Folks,

Cold, wet and gray. That is not only an accurate description of my beard but also the weather we have this new Saturday afternoon. The rain came very early this morning and has lingered into the afternoon. If there was any visible sun this morning I didn't see any. Perhaps you are lucky and are basking in the warmth of the sun today? If so, I am not jealous, I remind myself that rainy days are good days too. 47 degrees F. will, before very long, become reversed and we will have a toasty 74 F.

Fortunately, I know when to stop typing about the weather when the sound of your yawns drown out the cries of this darned little cat in the throes of feline estrus. She kept me awake half the night. About 4 AM, I could listen to the rain falling on the roof and eventually that lulled me off to sleep. Off and on during the night the cat would come out from under my bed and start up her caterwauling again. That would instantly get my attention, usually just about the time things in my dream were just getting interesting between myself and someone who looked a lot like Penelope Cruz. It was frustrating, yet I knew the kitty cat has no control over her hormones and certainly can't help it and also because she is a rescue cat and still essentially feral minded, That means there is nowhere else in the house she can go. I'm the only one here she trusts. If she didn't petrify the two male cats downstairs she would just get in the "family way" and that would not be good. She scares the crap out of the kids. I am however pleased that Zeana shows small but clear signs of a slow but progressing domestication.

Today is a good day, as I said. It is a good day to just lie back and fill my mid with fond memories of flights for real and flights of fantasy I've enjoyed so much in the past. The closest I get to the sky these days is coming up the stairs to my bedroom and looking out a window. Today, I must remind myself that somewhere up there beyond those dense, low hanging clouds, the sky is still blue and the sun continues to shine warmly down. I have always been fascinated by the sky. That enchantment with what is always up goes back as far as I can remember and I can remember a looonnnng way back my friends. In fact, my first memories are while I was still in the crib. I could look out a window and see the clouds and blue sky, birds flying by, and perhaps an airplane though I do not remember if I did. The sky must have called to me even then. Left on an upstairs bed for the few seconds needed to fetch a clean diaper, my mom returned to a shock. She found me trying my best to unhook a window screen in hopes of getting out on the roof. I remember that and know what was in my mind. I wanted to see if I could fly.

I could not fly at that time of course and not even much later when I tied one of my grandma's bath towels 'round my neck and jumped off the back porch roof. I wasn't hurt much, just somewhat smarter and terribly disappointed. Eventually, watching those big DC 3s passing over our house headed across the river to the old municipal airport caught my fancy. I had a bike by then and one day i rode over there. I had seen various planes flying over, as I said. Once what we kids called a "Flying Boxcar" with it's twin booms that were kinda like the P 38 Lightning flew over probably from Ft. Bragg, 70 miles south. Yup, like most boys my age I knew a bit about planes, I was beginning to build scale model kits by then. A P-51D, Panther jet, FW 190, and MiG 15 were all completed and sitting on my desk. I had read about planes in comic books and library picture books. Yet that first visit to the local airport and the mysterious hanger just beyond the protective fence a stone's throw beyond the clapboard office and control building was the true beginning of a new and lifelong love affair with the airplane.

Perhaps you have a similar story you can share? We all love planes, right?

Well remember the first day I saw a big airplane with a nose mounted set of machine guns, and the more usual biplanes.
Yes, I think the Big War (WWII) might have still been on or was just over.
Also the rare car ride by the airport when you could actually see a commercial passenger plane. it seemed so far away.

Other wonders come to mind; as you mention the first time you took off in a cloudy, maybe rainy day and with just a second of warning are suddenly blinded by sunlight. That was made easier by the jet age.
I remember the contrast between the long run of a propeller-driven aircraft with its low angle of takeoff and the noisy departure of a jet and then its more acute departure angle.
The first jets were not as impressive as the later ones yet were hard to believe how quickly one could see separating from mother earth.

I remember finding a small three by five inch book that I later recognized as an Aircraft Identification Book listing the known and unclassified aircraft of the time including the British Spitfire and even the italian Air Force Macchi(?) 2000. I though it was a beautiful aircraft, but remember reading the specs that did not impress the authors. it certainly did not even compare to my favorite P-47 whose looks I thought daring.
That little book became one of my favorite possessions throughout my early years, teens and became Missing In Action during a move my mother and sister made while I was away in college.
Man, most women have no appreciation for real value.

