the vote count in Georgia as reported by the major news media outlets, those honorable individuals who’ve presented their propaganda as is if it were factual information.  She believes that Georgia’s vote count assures Biden of the number of Electoral Votes needed to win.

Perhaps she was unaware of those individuals counting the votes in Georgia, the state where several batches of uncounted votes continue to surface, supposedly minor errors in the care and custody of presidential votes that had been cast on, …or even after November 3^rd.  Never mind that the Senate seat which has yet to be determined in Georgia, the outcome will determine which party holds sway for the next several years.

I’d like to think she was selectively ignorant of yet another possibility, that our constitutional republican form of self-governance was over.  I say this because if we as Americans, regardless of which candidate we would prefer to win; if we allow the corruption which has tainted this voting process to stand then we are accepting corruption willingly and without regard for the consequences.

Many on the Biden side are asking for proof of any wrong doing, any at all.  They have some kind of unrealistic idea of how to identify corruption, the intent to manipulate and control the outcome of this election. 

I’m reminded of the scene from the movie, A Few Good Men, the courtroom scene where the now famous line is uttered, “You want the truth?  You can’t handle the truth!”

Let’s work on the idea that there is a ‘preponderance of evidence’ which would indicate to a rational individual that something seriously wrong has, in all probability, occurred in the voting process.  We’ll save having to prove ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ for later. In other words, is it possible that the statistical mathematics pointing out voting irregularities just happen to match with algorithms built into a machine intended to count votes, that these 20,000 Dominion machines were not intended to alter the outcome of such a count?  

(Image of Eric Coomer found on Facebook, quote verified)

Never mind that the irregularities occurred in several states around the same time of night after it became clear that Trump was not only in the lead; but was projected to win based on the vote count prior to the unexplained ‘shutdown’.

If your answer is a flat out, No; then you’re not being honest.  Why would anyone design a machine that could be accessed from the internet by way of hidden backdoor passwords, have the ability to discount certain votes while at the same time award a higher percentage to the opponent?  Worse, why would any honest person consider using these machines, their ability to alter an election’s outcome wasn’t exactly a secret? 

The machines in question have been used to assist the outcome of elections in other countries.  The CIA and other ‘three letter government organizations’ are on record as having used them to disrupt elections in other countries. To say this is new information is beyond believable.  Some states refused to use the machines in question because the results offered could not be verified, their being unreliable and corrupt.  But this could never happen in America…

So why did 30 states, to include so called battleground states authorize the use of Dominion machines that were capable of altering election results, changing the outcome in favor of whomever had been pre-ordained to win? 

But you say, that hasn’t been proven in a court of law…  I respond with, “If you’re walking along and see a pile of mushy brown substance, you wipe it with your finger, hold it up to your nose and take a whiff, then stick out your tongue and taste it.  After having puked on the sidewalk you say to yourself, Glad I didn’t step in it”.  Are you that hard to convince that something is amiss? 

Or…are you willing to accept corruption, move on because the outcome went the way you’d hoped it would, your candidate won.? 

If that’s how you feel, then you’re probably right; it’s really over.

 

Your Mother is on the Roof

 My father had a library of stories and jokes that he’d share, usually when we were a captive audience while on a long drive.  What has this got to do with anything… I’ll get to that after sharing one of dad’s stories.

While getting ready to go on vacation Fred stopped by and asked if my dad would feed his cat and look in on his mother from time to time.  He left a key to the house along with a phone number to call should he need to get in touch.

Two days later dad found the cat had been run over while crossing the street.  He called Fred and told him, “Your cat’s dead, got run over by a car”.  Fred could hardly contain his emotions; but at the same time explained to dad that he might have softened the news a bit instead of blurting out, “Your cat’s dead”.

Fred suggested that it might have helped if, perhaps, on the first phone call dad might have said something like, “Your cat’s on the roof and I’m having trouble getting it down.  Then on the next call you could say that the cat fell and you took it to the veterinarian.  That way I’d have been more prepared for the bad news about the cat dying.”

Dad listened carefully, aware that often times he didn’t consider the feelings of others. He apologized and told Fred to enjoy the rest of his vacation.  Fred asked how his mother was taking the loss of the cat.  Dad’s response, “Your mother’s on the roof and I’m having trouble getting her down.”

So what has this odd story got to do with current events?

(Image of Biden’s Miraculous Vote Count courtesy of theredelephants.com)

If you’re only paying attention to how the results of the presidential election are being reported by major news media outlets, Twitter and Facebook then you’re in for one heck of a surprise. 

These folks have already awarded the Oval Office to Biden/Harris even though not one state has officially certified the vote count.  In the meantime, they are ignoring what may be the biggest news story of the century, that being the use of computerized voting machines to steal an election.  They are not only ignoring the evidence of fraud, they are stifling anyone who says otherwise, censoring and containing the spread of facts.

Biden/Harris voters are thinking all is well, that their side has won.  The news media is telling them, “The cat is just fine, enjoy the trip”; not even a mention that, “the cat is on the roof and we’re just waiting for it to come down”…so to speak.

“There isn’t any evidence of voter fraud.  Trumpsters with their whacked-out conspiracy theories are only clinging on to hope.  The news media certainly would have reported something, that is if there had really been corrupted voting machines.” 

But the news media has ignored the truth; swept it under the rug believing the courts would side with the news media’s having already “called the election for Biden”. 

There’s little to nothing being reported about corruption which has been identified and graphed, mathematically and statistically impossible results have been referred to as ‘glitches’, baseless claims, rather than the result of intentional programming intended to steal an election.

There is irrefutable evidence that millions of votes for Trump were flipped and magically given to Biden; and this happened simultaneously in several machines at the same moment in battleground states giving Biden a presumptive lead and the presidency; but as with Jedi mind control, “Nothing to see here, move along”.

The impossible has occurred and yet the news media refuses to enlighten the public. 

This will be painful to watch as it reaches the highest court.  Trump will be declared the winner, as he should; but what about the public that thought and actually believed the lies which the news media promoted?  They’re going to be told Trump stole the election by having a stacked Supreme Court because that’s the story the media has been repeating over and over.

Can you see where this will further divide the nation?  The propaganda outlets, having long ago given up reporting the news, continue telling the public Biden/Harris have won.

Dark days are ahead as the media sews discontent and chaos, all the while claiming we should all come together and Unite under Biden/Harris.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news; but Biden/Harris are on the roof at this very moment.