Folks,

Fittop & MG:

Temps in the 30s F. here this morning with full sun. That was quite a shock after temps around 80F. yesterday. Snow? I've heard of that stuff. I was surprised that even you hearty Danes have trouble driving in snow and ice as do we. Or perhaps you meant when riding bicycles not cars?

It is now quite true that for the first time perhaps nearly all of us now completely depend on technologies about which we haven't a clue how they either function or how to repair them if they break. Mostly gone too are the old reliables we used to turn to when stumped doing our own repairs, the blacksmith, shade tree mechanic and the next door neighbor with a shop and a loaded toolbox. Too many single purpose, very expensive tools some of these requiring weeks of instruction just to operate correctly, are required these days to make our own repairs even if we knew how to make repairs. We have lost control of our lives in so many ways, this likely being more obvious to us older folk.

I am not delighted to report that the war goes on between the Chinese software police and I. All was well when I went to bed last night. All seemed well on the desktop front when I arose and booted up this morning. I was pleased. I was proud. I was allowing hubris to get out of hand. For low and be darned when I returned upstairs after a leisurely breakfast of juice and raisin bran, the damn WPS ver. 2016 was back!! The software had auto updated to the crippled version again. I would write down the words that came to mind and lips at that moment but that might require the thread obscenity blocker software to upgrade again. Yes, I discovered the software is hard wired to check, call home and then auto update. In my case it updates from a FREE version to a CRIPPLED version. SPIT!, %&$$#@@%^&%*, SPitt!

OK, this is getting tedious. This has become a challenge. Even though there really isn't, as it turns out, an Asian gremlin hiding somewhere on the hard-drive, now it has become a test of my resolve to beat them at this game. To that end I've drilled down in the software files and renamed all files that seem to do the updating and home calling. Yes, there is the chance the software may just stop working when it tries to access those files to auto update. We shall see. In versions previous to the FREE 2013 there was an undocumented way of stopping the auto updates. You could dig into the Kingsoft folder and find a configuration .exe file you could then run and uncheck a box to stop it updating or in another later version you could actually change the port of the Chinese server the software was connecting to when it called home defeating the auto update. Woefully they seem to have caught on to that and I cannot find the way to do it in the 2013 FREE version.

Stay tuned for even more yawn inducing developments.

Folks:

I wonder if anyone dropping in here for the past, well nearly 16 years, would be much surprised to learn that once again my face is red and I am feeling stupid? No I did not take an online IQ test. The last one I took years ago at school surprised the absolute hell out of the teacher who administered the test. She had an IQ that could not reliably be scored because hers was so high. No one will question the fact that I admit my score was not even nearly that high. And even though the official tester was heard calling the testing company long distance to demand a new test, so great was my own secret pleasure I did not demand a retest for myself when that new test arrived.

Well, the reason I am feeling stupid (this time) is because after all the crap I have just put myself through with WPS; it has finally dawned upon me that what was going on was partly external to the Kingsoft program folder. Remember all was OK after bootup but half an hour later when I looked the upgrade had occurred. I finally realized the change and the boot-up might be connected. What was happening was that the damn installation process had installed a couple of tasks in the Windows task manager to run the check for updates files that were residing in the software program folder. All I had to do was run the task manager, open the library and scroll down to the offending entries and with unimaginable delight delete them. Can you imagine me sitting here with a wild expression of delight on my face while rubbing my hands together with unsurpassed glee? How about them apples crippleware con-artists everywhere?

OK then, dear and patient friends. I've done my best. If that does not work for me stand by for past due news I am downloading some other open source or freeware office suite.

Fittop:

If I could mod flight sim files and still fly you certainly could. Try the latest Strike Fighters series. They were very open to customization and there are tons of user provided info and mods.

We seem to have adopted Libre Office at work as the unofficial standard,
though it still contends with various vintages of µ$Office installs (the
mutual incompatibility of some of the µ$ versions is one of the reasons
for eschewing that brand - it's not like the operation can't afford the
price).

Folks,

We enjoy air that has been warmed to precisely 38F.this sunny new Monday morning. No reason that should matter to you unless your local temp is either far warmer or colder than that and wish to brag about it. Feel free so to do if you like.