Folks,

Man, Fittop, how right you are about the ladies. I do not like to think about it if I can help it but before I married I had a rather large 3" x 8" cardboard box filled with Tops baseball cards from the 50's and early 60's. Emphasis on the word "had". Before I went into the hospital for an operation back in the late 90's I had a large scale model of "Old Ironsides" with a beautiful paint job, detailing, furled sails and full standing rigging, plus a good job of weathering and oxidizing for the copper bottom. That was in pride of place on the mantlepiece when I left..... in a couple of boxes when I returned. Can you say the word fragile? Or "fra-geelay" as Darren McGavin pronounces it in "A Christmas Story". Frankly, I'd rather have had the frigate unbroken even if it were surrounded by two inches of dust with some potatoes growing in it.

The P47 Thunderbolt was a lot of airplane to like. Huge, powerful, rugged. Ask "Gabby" Gabreski. It took a lot of punishment and brought Gabby home except for his last flight before going home when they were attacking an airfield and he got a bit too low. He limped away so it was a good "landing" I guess. The P47 D model with the "bubble" canopy was a formidable looking fighter, indeed. It's pilots swore by it and spurned any other ride. I preferred the P51-D except for low-level strafing and bombing missions. That radiator was an easy target and made that fighter just too vulnerable for ground pounding IMHO. A lot of fellows survived those missions all the same but many did not.

It may be we might be being a bit unfair to the ladies, as in most cases they are fighting to keep what they might see as theirs clean or at least in working shape. That really seems to be a quality in almost everyone.
There was a time when I was not comfortable if there was no spot to land a toy four inches of airplane. Now I seem to be more comfortable with papers covering most horizontal surfaces.

But yep, that was definitely a turf war in my youth between a sassy two-year-younger trouble-making sister and myself. Of course, she won.
My treasured observer's manual, many books and my set of weights being collateral damage on that scrape. But then, I no longer had to put up with the drama.

I can imagine the handling of a P-47 in its sweet spot, the effort in the controls when out of it.
What would be hard would be trying to taxi it while looking around its huge nose. As in the P-51 care had to be taken with the throttle going down the taxiway. That had to be well-drilled into students from day one.

Folks,

Fittop:

Those taildraggers have a mystic about 'em. They were difficult on the taxiway to be sure. You had to zig and then zag to see in front and not chop off the tail of the plane ahead of you. I imagine when you did that a lot of folks became rather cross, especially the pilot of the other plane, and then there would be quite a bit of paperwork and explaining to sort. Of all of the warbirds, I mean the the fighters, I'd guess the P47 and the F4U Corsair were the worst in that respect, but get them up off their tail and then rotate and you were OK.

I mentioned the post-war DC3s that delivered mail and passengers to the world of my youth. What a plane that was. Known by several designations, C47, Skytrain, Dakota I believe, and the civilian DC3. They fly today. Rick Nelson somewhat mysteriously died in one. Up in Canada, Buffalo Airlines still uses them to provide air services to the isolated towns and people of Igloo country. I really enjoyed the "Ice Pilots" reality show in several seasons on the History or Discovery channel and then again on Netflix. Watch it if you ever have the chance. They fly DC3s, DC4s etc., plus newer turbo craft as well. Heck, they even had several amphibs. for firefighting in the summertime . They sold two to Turkey eventually. The ferrying of same to that country was an interesting part of the last of the long series of weekly shows.

There was clearing yesterday afternoon and that meant a colder night last night. We had heavy clouds this morning but the sun has just poked through the overcast. I sleep better when it is cool and last night I was determined to take advantage of it despite that darned cat. I found a technical workaround that miraculously saved my slumber. Now, this might be a bit too technical for some but follow along if you can. I turned the light out and the cat took that as the signal to begin singing her irritating if also plaintive song. There is usually a small metal box of Arctic Altoids on the table by my bed. Now here is the technical stuff. For some reason, I picked that up and shook it like hell. I have no idea why other than frustration. Suddenly, all was quiet but for the rattling of the little box.

The cat siren had been shut off! I said a silent prayer of thanks and one for the makers of Altoids. I went off to sleep with that box close at hand. Once or twice during the night, possibly when the cat thought she heard enemy aircraft up above, she cranked up her siren. That woke me but now I was far less frustrated. I shook the box of Altoids and the little Russian Blue forgot about enemy air, her Estrus and anything else prompting her to interrupt my deep, enjoyable slumber and my friendly dalliances with someone who looked a lot like Penelope Cruz were pleasantly resumed. I told you it was a very technical workaround.

