In Flanders Fields

By Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

• At the Veteran’s Day ceremony at Girlie Bear’s school yesterday, I noticed something:
  • The World War II combat veteran had four ribbons.
  • The Vietnam War veteran colonel of artillery who went on to serve over 20 years on active duty had four rows of ribbons.
  • A couple of the more recent veterans had a tower of ribbons on their chest that went almost to their shoulder boards.
  • Not saying they don’t deserve everything they get, because they truly do, but I just thought it was odd.
• An afternoon at the range is a wonderful thing.
• When the RSO stops talking during the safety brief and glares at you and your girlfriend, maybe it’s time to stop talking loudly about your friend and how drunk she got last night.
• That steel target I put together from scrap steel  will occasionally stop a 5.56 round, and .22 bounces off it very well.  Knob Creek has changed their policy so that I can bring it close enough to reliably hit it with a .22 rifle, so I think it will be going to the range more often.
• Our yearly family ritual of gathering up the leaves in the yard is almost done.  They’ve been mulched and bagged.  Tomorrow, they go into a compost pile with kitchen waste and grass clippings, and by the spring should be good dirt for the garden boxes.
• Irish Woman had a nice long talk with a ‘mixologist‘ last night about how to make infused bourbon.  I guess I’ll be picking up a couple extra bottles of Woodford Reserve this week.
  • The cocktail he made last night included Jack Daniels, honey, and other yummy things, so he knows of which he speaks.
  • Leave it to the Irish Woman to come away from an event , which had me offering to marry my youngest son into the chef’s bloodline in exchange for their recipes, with a method to improve booze.
• Halloween is officially over when you put the last of the decorations in the attic and throw out what remains of the candy.

Sorry for the light content the past week or so.  I’ve actually written quite a few things, but I deleted them, the digital version of tossing your half-assed attempt at a fantasy novel in the fireplace, because they went from semi-funny rant into bitter diatribe.  I got rid of them because, to be perfectly honest,  there are enough bitter diatribes out there already, and I don’t want to be part of the problem.  If I can’t say anything nice, or at least wittily sarcastic, then I don’t say anything at all.

Here’s what I spared you from:

• Thoughts on the loss of Ken Cuccinelli and the victory of Chris Christie, and what this may mean for conservative candidates in 2014 and 2016.
• The difference between a social conservative and a fiscal conservative, and why the Republican leadership seems to be terrified of either one.  The term “phony boloney jobs” kept going through my mind as I wrote it.
• The opinions of a college professor from Maryland, and how I wish he would explain the irony of a descendant of African slaves complaining about the militarism of the nation that freed them from their chains through military force.
• The ‘bullying’ behavior of a man paid millions to play a child’s game, and how it casts a bad light on football in general.
• Obamacare in general, and the strange way that the media seems to be turning on him, at least a little.  Hint:  He doesn’t matter electorally anymore, so it’s safe to beat up on him a tad.  Plus, it paves the way for their next chosen candidate to distance herself from the administration.
• Why radio program directors who change three of the six radio stations I have programmed into my truck’s radio over to 24 hour a day Christmas music almost two months before the fat man comes around with his sack of loot ought to be dragged through the streets and left to rot in the public square.
• Life, the universe, and everything.

I’m going into my dark and bitter time of year, but  I’ll try to keep things light, or at least civil.

• Every time I try to get out, I just get drug back in .
  • I only wish I had more time to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish crusade.” – Morticia Addams
• Girlie Bear thought I was weird when I was singing the refrain to this song in Russian.
  • The things you figure out when you’re bored and surrounded by language geeks.  We used to sing REM songs in Russian too.
• Crash has been removed from the cone of shame.  He spent about an hour getting his hair just right, then proceeded to lose his little mind for the rest of the day.
• I took the plunge and put a new shotgun on layaway.
  • A basic Mossberg 590A1 will be joining the family shortly.
  • This may be the gun that forces me to get a second, larger gun safe.
• Note to interface designers – changing the name and placement of a button or menu choice just because you can is going to cause unspeakable things to happen to you in the afterlife, and I hope I’m there to witness it.
• Boo started sounding out words today.  I guess the days of spelling out things we don’t want him to understand will soon come to an end.
  • Time to teach Irish Woman another language.
  • Kentucky doesn’t count as another language, although that point may be arguable.
• Boo announced yesterday that he is a Kentucky Wildcats fan.  His mother never looked so proud.
• There’s a special kind of parental love that gets you out of the easy chair and out into the dark night to deliver cookie dough orders.