PV1:

Having been a part of the early shareware revolution myself way back in the dark ages (that was before the soft, flickering glow from PC monitors lit several rooms in every house), a time when we actually had get-to-gethers to discuss, buy and trade software. Kinda like male Tupperware parties but without the food and gossip. I cannot recall ever seeing a woman at any of these advertised events. Mostly they were attended by us nerdy folk. Someone would become a distributor for one of the more well known freeware producers. For someone like Jim Button of Buttonware. I think he may have been the first well known shareware writer. He even sent out beautifully made and rather thick shareware catalogs about rhe size of a TV Guide. You got that for free if you wrote him. That was a different time. Back in the 80's there wasn't that much commercial software available around here. Not many homes even had a PC. That soon changed and we soon had software stores. However all the shareware programs were inexpensive and free to use indefinitely or until you were satisfied a program was worth the minor charge the developer asked (sometimes just a donation).

You may remember there were no registration codes, no crippleware, just the presence of an assumed honor to pay for something you actually found useful. Open source is good in my opinion. My interest in Kingsoft/WPS is simply that it is for all intents and purposes a clone of the MS Office version of that year and also the last truly FREE un-crippled version as well. I have used MS Office so many years I wanted something as close to that as I could find. So far, in using Kingsoft Office 2013 I have yet to find any difference beyond the name.

Folks,

58F. and the temp is rising here in the Tar Heel state. I will not bore you with further details. No indeed, instead I will bore you with the following.

Any of you fellows besides Dux remember a cute little woman by the name of Miss Tiddely Winx? You know, she ran the all night Games of Chance, Bingo, Badmitton, Beer Hall and Para Mutual Betting parlor just off the high street in Studley Grange. Well, she did run that until the fateful night when Olga found Dux chatting her up and got both the woman, Dux and the parlor shut down, and in just that order.

The newspaper report I read stated that constable Arlo Ullow was called to the parlor where he discovered an ongoing scene of terrible mayhem and attempted carnage. Miss Winx had apparently struck Olga in the fist with her eye and about the same time Dux was strangling Olga’s powerful hands with his extended neck.

The parlor was in a sorry state indeed reported officer Ullow. “It were a complete shambles” he had observed. “Some patrons was runnin’ for the doors.” “Others jess seemed to be a standin’ ‘round bettin’ on the outcome.” I blew me whistle as loud as I could several times.”

According to the good constable, that was when the already aggravated Dux commenced to repeatedly strike Olga in the foot with his ribs. Then, rising from the floor, where she had fallen, Miss Winx immediately approached Olga who was now holding Dux off the floor by his hair and threatened her with a large bag of quarters.

Constable Ullow stated that Olga then dropped the unconscious Dux and went for the much smaller Miss Winx who tried to raise the bag of quarters over her head but evidently found it too heavy for her to do so. A brief scuffle apparently ensued with Olga snatching the bag of quarters away from Miss Winx.

In a follow up story printed in the very next day’s edition, it was reported that emergency surgery was required the previous night to remove said bag of quarters from a rather private, tender and agonizingly painful part of Miss Winx’s body. The “part” was not actually specified.

Dux received treatment for a terrible hangover, two broken ribs and a host of minor cuts and contusions. He was then released to return to HWH Hall with a protective police escort. For some reason Olga was never charged with an offense and, on her release from the hospital, Miss Winks quickly and quietly left town.

The well known Cajun comedian and often ribald raconteur Justin Wilson used to tell the story of a fellow by the name of Dijon. It seems one morning after reading the New Orleans Picayune Dijon was very troubled. He sat deep in thought on the sunny stoop of his small apartment that was but a stone’s throw from the famous above ground cemetery.

Shortly, along came his long time Creole pal Auguste. Auguste was attending medical school at the time and Dijon was mighty glad to see him. Auguste, with his knowledge of anatomy, could surely answer the difficult question he had been wrestling with all morning. After trading greetings the two men sat together for a bit before Auguste noticed something was troubling his friend. Asked what was bothering him this is what Dijon replied.