Folks,

I have yet again watched episode 1 of "Piece of Cake" on YouTube. I notice new things every time I do. This time I noticed a Gypssy Moth in the background when the Spits are taxiing back from their first sortie. Was the theme song that haunting when POC first aired? I will possibly watch it straight through once more. The battle for France is about to begin and the BoB is not very far off.

Moggy has just done his stunt flying under a bridge. I think I stopped watching when Moggy gets killed the last time I watched the series. I suppose, like me, most of you know the whole thing by heart.

Amazing what is available on the internet these days. For years I wanted to catch PoC and finally found it. And now it is available on You Tube. Unbelievable. I've only watched it once though. Through the wonders of the internet phenomenon I spent this past weekend sulking indoors over the cold and grey weather while watching the 12 hours of Sebring sportscar race, then the members Meeting from Goodwood and finally, if I had had the stamina to go on, the Nascar race from Phoenix was dodgedly distributed on YouTube.

Folks,

It is another bright and sunny new Monday. We have 50 warming degrees of the Fahrenheit persuasion at 11:00 AM. A lovely, sunny spring day in Dixie. Due to my lazy habit when writing of actually putting a tiny bit of thought to the current and following paragraph, this will not get posted until after 2 PM.

MG:
While you were O.D.ing on the thrill of racing during your murky Danish weather this past weekend I was still beavering away on this little notebook trying to get it sorted. I think I have it worried. It is now dreadfully slow and I attribute that to all the various tendrils of Comodo entangling then checking each and every byte. That is why I am considering uninstalling it though it worked well. I only have 1 gig of RAM in this otherwise sweet little thing. Looking at this notebook brings to mind my friends in Canada whom, though I have lost touch with, I think fondly of them every day. Yes, indeed, there is much more available to distract us from healthier things like, like..... well, \i can't think of any at the moment but there must be some. I'll have another handful of junk food and try again.

Anybody recall what happened to that Chinese aerobatics instructor Won Wing Lo who was, for 4 weeks, on loan to us from Chang and his wife? She was only about four feet short and a bit farsighted but she could fly that Curtiss Hawk II biplane of hers.

Rumor had it she had once shot down a high-ranking Japanese officer trying to sneak un-escorted into a secret airbase unnoticed. The Betty bomber he was riding in popped out of dense cloud just as Won was about to turn about which was the signal for her flight to RTB. It had been an uneventful patrol. She had no radio on her Chinese fighter. No way of alerting the other members flying in their customary loose formation.

Rolling over, Won split-essed and swiftly fell upon the hapless bomber all her guns blazing. Being farsighted, the closer she got to the enemy plane the less she could see clearly. The Betty was on fire and still making a valiant attempt to land when Won’s guns ran out of bullets and her prop began to chew off its tail. Down went the Betty. Down went the officer and crew. Down went Won in her chute. Down went Won’s Curtiss biplane.

Won landed not more than 100 yards from where the Mitsubishi bomber lay burning. There was only one survivor, the Japanese pilot. To Won he was no longer an enemy he was now an injured POW. She dragged the semi-conscious man for miles until they were picked up by a friendly patrol. Won returned to her base where she was greeted as a heroine. Her prisoner, she was told later, had survived and sent her his deep thanks. Typically, Won thought no more about it.

When she got to us, all weighted down as she was with all manner of serious looking Chinese gongs, we all marveled at her ability to even raise her tiny 4-foot frame from a chair carrying all that extra weight. But carry it she did along with an additionally equal weight of pride. That pride was justified we soon learned for what a pilot she was.

I have never in my life before or since seen anyone climb out of an open cockpit and stand on a wing just as their plane reached its maximum altitude in a perfect hammerhead stall maneuver. She told me that to get her to try that the first time they tied a thousand yen note on one of the wing struts. She still had it framed.

Then there was that incident in the Studley Grange WW1 Memorial Railway tunnel. Some clown (yes, I am looking at you Dux, and with good reason). Some thoughtless chap bet the Chinese pilot a quid she couldn’t fly through that tunnel at midday. Two important things were somehow woefully omitted in the information given her. I’m looking at you again Dux. Do not avert your eyes. One: A troop train was usually due about that time of the day and Two: On that particular day there were two workmen busy making some minor repairs deep inside.

