What So Proudly We Hailed

Gather round, kids!
It's time for another Golden Oldie from Uncle Bill's Storybook. I originally called this one:

Sometimes You Lead by Following

I was in the United States Air Force a (very) long time ago, though I didn't actually serve with Orville or Wilbur if you're working on a chronology. And I was barely in the Air Force according to nearly all of the unfortunates who were unlucky enough to have me work for them, holding an AFSC (Air Force Skill Code) of 791X1 (radio/tv production specialist).

This was all post-mandatory conscription for the US Armed Forces. I always hesitate to say "the all-volunteer force" since to me a volunteer is more like the person who hugs Special Olympians at the finish of a track meet or who cooks hamburgers for a 2nd-grade picnic at Rocky Neck State Park or helps sort out the neighborhood's recycling bins before the big Spring clean-up.

I, and all the people with whom I served, got paid which seems to let some of the air out of the volunteer balloon (for me). Yeah, I could say "I volunteered to get paid" which reminds me of a mid-shift at AFRTS Sondrestrom when John D asked our boss TSGT Phil L. 'when will my pay raise be effective?' to which Phil replied, 'when you are.' All of us tittered like school girls.

What none of us there, later on in Germany or in a dozen other locations around the globe working for Uncle Sugar, ever found funny were the too-busy for colors asshats who would rush into a  building before the National Anthem at 0800 or who stayed in the building foyer until the last note of the "All Clear" after "Taps" had sounded and who then evacuated the area like red beans and rice losing to Montezuma's Revenge.

That people who had sworn an oath to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic, couldn't allow seventy seconds in the morning and less than that at sunset to honor the representation of the nation whose constitution they were on record as being willing to die for, drove, and still drives, me crazy (and I'm so close, I can walk and save the gas).

I'm bringing this up today of all days because today is Flag Day. On military posts and bases across the country, ships at sea on the oceans of the world, and in absolute armpit hellholes in far-flung places whose names none of us can remember or pronounce, those who wear our country's uniform are according appropriate honors to our flag today, as they do every day.

In light of the hyper-partisan idiocy that now permeates the political discourse at every level of our democracy, combined with the pig-headed selfish obstinacy with which so many of us pursue our Private Idahos (under the motto, 'devil take the hindmost') perhaps we should find a minute to be mindful and grateful for their service and choose, as do I, to accept as sincere the truth of the words offered by the always thoughtful and thought-provoking Randy Newman.

"You can stand alone, or with somebody else; or stand with all of us, together.
 If you can believe in something bigger than yourself, you can follow the flag forever. They say it's just a dream that dreamers dreamed-that it's an empty thing that really has no meaning. They say it's all a lie, but it's not a lie. I'm going to follow the flag 'til I die. Into every life, a little rain must fall, but it's not gonna rain forever. You can rise above--you can rise above it all--We will follow the flag together. We will follow the flag together. We will follow the flag forever."
-bill kenny

My Heart Is on the Left Side of My Body

I'm impressed and not in a good way by the number of folks who've insisted for nearly a year and a half that the attempted insurrection on January 6, 2021, was (pick one (or more)): "a peaceful assembly," "small in comparison to the ANTIFA/BLM riots the summer before," and/or "a nothing burger."

I call bullshit. 

To refresh your memory in case you weren't able (willing?) to watch the opening televised salvo of The Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol the other evening, here's a little archival number assembled by those known prevaricators and self-aggrandizing bastards of the GOP the New York Times.

The televised hearings resume this morning at ten o'clock, the day before the 76th birthday of the greatest grifter since P T. Barnum. And the only people who don't know that are the ones about to find out. Even the QOP true believers will have to open their eyes to reality at some point. It will not be pretty.

But I expect and suspect the process will be painful. 
-bill kenny

Never Enough Doritos

Because it's not a BIG NEWS story, it's gotten buried and mocked (which is where I come in) but even though I'll drag out every Grateful Dead and Hawkwind joke I know, and more than a few that I don't yet know, we're really and truly at the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, complete with validated parking. 

Europe’s first psychedelic drug trial firm to open in London. Wow. And why not? I started using CBD oil some months ago to take the edge off my compressed spinal discs and to dampen the noise if not completely quiet my now worn-out knee replacements from early in the first decade of this century. 

Those are baby steps, I know, and in no way comparable to the ambitious journey that's about to start in the center of London this August and the possible relief to literally millions (and tens of millions) of people who suffer from an almost infinite number of medical maladies for whom successful treatment until now has been beyond elusive. 

So yeah, I'm gonna make Alice B. Toklas jokes because emotionally I'm still about seven years of age, but I'm getting excited to live at a moment where, if we don't kill each other in wars or through disease we could be on the threshold of a dream come true.
-bill kenny

If Tom & Jerry Could See This

Despite my remonstrations against and ruminations about much of the horror our technology hath wrought (so far today, this week, in my lifetime), there are moments of sunshine and smiles. 

Like this one.

But, I gotta admit, there's a beauty and majesty in the classics, too, even upon second glance.
-bill kenny

Joe Cocker Says 'Hi!'

