06 JUN 1944 . . .

. . . Normandy, France

Previously posted . . .

. . . on Gemmak's blog.

Over a period of about a month, I wrote this as a surprise for my daughter. Gemmak was looking for guest bloggers, so I sent it to her, as that was the last place Lisa would expect it. Kind of like the Spanish Inquisition . . . nobody expects it.

Pardon the repitition, but I'm capturing on my blog because - well, because I can.

The Little Girl . . .

. . . the first years and selected vignettes.

The Little Girl was a surprise. Not unwelcome, mind you. Never a fleeting thought of that.

Not that there wasn’t some concern. Daddy had finished his third year at university, and Mommy was working. With scholarships, Daddy’s summer job, Mommy’s work, and some student loans, they were getting by – but just barely.

The concern ended at the first heartbeat. But . . . PARENTS! How does one become a parent? Where’s the book? Where can one take a course? Is panic appropriate? We’re only kids ourselves.

Mommy and Daddy lived in a second-floor walk-up flat with hand-me-down furniture, no air-conditioning, and a bunch of critters that ran for cover in the kitchen when the lights were switched on.

This would not do. Not for The Little Girl. Daddy and Mommy cornered the landlady. Either evict the critters, or find new tenants. The critters were gone within a week. The Little Girl was not to learn “Bug on ME!” for a while. Then, Daddy made his first-ever credit purchase – a Sears window air conditioner, back when it was still Sears, Roebuck & Co.

The Little Girl made her appearance in mid-summer. Good timing that, because university was not in session and Daddy was able to continue summer work to save up for the fall semester. The Little Girl was born at 7:11 a.m. She was destined either to be very lucky – or to manage a convenience store. Daddy hoped for the former.

Vignette: In those days, fathers were not allowed in the delivery room, so Daddy waited. When the nurse told him it was a little girl, he rushed to the nursery. With his hands and nose pressed against the glass, he saw Her. Daddy cried. Of happiness, of course. First born. A Little Girl. THE Little Girl.

The Little Girl was a happy baby. Tow-headed, giggly, and with a smile that would melt a heart at forty paces. That fall, Daddy switched to mostly night classes so he could be with The Little Girl during the day, and Mommy could bring home something of a paycheck. Balancing the checkbook. Loans. Struggles. More than a few worries. But, with one wrinkly-nosed grin from The Little Girl . . . the worries didn’t matter. And, by the next summer, The Little Girl was zooming around like she owned the place.

Vignette: Mommy and Daddy took The Little Girl outside and set her in the middle of a blanket. To the little hand touching the grass it was barbed wire, and her world was an eight-foot square. She didn’t seem to mind. Neither did her blue bunny.

The Little Girl didn’t notice, but Mommy had a little surprise planned. In the fall, something called “A Little Brother” showed up. The Little Girl didn’t know what to think of A Little Brother, but within a year, she was The Big Sister, and proud of it. She still is.

Vignette: See Mommy carrying A Little Brother into the house, See Daddy carrying The Little Girl. See Daddy slip and fall in the mud in the front yard. See The Little Girl covered in mud with a puzzled look. See Daddy laugh. See The Little Girl laugh.

Two years later, Daddy graduated. He had a real job. Mommy and Daddy threw all their broken-down furniture over the balcony to be hauled off, packed up a couple of beds, a crib, a TV, The Little Girl and A Little Brother and moved. Omaha. Gateway to the west. Where The Little Girl still lives. With a Little Girl of her own.

Later, Mommy and Daddy moved. The Little Girl was older, and on her own. Then came summer and The Little Girl's birthday. It was a Wednesday. Walking through the garage at work, it was the first time they were separated on her birthday. Daddy cried . . .

Little Girls make you do that, but you wouldn't trade them for the world.

Vacation . . .

. . . more than usual.

I generally don't take more than a week at a time, but this year, I made an exception. Counting weekends, I arranged to have seventeen consecutive days off. And, I still have four to go.

Seven of those days were spent visiting #1 son in Texas. The balance hanging around home.

While in Texas, I did this:

. . . and this.

Of course, that's not all. Mrs. B and I did family stuff too. Mostly hang out, wander around the Dallas area, and have a good time with the hundreds of grandkids.

Well, maybe it wasn't hundreds.

Nothing to see here . . .

. . . move along, move along.

That's because I'm on vacation. Doing absolutely nothing, except hanging out in Texas with Son #1 & family.

Besides, I'm still seriously bummed about the untimely death of my friend Charles Heath - or, as we called him, "The Chawls."

Maybe later . . . maybe not.

Goodbye, my brother . . .

We weren't actually related, but Charles Heath was one of the true, great friends that we all have too few of during our lives. Charles died of a heart attack last night at age 48.

Charles was one of the giants in the civil war reenacting community. His knowledge of uniforms, fieldcraft, drill, rations, and the life of the civil war soldier in general, was unsurpassed.

We met only eight years ago at a reenactment in Athens, MO, but I felt like I knew him for a lifetime. We were portraying the southern-sympathizing Scotland County (Missouri) Home Guard.

It was well over a hundred degrees the whole weekend, and we called our camp "The Portals of Hell." Notwithstanding the heat, mosquitoes, poison ivy, nettles, and other nasty plants and beasties, Charles was the pillar of the company.

One of the highlights of that weekend was when Charles adapted the speech at Agincourt from Shakespeare's Henry V to our hopeless mission against the Federal troops at Athens.

It may sound corny, but it was absolutely perfect at the time.

Goodbye, my friend. Our time was too short.

Throwing things . . .

. . . at business associates.

Yep. I did.

Well, not on purpose.

It was at a meeting in a very large room full of people, including my Commanding Officer. As other people were presenting projects and being heavily questioned, I was taking notes on how to make a convincing presentation for a project that the Naval station desperately needs.

My ballpoint pen started skipping, then stopped writing altogether.

Of course, the standard solution is to grab said pen by the top end and shake it, hopefully forcing the last of the ink down to the point.

Good idea. Bad execution. That solution works best when one has a firm grasp on the pen. I didn't.

The pen sailed about fifteen feet across the room, and nearly took out the department manager whose project I was was going to present.

Surprised looks all around. Silence.

"Sorry," says I. "My pen stopped writing, and I now I'm pretty sure that wasn't the best way to fix it."

Laughter all around.

My reputation is unsullied.

And the presentation went very well, thank you.

Airfield planning . . .

. . . why bother?

One part of my job is determining how aircraft will be parked on the airfield aprons. There are very clear guidelines for distances, spacing, angles, arcs and centerlines. They're necessary for safety reasons. Wing-tip clips or propeller hits can cause very expensive damage - or kill someone.

Someone always has to color outside the lines.