Although Won had taken the trouble to measure the width of both ends of the tunnel to make sure it was wide enough for the Hawk’s wingspan to comfortably fit she overlooked a few things. We learned about those few overlooked things regarding the railway tunnel and the Curtiss Hawk that eventful day. One: The tunnel is indeed two feet wider than the Hawk’s wingspan. Both ends are in fact. .Two: After several yards that expanse narrows a bit. Three: At either end of the tunnel there is an almost imperceptible bend.

To her undeniable credit, Won got the biplane into the south end of the Studley Grange WW1 Memorial Railway Tunnel. Just having the stup...idio.... dum.... blind courage and skill to try were more than enough for me. I was pulling for her, sorry Dux. In went a whole plane into the south entrance and out the north end came Ken U. Gofasta and Weemus B.Trotting, instantly followed by a veritable cloud consisting of various and sundry aircraft parts plus one very startled Chinese pilot bumping along over the tracks in her detached seat and still holding the stick.

It was just at that pregnant moment that, in the distance, was heard the whistle of the onrushing troop train. To their credit, as soon as their hearts slowed beating faster than a rabbit’s on crack cocaine the two workers Ken and Weemus ran down the tracks and both flagged down and switched the troop train onto a convenient siding.

Once more Won’s piloting skills were to be put to the test. No one who was there could possibly forget that fateful time when Won was egged on by a dare, once again by some “clown”, she was induced to risk her pretty neck by flying under “Dead Man’s Bridge”..... at night.

I believe she accomplished that incredible feat while her right leg and left arm were still in a cast due to the “tunnel incident” Dux. If you consider it, this could explain why she did that while inverted. As to why it was reported she thumbed her nose in your direction Dux, I cannot say.

Yup, Colonel Won Wing Lo, of the Chinese Air Force, was, if nothing else, a good sport and a damned good pilot. Regrettably, she was lost in a freak accident on returning to China. We heard that she instantly became a great favorite of Chang’s.

This did not please Madam Chang one little bit. One day, during a difficult aerobatic maneuver where she flew her Curtiss Hawk III at grass-top level between two Chinese pagodas while upside down in the cockpit manipulating the stick with her teeth and the rudder pedals with her hands, both wings of the updated Hawk unexpectedly and inexplicably fell off.

There was a huge state funeral for Won that was attended by everyone in the Chinese government from generals down to typists third class during which it was said that there was not a dry eye in the congregation save for the two very dark eyes of Madam Chang. Madam Chang, it seems, took no prisoners.

Folks,

We have 59 warm degrees F. on its way to the low 70s today. A nice, early spring day. It might be ridiculously presumptive of me to think anyone should care that I have had my breakfast consisting of a bowl full of various sweeteners, several pats of creamy butter, a little salt and some milk. Oh, wait, there was some oatmeal in there too. No coffee today, one seriously nervous cat is more than enough without my own nerves being wired. I'll skip coffee today.

Have you ever flown over some place you were very familiar with on the ground but could not see the slightest resemblance of it in the air? You knew it was down there but your ability to pick out the well-known features completely evaded you? I had climbed many trees as a kid, some of them were quite high. This problem had never come up before. Yet that first time in the air without a single branch to support me, I found it a bit hard to make out even familiar landmarks. Of course, I was nervous and so very excited that unforgettable day. But before that first flight ended way too soon to suit me, the pilot was pointing out familiar landmarks in my hometown and I was beginning to recognise them plus find a few on my own.

The pilot told me not to worry too much about it. The skill would come in time. The main thing, he said, was not to forget which way the ground was and also the sky. I thought that so very silly. How could anyone lose track of where the sky was or the ground either for that matter. Of course, the old fellow was quite correct. many a pilot had become disoriented at night or in fog and some had paid a high price for it. The older guys flew by the feeling in the seat of their pants it was said. Hmmm. What I was feeling in the seat of my britches that auspicious morning probably had far more to do with extream excitement than spatial orientation.

Chaps,

Just been chucking it down here with hailstones on and off all day.

Just been reminded about that stalwart of western movies who built an acting career on getting terminated by a Colt 45. Dear old Jack Elam pops up in many a fifties and sixties western - just long enough to make us hate him and exult in a well deserved demise. In reality he was one of the nicest people you could meet and the complete opposite of the many hard-bitten, Hollywood frontier gunmen who we seemed to have grown up with. Well remembered.