“My friend with all the medical knowledge you got in your head now, tell me true, for this is bothering me so much, yeah.” “You know all about da female type womans do you not?” “I mean you know all ‘bout women’s bodies and all dere parts right?” His friend Auguste smiled and nodded in the affirmative. He had gotten an A+ in anatomy class.

Whereupon Dijon asked his knowledgeable friend,” Auguste, dear pal, please tell me what a female type woman’s “yet” is and where it is located.” Well now, Auguste had been ready to proudly quote chapter and verse from Gray’s Anatomy when his mouth came to a screeching halt. He had never heard anything about a female “yet”. Not wanting to give away his sudden and woeful lack of anatomical knowledge, Auguste cleverly put the ball back in his friend’s court. “Why do you ask me that Dijon?”, he said.

“Well, replied Dijon, I was reading the newspaper earlier and came upon a story about a shooting down on Bourbon Street last night.” “A woman she got shot by some body and the police is lookin’ for dem now.” “ The paper stated that the woman who got shot was taken to the nearest hospital in critical condition last night for surgery to remove the bullet but as of this morning the bullet was in her yet.....”

Don’t blame me for that one, write to Justin.

Delightful stories Roger.

I'm sure you remember that time when Watts Isname passed through, leaving poor Miss None Toobright in tears after reasoning with her that "a stone cannot fly. Miss Toobright cannot fly. Ergo Sum; Miss Toobright is a stone!"

By the calender winter is now officially over and the first day of spring has arrived. Old Mrs. Bike was none too keen to be ridden today before she had had a thorough clean. Last ride was a particularly dirty affair. But after taking care of the old girl she eventually she came round and I made sure that I had an outing before the sleet and heavy winds that are forecasted for later today.

I have some strange thoughts when riding my bike; today I thought; what if all this human existence and experience is merely an unitentional by-product, more or less a waste-product, of the real purpose of the Universe (whatever that is) .

Folks,

We expect more mild weather today. No snow or ice in the forecast for us here in North Carolina. Temps are predicted to rise up and possibly surpassing the dizzy altitude of 82F. before the sun goes to sleep today. We have lots of wind (gusts to 45 MPH) this morning but those masochistic souls who visit here daily (you know who you are) already are aware that I am noted for lotsa wind anyway. Right now at 11:30 AM our time the curtains of my bedroom window are billowing like the sails of a ship rounding the Horn on this the first day of spring 2017. There is the potential for severe storms this afternoon.

MG:

Quote: "a stone cannot fly. Miss Toobright cannot fly. Ergo Sum; Miss Toobright is a stone!"" LOL. I remember Miss Toobright alright but not whathisname. As I recall the rather cognitively challenged young lady could quite often have been correctly referred to as "stoned" if not as a "stone". For some reason it does not greatly surprise me that you have "strange thoughts" when riding about at breakneck speed on your bike terrorizing the flora and fauna of your beautiful Danish countryside.

I have sometimes considered our position in the broad scheme of things regarding the little blue marble upon which all human existence has so far occurred (other than for a few manned space missions) as (speaking frankly here) more like a virulent, metastasizing cancer than anything else. Twain observed in "Letters and Papers From Earth" published after his death that man was more than a bit like the self absorbed oyster lying in the silt on the bottom of the sea thinking the whole of existence was created just for him.

Are we not (many of us anyway) indeed like that oyster? Yet we are surely aware so many creatures have existed upon our planet for their appointed time only to disappear completely leaving only their dusty bones as a record they were ever even here. They have gone extinct. I fear we may well be the first so called intelligent species to become the soul author of our own eventual demise and extinction taking many others with us. If so, the question poses itself, besides our bones and the bones of our civilization, what may we leave behind? OK that is heavy stuff and clearly much over my pay grade. After all, what do I know about anything? I know nothing I did not see with my own eyes and can only suspect the rest. One could therefore say with a straight face "An oyster knows just about nothing about anything at all. JRT really knows pretty much nothing about anything, Ergo Sum; JRT is an oyster!"