Driving in the middle of the day not that long ago, I passed a fellow in an electric blue Miata convertible with the top down, wearing a large hat. The fellow, not the car. Actually, I knew the driver, not that I waved or gave any sign of recognition, though the 'You're #1 with me' gesture did come to mind.

He had the Miata then when it was a new and cute little car that sort of reminded fossils like me of a classic Lotus without all kinds of pieces falling off every time you drove it someplace. (For over a century the sun never set on the British Empire and for many years the same was true of British Leyland Motors. The same nation that built Lancasters and Spitfires to thwart Hitler and his Horde for the ages cranked out Austin Metros and Triumph TR7s with little thought of tomorrow).

Based on the two seconds or so I saw him, the years haven't been kind to either of them-and between us, he had far less to lose to start with. Anyway. What had caught my eye was, on a beautiful day (and it was and we deserve as many in a row as we can get for as long as we can have them), he had the top down, to catch the rays (I'll assume). 

Except, he had a large hat on in the car, behind the wheel. To me, that defeats the whole purpose of having the top down. If you wear a hat in a car with the top down, it should be the law you must also shower while wearing a raincoat. I'm sorry, some rules are needed here. What is the point, otherwise, of having a car with a convertible top?

If you have a sensitivity to the sun, put the top down only at night or when the car is in a garage; leave the top up when you're driving outdoors (and when you're driving indoors and the indoors is a car wash) or just sell the car and buy one with a permanent roof (We have a name for a car whose roof can be lowered or removed, a 'convertible.' What should we call a car whose roof does NO tricks at all and why doesn't that car also deserve a name?). 

Or in this guy's case, lose the hat that covers your scalp and get one big enough to cover your head. Keep America Beautiful, bozo (and if it's of any solace, that's NOT what I started to type).
-bill kenny

Any Which Way But Loose

When I was (considerably) younger than I am now I had a well-developed sense of direction, at least as I recall. As I've aged I've concluded that like so much else that has happened to me, the older I get the better I was and a sense of direction, together with humor, intelligence, and manners, have all gone the way of the dodo. 

I'm the kind of person who almost arrived in New York City while driving from my home in Norwich to Derby and to this day I have no idea how that happened. And I now have Google Maps and I have no idea how many other aids to assist me and yet I still manage to adapt and overcome while getting loster faster than anyone you will ever know. 

Here's the sad part among all of the sadness: I never think I'm lost. To the frustration (and sometimes anger as well) of my wife who is a brilliant navigator, I'm indifferent to her entreaties as we drive along especially because I know I'm right, no matter what she says. And now, as it turns out, I have science on my side when I'm being obdurate.   

Or, as I tell my spouse in a vain attempt to make her feel better after finally conceding I am well and truly lost, 'but we're making great time."
-bill kenny

Mr. Watson to the Courtesy Phone

Growing up, one of the things that was a universal truth, was the later in the day a phone call came, the less likely it was to be good news. In my family as kids, we knew better than to phone home after 8 PM, no matter what, or no matter where we were. This was in the rotary dial no-such-thing-as caller-ID ear of telephones; and, of course, only landlines (a term we never used because it’s all there was).

With my 70^th birthday in the rear-view mirror I am, all the adult I am ever going to be.

The growing old part worked too well while the growing up part hasn’t really happened at all. I still get nervous entering a darkened room and will search for the light switch even if I'm only passing through. And phone calls now? I’m a cheater when it comes to my cell phone. I don’t turn the ringer on and don’t have it set to vibrate, so I miss every call. And when someone complains I tell them ‘I have a cell phone for my convenience, not yours.’

My wife and I still have a landline in our house and even with, or especially because of, caller ID, when the phone rings in the evening, I am always somewhat startled (wary might be a better word). The telephone takes two rings to display the name and number of the caller, and I stand, transfixed, waiting for that moment.

Despite 'do not call' registries, I get a lot of callers who only want to talk about expired car warranties and credit card balances, for the most part, and I’ve steeled myself to no longer answer the phone when I don’t recognize the name or number.  

However, when it’s the name and number of one of our children in the display, I start making horror movies in my head. I mutter 'please don't be anything bad' at least three hundred times between the second ring, which triggers the display, and the third ring which never comes because I’ve answered the phone.

Both think it's hilarious their old man breaks out in a sweat when they call him after dark. If my wife answers the phone, I pace and fret within eyesight and earshot, lest she forgets to tell me about a cataclysmic catastrophe that has befallen one of them. (So far, so good.)

When we brought them home from the hospital, with that 'new baby smell', I used to sit in a corner of their room and watch them sleep. I was fascinated by their breathing and any and every movement they made while in their crib. I had no need for television-I had found my must-see and did so many times, for many hours, as they grew up.

As an adult, I can understand and internalize the realization that we cannot protect our children, in my case adults, themselves now, from every evil and misfortune in a world that grows scarier by the day but when the evening arrives and the phone rings at night, my rational, inner grown-up is nowhere to be found. And all the me that is there can do is stare at the ringing phone and hope the monster in the dark disappears by the time I answer.
-bill kenny