Folks,

Dux:

Good old Jack. I'd say, like many "character" actors of his day, he was never in a movie that wasn't better for it. He made amends for his previous years of "black hattedness" (no such word?) in two James Garner films, one being the very funny "Support Your Local Sheriff" in 1969 and "Support Your Local Gunfighter " in 1971. He played against type in these two films in which he played Garner's sidekick. I understand from the accounts I've read the actor was a nice man and had a big heart. He was one of those character actors we saw so often we knew their names. Actors such as Strother Martin, Harry Morgan, Lee Marvin and don't forget Charles Bronson who, like Marvin, became such a "name" he actually starred in his own pictures.

Whatever brought Elam to your cluttered mind? A film, no doubt, or maybe seeing a photo of an old girlfriend..... MG suggested that.

Chaps,

JRT,

No, it certainly wasn't an old girl friend or a recent email from K. My mind is so cluttered that I really can't remember what it was. Maybe it was a recollection of one of my several mothers-in-law...or perhaps all of them.

Gentlemen:

I know bad weather falls all over the world, but sometimes, the idea of anything other than basic windy, cold, hot, rain or sunshine does not seem to compute on my mind in some areas.
It isn't logical, I know. I have seen torrents of rain in desert areas, a lighting bolt shoot up from a cloud, snow in Los Angeles; you get the idea.
Yet for some reason, the natural hail does not compute in my tiny brain with Wales. But then, small gardens in almost every yard in Anchorage blew my mind.
Diagnosis: non-elastic brain at the time.
It only takes a couple of hail pieces hitting the unprotected head to realize that that could cause some damage.
I imagine after a hailstorm, there is an equal percentage of broken windshields in Wales as there is in Texas. Would it be as common an event?

Then I think of construction techniques in East of the Atlantic, sturdy cement construction, beams exposed in buildings that have been around four hundred years as compared to most housing construction West of the Atlantic in the US that consists of brick veneer and wood beams every foot and a half or two feet. It would not take that much wind to make it seem like matchsticks.
Yet it holds, mostly. There is an area just East of town that has not finished rebuilding from weather damage sixteen months ago.

Yes, JRT, thanks for the breakfast hint. It was oatmeal today. Yesterday's fruit was not as filling. It's been a while since I had to skip the morning coffee though. That would make it a tough day.

Folks,

We had 59 degrees and that was slowly rising at 10 this morning. We’ll be in the 60’s all day today under cloudy skies after a wet night. No, I wasn’t wet but everything outside was drenched by a brief thunderstorm.

I am pleasantly reminded of a young English woman I met so many years ago. The first Brit in fact that I had ever met. Yes, no doubt that surprises you to think that a small town in eastern North Carolina was not a hot spot of foreign intrigue and an absolute Michelin “must see” for British and European travelers.

It wasn’t. The only French person I had met was my French teacher who also taught us Russian. Well, she never taught ME any Russian, in fact I learned precious little French but that was entirely my fault and not hers. She did her bit. I loved her accent. I digress.

This delightfully petite (one French word I did learn) and rather pretty English Rose and I met on a street corner one cloudy afternoon ages ago. Somewhat lost and bewildered, she asked me in a rather aristocratic but pleasant voice for directions to the train station and one thing led to another as it so often does when two strangers of different sexes meet and one is lost. So I’m told.

We talked a lot that afternoon as I showed her around and I was absolutely mesmerized by her good looks, poise and charm. She seemed a bit more reserved than American girls of the time but that intrigued me. I cannot recall our conversations today. I know they ended far too soon for my liking. We said our goodbyes. There was a hesitant hand shake then a little hug as an afterthought. She seemed a tad embarrassed by it.

I might have gotten to know her but she was bound for some other distant place, some other life I would/could never be part of. I wonder what happened to her? I do clearly remember something she said in her delightfully lilting voice. It was so unusual in my experience that the phrase has been stuck permanently in my mind. Just before we parted she asked,” Roger, do you think it will make down?”

Say what? I’d never heard that before, not even on TV. Then, dullard that I was, I finally noticed she was looking up at the sky with her arm out and palm turned up. She had asked if i thought it might rain. I’ve never heard anyone else say that.

Are you familiar with that Dux? Perhaps it is a common colloquialism in your neck of the woods? Odd how people, even people you barely knew can make an impression upon you so you remember them all your life?