You wise folks probably already know there are two possible "first days of spring" each and every year depending upon which definition you use. No, I do not mean to imply that there is a Danish version and everybody elses. There is the meteorological spring and the astrological spring. March 1 is the first day of spring for the former and March 20 is the first day of spring for the latter. Confusing? The meteorological spring is based on dividing four seasons into approximately the same length and uses the annual temperature cycle. The astrological spring, taking solstices and equinoxes into account, is based upon the position of the earth's orbit in relation to the sun.

Alright Dux, I heard that incredibly insensitive remark. I do not agree with it. In actual fact many people have asked me the time of day when I did not feel the need to instruct them on how to make a watch.....

Folks,

We enjoy 49 chilly degrees F outside my window and a more comfortable 70 degrees F. inside this sunny Thursday morning. A cold front passed over last night bringing an electrical storm with lots of rain. The brunt of it was taken on by our western counties this time and before that many of the states west were more greatly troubled by it. We were the lucky ones. We have a lovely morning. OK you probably do not care a hoot about our weather unless you are planning a very long and, for Dux and Jens at least, an extremely damp drive.

Some of you may be reasonably surprised to read that Dux used to drop in here almost every day. That was perhaps because the fishing was not as good in the Peaks as it seems to be by the sea. Of course at that time, just as it is today when MG, Dux , PV1 or Fittop post, there was far more than just my disjointed thoughts and possibly confusing meanderings to read. I happened to notice there were 9 readers browsing the forum last evening. There are 8 this morning. I take that to mean one of them found something better to do in the wee hours of the morning. To my greater surprise I found that there were apparently 62 viewing another even more ancient WW2 sim forum last night., that being the one devoted to the venerable EAW sim. I salute them for their longevity and as I personally recall playing that game myself before our BoB stole me away, for a darned good game that has apparently managed to continue to be upgraded to this day.

I also visited the Third Wire forum. Creaters of Strike Fighters 1 and now 2. it appears they have decided to turn away from the PC market in favor of consoles. Too bad, I liked their easily modable sims. There is a large and dedicated community of players who may well feel more than a bit betrayed if this is true. I can understand both however we must all come to terms sooner or later the bare fact that producing software titles is and must be a for profit business. What you and I do for the purist motive, love of a game, may very well not be the case with the developer. Those developers who have honestly tried to balance both feelings have not always survived. Third Wire is also planning more concentration on producing for mobiles.

The WW1 flight sim "Over Flanders Fields" has quite a remarkable following. Seemingly more so than does "Rise of Flight". Many of us recall the Rowan/Empire games "Dawn Patrol" and "Flying Corps". That elderly thing (Flying Corps Gold) would still run reasonably well on XP. As would the Korean War sim they produced titled "MiG Alley". That was replaced on my last desktop by the Third Wire Korean War mod for " Strike Fighters 1". I even got that to run passably well under the first version of Win 10.

Unlike my son I have never really been a card carrying member of the "After Burner" crowd. I did dabble with the Vietnam scenarios included or added on by other players to Strike Fighters 1. An F-15 was fun to drive and make things go BOOM! There were a whole slew of contemporary military aircraft to fly. My first cousin was a FAC pilot in Vietnam. He went in a private and left a captain. If you could get him to talk about it he had interesting stories to tell. I found created for SF1 no less than two functioning light planes flown by FAC pilots in that war. It was a hairy job flying low and slow with all that shiny stuff being shot at you. I salute him and all those who did that job, especially those who, unlike him, did not return.

What do you fellows think of DRM? I understand the reasoning for it but is it fair to the buyer is it justified? Third wire some of whoms games will not even run on XP and few if any will run beyond the Win 7 OS according to their website ( I got some of them to run on 8 and 10) none of their games contain DRM. Well sure the games were not created recently.

I chanced to look over the "User List" for the first time last night. Reading that list was incredibly nostalgic for moi. So many newly remembered nick names, so many memories attached to same all came bubbling up to the surface like the answers do on one of those old "Magic Eight Balls". This will give you an idea of my age. I had one of the very first of those toys. Unlike the ones my grand children have been seen playing with mine was made of heavy glass or glass covered with black plastic. They don't make nuthin' like they used to. I remember when air was clean and sex was dirty.....

