Footprints . . .

. . . are important to me.

Many people leave footprints, too many leave none. Some are vivid, some are faint. Most footprints add to the common good. Unfortunately, others do not. Some even detract from that common good.

Artists may consider their paintings or sculptures to be their footprints. For writers and poets, it's books, poems and stories. For parents, it may be children. For engineers, it may be buildings, highways, bridges or pipelines. I guess that's why I became an engineer. I always hoped to leave footprints, and I have. I now have one more.

When I began working for the U. S. Navy in 2002, my assignment was to plan for the facilities for five new helicopter squadrons. That's ALL facilities. Hangars, training buildings, parking aprons, runways, helipads, fueling stations, armories, warehousing.

Since Uncle has very detailed planning and execution processes, it takes a while to results that you can touch and feel. After six years, my first footprint at Naval Station Norfolk is a reality. This building houses flight and weapons simulators, classrooms and offices for the folks who train our helicopter pilots.

To most who drive by, it's just another building. It's not. It's a piece of me.

Iron Chef Bulldog . . .

. . . requires harmony in the kitchen.

Tonight, I'm cooking Mandarin orange beef with vegetables for Mrs. B, Lisa and TLK. I've also gathered rice, sushi springrolls and a touch of FuKi plum wine.

To ensure harmony, the ingredients are becoming acquainted before preparation. The beef is excluded to prevent diversion of the karmic flow . . . either that, or I forgot to set it out.

Nihonto and hachimaki are not required for Chinese cuisine.

Baconjutsu sensei to yondekure . . .

. . . or words to that effect.

Lisa, Mrs. B and I had BLTs for dinner this evening, and there was simply no other way to prepare them. TLK had, well, whatever TLKs eat, plus watermelon.

Window peeper . . .

. . . pun intended.

This little guy was staring in our back window last evening. We don't have nearly as many songbirds hanging around as we did in Kansas City. That's probably because the subdivision developers around here clear-cut the trees, and we live in the middle with only saplings in the yards.

Since Jane asked, I chased him down on Google. He's a male Carduelis tristis, aka the American Goldfinch, wearing his summer breeding plumage.

We also have some hummingbirds hanging around, but I haven't been able to capture them on film . . . er, I mean chip yet.

Why is it impossible . . .

. . . for a woman to wrap up an extension cord?

Insensitive idiot . . .

. . . rhymes with Obama.

Well, actually it doesn't, but there's a point to be made. Despite the adulation of the media, who have anointed him as the second coming, the more I hear from him, the more I just want to barf. During his Euorpean tour, this:

Sen. Barack Obama scrapped plans to visit wounded members of the armed forces in Germany as part of his overseas trip, a decision his spokesman said was made because the Democratic presidential candidate thought it would be inappropriate on a campaign-funded journey.

Barack, (and I won't dignify this with a "sir" or a "Senator") when is it inappropriate for a U. S. Senator to visit wounded troops? If you were worried that it would have been taken as a media event, leave the cameras, the network anchors, and the rest of the adorati on the bus, and just tell them you care.

Stop wetting your finger and sticking it in the air to see which way the wind is blowing, you putz.

And now . . .

. . . a guest blogger.