In contrast, there was a young German girl I met over a pint one evening. I believe she was what you might call Dux an Au Pair girl. She was working for a local family doing light housework for bed and keep. I immediately drawn to her Nordic good looks and “come hither” smile. At least that is what I took her smile to mean.
I sat beside her and , when to my great pleasure and surprise, she did not get up and walk off, we began talking. I liked her accent, her blue eyes, her blond hair, and pretty much everything else I could see from there on down. As another pint went the way of the other two I had consumed, thoughts of a long and very interesting evening and possibly a good breakfast came crowding into my alcohol befuddled brain. But it was not to be. I had such bad luck with foreign women back then.

After we’d talked a bit and had a laugh or two, I did think I’d noticed a bit of arrogance about this Fraulein beauty. An a tourney pal of mine. Remind me to tell you his story one day. If you have your doubts about lawyers this would be right up your street. I digress again. Off on a tangent Melton they used to call me in writing class. Anyway my pal had come up with a great advertising scheme and had asked me (the experten) what I thought of it.

I told the girl, we’ll call her Gretchen Seigheil , the gist of it was he’d purchase a fleet of Volkswagens and sell advertisements that would be painted on their sides. Then he’s give all his friends a Volkswagen to drive absolutely free of charge ( except for gas). These lucky friends would then be expected to travel about their town giving those ads as much exposure as possible. I was just about to get to the part where I was getting one of those cars and how neat i thought it would be when she suddenly got an awful frown on her former pretty face.

Looking straight into my blue eyes with hers, she hissed the words “Why would ANYONE want to drive a Volkswagen?” Next followed a nasty diatribe the gist of which was that she wondered why it was that we Americans tried so hard to impress Germans? Really? All I had been doing all night was chat her up in the most attractive way possible and not entirely without an ulterior motive. I did want to impress her but not because she was German, rather because she was female.

I was shocked. If you had dropped me in Tar River in the coldest day of mid-winter I could not have become more instantly sober. Now, I was only being as hospitable as I had been to the lovely Brit girl as I would have been to any stranger, no matter the nationality, who I encountered on their visit to our town.

II might have observed that she had everything a man could want, all but one, manners. I held that back. I could have churlishly pointed out that, after two world wars that cost many lives due to death or terrible dismemberment being still on our minds, the reputation of Germans was not the best in the world. There was no mention made of that. I might have mentioned that because of that memory of war she was lucky to even be allowed into my country much less be treated as a welcome guest. To my credit I did not say that either.

Instead, I rose from my chair, drained my glass, picked up the pitcher and chugged down what was left in that, burped impressively, and then I just walked away.

Now, this is not meant to illustrate the difference between the British and the German people, just the difference between one Brit girl and one German girl that I met back in the late 60s. It is however illustrative of the fact that the human animal comes in all colors, sizes, shapes and mental abilities and attitudes.

Everyone has his or her story to tell and is in many ways representative of the environment they grew up in. An environment that you may never otherwise be exposed to. You can learn something worthwhile, IMHO, by reading and getting to know the human animal in every volume you may encounter him. I have come to believe that you can tell a great deal about a person’s character by how well they treat someone they do not have to treat well.

Dux:
Nasty sounding weather for spring old man. I was caught in a hailstorm once that foretold the coming of a powerful downdraft that upended trees and blew transformers in our old neighborhood.

Mothers-in-law! I was lucky in that I have only the one and she is in her 90s today. Considering the tales of woe I’ve heard from other men, I’d say I was quite lucky in the Mother-in-law lottery. In the forty years of marriage and even after my late wife’s passing, mine could not have been a better one. Then again, I have only one and have none other to compare her with.

Fittop:

“The rains falls upon the just and the unjust” does it not? We experience quite a lot of sleet in winter but not as much hail here though hail does come with thunderstorms and tornadoes in summer. They say lightning actually begins at the ground and goes upward to the clouds. A difference in charges. I once saw an electrical charge running along a long wire antenna I had recently put up and improperly grounded. There was a storm approaching and the air was charged.

Well, I like oatmeal or rather the stuff I put in it so it does not remind me too much of first grade and Ronnie Ruffin daring me to taste school paste for the first (and last) time. Oatmeal and cream of wheat are old school breakfasts but they are hot and nourishing breakfasts that fill and stick with you until lunch or even beyond. My usual breakfast includes fruit or fruit juice, Raisin Bran that is occasionally mixed with nuts or other cereal. A far cry from my other life when I had more artery friendly food like bacon, ham, eggs, toast and coffee at home or a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit on the way to work with coffee every morning.