Folks,

We have a cool 46F.at 9:30 where I was looking out my window this Friday morning. I’m told by people who have reason to think they know that condition is temporary and will warm into the high 50s F. today before slipping back the other way. It may be colder or warmer this morning where you ate your breakfast. I like thinking about the different conditions others are experiencing, some better, some perhaps worse than are mine. There was a time when, as a very little fellow, three or four years of age, I thought the weather was the same as mine everywhere.

Yup. I can even remember a time when I thought everyone saw the same clouds above them and that the clouds went on and on, up and up solid gray blotting out the sun no matter how high one went. My mom took a long trip once leaving me in the care of my dear grandmother. It was the first time we had been parted for such a length of time. I got over it of course but I remember missing her a great deal. I lay for hours on my back on my grandmother’s cool, stone walk that first day looking up at the fluffy clouds lit by the summer sun and I wondered if my mother was looking up at them too.

No Dux, that certainly was not last week, not even in the past 69 years. I’ve taken off in far too many planes by now not to know that, no matter how dense the cloud base seems to be, no matter how dark the whole world may seem to be at the time, and although you may have to imagine it to get through the day, up there above us all, just beyond those clouds, there is always a blue sky and brilliant sunshine waiting.

There once was a lady from Canarvin
At table she did all the carvin'
One day she slipped up
She lopped off a cup
And the hand of her cousin named Marvin

Sorry about that. Do forgive me, these things just seem to have to come out no matter how hard I try to restrain myself on your behalf.

Gents, I found this interesting article regarding DRM and I definitely think that there is that aspect to it too, and it is only going to get bigger.

Folks,

MG:

The link isn't showing up on my computer but it did just now on my phone. Perhaps you have run afoul of the "thought police"? Or maybe there really are gremlins on my computer. This world seems to be getting more and more screwed up. Can Huxley's "Brave New World" be far from coming into being by popular demand as it does in his 30's novel? We won't be much aware of it if it does. We'll all be taking the drug "Soma" and spending as much of our time in "Lunar Eternity" as possible.

I thought the article you mentioned entertaining but also rather chilling. Before long not only may our personal property be held ransom pending our "willful" acceptance of rules set down in 10,000 word license agreements written in eye straining 6 pt. type but the authors of same may have the ability of make that agreement have the force of law with the penalty of fines or incarceration possible for any infringement thereof.

Aren't lawyers making enough money already? Aren't our court dockets and prisons full to the brim now? Will government's emphasis change from protecting most of the people toward protecting mostly the people in big business? Do we already have our feet firmly planted upon a very slippery slope? Recent events could give an interested observer from another world who might be coldly viewing life upon earth to perhaps consider us a nation of mindless sheep. Sheep blissfully unaware of or caring about what is happening around them or for the dire repercussions that will eventually affect them. Could there be a real "War of the Worlds" raining down on a rural part of the country near you? Remember my granddaughter saw a green light fall from the sky just the other night.....

Folks,

I count but 36 degrees of mercury using the Fahrenheit scale this chilly Saturday morning in the new month of March. That is a good start toward the 50F. we have good reason to expect later on. Probably not cold enough to freeze the sweat on one’s brow if one could sweat at that temperature. Mercifully I do not now and will probably never know the answer to that question.

As a young college bound man I did labor out in the cold tying steel and driving a dump truck for a brief period of time. That was after graduating at bit early from high school. This was before my monumentally impressive skills as a tool room foreman were finally recognized and I was duly plucked from the laboring masses and promoted to that lofty, much coveted and also pleasantly warm position. As it turned out it was also unpleasantly warm during the heat of coming summer.

I recall that I learned many interesting things (mostly about myself) and several skills. Although I have never again needed to call upon many of those skills, I enjoyed all three occupations about equally well. The truck was undoubtedly the most fun. Alas I do not recall if I sweated much when I was tying steel.

I did sweat a bit at first when driving that big, hunter green truck with all its extra gears and controls but not from the blasted heater. That thing never did much. It took a bit of experience learning to go smoothly through the gears and that caused some stress. But once I had that under my belt I enjoyed riding about carrying heavy loads hither and yon and I especially loved the dumping part.