Yes, even years ago before it was fashionable and air was clean and sex considered dirty, I knew about healthy food. I knew about it and cheerfully avoided it, that is.

Gents, we might be heading for a stretch of dry weather here for the next five days, so cycling is definitely in the cards for me. I got a fifty km under my belt today so feel pretty pleased with myself.

Roger, Perhaps Fraulein Siegheil was embarrased by the Volkswagen being a Beetle, the car Adolf tasked Ferdinand Porsche to develop to the German Volk so the cars could be easily turned into various forms of military vehicles instead of letting Herr und Frau Schultze cruise the Autobahn in them.

I once drove a Beetle myself and it was very noisy and quite slow.

These days everyone seems to drive a Volkswagen although people I know rate them very poorly.

Folks,

MG:

We all laughed at the V W bug when we saw one go by. It was not the "ideal" American car by any stretch. For one thing it was half a car short of tail fins at that time. However during the "oil Shortage" of the 70s those folks smiled right back at us stuck in long lines as they passed by gas stations. They were not pretty, they were small and noisy, and the one I got for free reeked of gas in the passenger compartment. All that said, they were cheap to operate. I drove a V W Rabbit for several years. My beautiful, big Buick Riviera with leather seats and a wonderful stereo also had that big 4-barrel carb which guzzled gas. What I objected to was not her comment about the car. She was entitled to her opinion. Perhaps she should have been more proud of it? Hitler's influence aside, I cannot think of the name of another German car right now. The V W is famous around the world. Whole families were started, even reared in V W buses during the 60s. It is a symbol of the "Flower Child" generation.

What I objected to was her nationalistic hubris. It was her looks that interested me not her nationality. A second before she uttered "guten abend" I had no idea she was German. Of course it was the same with the British girl. I had no idea until I heard her accent. Hell, I bet most Brits have a hard time recognizing where each other hales from until they speak. Let's see now mate, open yer mouth an say sumthin'. Do you come from Glasgow, Yorkshire Dales or Liverpool? The moment I opened my big mouth in Canada no one was in any doubt where I was from. Since my visit I find it ever so easy to pick out a Canadian accent. Of course it helps if they are speaking the Canadian language.

Folks,

Well OK, let me amend that silly statement..... there is that "other" German car the Porsche..... The new Panamera is coming soon to a dealership near you.

Is there another German "Family" car you can think of?

Folks,

We have another Thursday and I for one need to figure out what I’m going to do with it. We had a cold night with temps dipping around the 30F. range. We have 37F. At 10:30 with a brilliant sun shining down. No heatwave likely to begin today but we’ll warm into the 70s again this weekend according to the weather Ouija board chaps.

The Russian blue feline that lets me call her Zeana seems to be recovering from her most recent bout with Estrus. I have been however reliably informed that cats can keep going into this form of Nature’s torture for months as the daylight lengthens.

Oh joy! I wonder how many nights of uninterrupted sleep I will get this time before she starts up again? I was surprised to read that other people had also experienced the phenomenon of cats in heat seeming to speak human sounding words and actually wanting to talk to you all night long if you’d cooperate. If I hadn’t heard it with my own little shell-likes I would not believe it.

Thanks fellows for writing and commenting more the last several days. It is beginning to seem a little more like the old HWH we remember. Of course not being able to actually play our game hampers conversation. All of us are interested in aviation and other topics seem to appeal to us all. I have been surprised how similar are the interests of most of the folks who have frequented this thread over the years. I suppose that is somewhat understandable. Yet we are all individuals from quite varied backgrounds and experiences.

I saw there are several interesting (to me) videos about the F-86 on YouTube. As it is one of my favorite planes I may watch one of those later in the day. I had the privilege of standing next to one of those early jets when I visited Canada in 2015. It had colorful Canadian markings of course and, to my fanciful mind appeared to wish it were elsewhere, anywhere as long as it was in the air. With those swept back wings the Sabre seemed poised to take off and fly. It is wonderful that we can visit these historic beauties but also sad so many are permanently grounded.

Speaking of “grounded” let us also speak of being “aground”. A former neighbor had a huge sailing Yacht parked in his large compound. He brought it overland from California at great expense. It was lowered by crane into his very large backyard. Ben, a retired ad man like me, was restoring her to her original appearance and seaworthiness in his spare time. She was indeed a beauty to behold. And yet it always seemed to me a so sad to see that ocean-going craft fenced in on dry land a few hundred miles from the Atlantic and 3,000 from the Pacific.

Dux, I watched a very interesting documentary on YouTube this past weekend on Lord Nelson and the battle of Trafalgar. I know of your interest in the “Age of Sail” so I think it likely you might enjoy that as well. I wouldn’t mind seeing “Master and Commander” one more time. Maybe it will be on Netflix? I read a rumor that a sequel of that film might be in the works but seen no mention of it again. If it has the same quality and historic correctness of the first, I’d stand in line to see it.

I am very much impressed by your kindness to animals Roger, and especially the cat you call Zeana. How you manage to cope with her nightly overtures is quite beyond my comprehension. I must admit that being allergic to cats hair I have no patience with the antics of cats. I try to ignore them if there are any in my immediate surroundings, my neighbour has a cat, and as other cats I try to ignore, they start taking an interest in me to see if they can charm me into liking them.

Once a cat had crept into bed with me and my girlfriend at the time, probably to share in the Saturday morning cuddling but I took it by the neck and threw it out of bed. Are you sure your Russian blue specimen is not called Spock, or is a Vulcan. They do exhibit the same irrational and hormone conditioned behaviour as your cat.

Thinking of German family saloons, it is a question of taxation and price before you would call a car a luxury sedan instead of a family car. for example, the Mercedes Benz would be a luxury car in this country due to it being taxed with 180 % of it's value before being sold. However, in the US and other countries it might be classed as a family car. The founder of the Benz company was called Karl Benz Michel Valiant I believe, and he named his car after his daughter, Mercedes. Whether she was a cat in terms of being emotional, or just a nice person, I do not know.

With car companies being truly global I wonder if Opel, originally a German car, then owned by GM for some years and recently acquired by French PSA Group is now to be regarded as a German or a French car, I do not know either. In the UK they're called Vauxhalls.

I do know that the bike was polished today in readiness for tomorrows planned ride. My other bike had a flat tire at the front so I pumped it up and will now wait and observe if it will hold air, or if I have to change the tube. If the latter, I hope I won't cut myself to shreds, as happend the last time I attempted a tire-change.

Folks,

We have always had cats as far back as I can recall. My grandmother whom I lived with had a very soft spot for strays of any kind. Perhaps that is why she took me in? We had dogs too and several injured wild animals through the years we nursed back to health and released. One bird had been shot by my own Red Ryder B-B gun. My late wife and I took in several cats, a ferret and several dogs over the years. My favorite dog was a Belgian Shepherd named Chief. Some may remember seeing pictures of that big dog. I used to post a big HWH holiday greeting at Christmas time. One featured Chief under the tree waiting for Santa. The tree was decorated with all things BoB. I really loved creating those graphics. I did quite a few that featured Olga as I recall. Chief was a rescue dog. He was being trained by the highway patrol as a K9 dog. At some point in his training, it was found he simply did not have the aggressive temperament required for dangerous police work. He was still considered to have enough training to be dangerous so he was going to be put down.

One of our friends was a highway patrolman of some special standing who thought Chief was an excellent dog and did not deserve to die He arranged for us to get the dog, thus saving his life. My son worked with him every day and soon he made a marvelous pet. He was smart, gentle and easy going around children. He even learned to get along with our cats. Woe it be should anyone in any way threatened a child or any member of the family, however. He was a very protective animal. I could walk anywhere, even the places considered to be dangerous with no fear. Should I encounter a gaggle of malcontents blocking my path during a pleasant stroll there was an instantaneous parting of the ways and a very polite response in greeting.

Hitler's Mercedes:

The automobile in question is a 1941 Mercedes-Benz 770K Grosser W150 Offener Tourenwagen. It is among the rarest cars of the war era, and this particular one is rarer still. Its upholstery conceals compartments for Luger pistols. Hidden below the serpentine body panels are ¾-inch steel plates that, together with the 1½-inch-thick window glass, armor the limousine sufficiently to survive a grenade blast or a jaunt over a landmine. The car’s total weight comes to five tons. Adolph had several such cars I believe. As far as i know they are all in the hands of collectors, one being a general and another being a Russian that I know of. Beautiful, powerful cars.

I still suffered from a lack of sleep last night so perhaps that is why I had difficulty remembering the glorious names of Porsche and Mercedes? Yes, Dux, it might also have been an age thing. Even when wide awake I am subject to those as well.