In a long career in advertising, public relations marketing, software promotion, shopping center management, and delivering fish by bicycle, can’t leave that first job out, there is very little left to show for it I would guess. The ads are all gone, the radio, TV, magazine copy and layouts are gone, the 30 and 60 second commercials were disposed of ages ago. All those tasty fish have been eaten. Even most of the people are gone.

Yes, there were some awards along my merry way and they hang proudly upon a wall attesting to various accomplishments that were in my view essentially teamwork and not just my doing. None of you would have a clue by reading their inscriptions what they were really for. I have to scratch my own head a bit sometimes on the rare occasion I stop to look at or wipe the dust from them.

Not poetically gone with the wind but all is gone nonetheless. And yet, today there still stands an absolutely huge building on the outskirts of a small nearby town in which wire and cable are still manufactured to this day that I actually helped with my own two hands, in a minor way, ages ago, to construct. For some reason, as I reflect on it this sunny morning, I’m kinda proud of that.

The lovely, yet essentially feral cat that still slumbers under my bed and who alone shares this floor with me is in heat. I have been called upon but declined the invitation to help her with that. A reluctant widower 5 years now and in the past often called “a ladies man”, I simply do have to draw the line somewhere. I admit however that five years has been a long time and that if I watch the “Beverly Hillbillies” on TV Grannie Clampett is now beginning to look good to me.

Such cries of discomfort and sorrowful caterwauling you have never heard in your life. The poor girl’s pitiful meowing woke me up off and on through the night and her cries of anguish continue into the day. I wonder if catnip would help?

No, not for her, only one thing will help that cat. I meant for me. I find I am clean out of class A narcotics and drinkable alcohol as well. Yet after a night of pitiful yeowling emanating from that amorous kitty, I desperately need something to sooth my own nerves.

Learning something new again, or at least something I had not thought of in a long time. Of course, a version of the calendar as now officially approved was designed by a group of men and taken credit for by another emperor. Story versions differ of course depending on loyalties and placements.

As a kid, -December 21st I remember meant the approaching religious holiday, family visiting, the end of school year including the cleaning of the desk you had been using for over nine months, a giant step to a new grade, (hopefully) and best of all, a change to go to the beach!
It was strange to move to a world where it actually got hot in July and you could not get sugar cane in September and I was actually promised to see snow on my street for Christmas and I needed to get a heavy coat or I would freeze in February..
No, the dogs and birds being quiet and then barking at once no longer meant not mean an earthquake was coming in a few seconds
The world got upside down.

I remember first reading in Time magazine about oil supplies being limited, that we would need to research how to stay warm for a longer period of time, and then stay cooler for a longer period; that somehow mankind needed to reuse trash, and first finding out that bedrock was under new York City and its buildings, but then Idlewild Airport was built on top of garbage mounds.

Sixty years ago I wondered if it was true. There were some signs.
I often worried about water, but not much since in my family it was not wasted; yet I knew others that let the tap run and never fixed leaks. I thought they were either rich or ignorant and wondered if they would try to take our water when they ran out of theirs or would I offer them some.

New I have rain barrels and have seen what droughts do.
And I'll welcome Spring when the side tree explodes in white blooms.and then start dreading the first night it's just too hot to sleep if the air conditioner goes out.

Yes, I did check and was innocently answering the latest entry by our fine author, JRT, on page 988; even refreshed the page before posting. Grrr. I am again three entries behind. Never mind....

Folks,

There is a fine Sunday in the making here this fifth day of the new month. After a cold night with temps down into the 20s F. the big, yellow sun is doing his work upon the earth, forcing the mercury in our chilly thermometers to claw itself up into the high 30s F. already. I offer thanks to our generous pals up in Canada who are sharing their cold with us this weekend. Due to their largess we will not have a warm day today but that is coming tomorrow. I suspect what seems cold to me, a card carrying southerner, many folks in colder climes might consider a day warmed to the mid 50s to be at least a degree or two in the direction of warm.

With what Lincoln said about the weather in mind, I should never complain about the weather unless I actually plan to do something about it. Every day is after all, no matter what the weather, a good day. So I should be thankful for what I have. For others might sometimes dearly wish to trade what they have for it. Though every day we are given to make something out of may be considered a good day, I must admit some of my days are much better than are others. This is a theme I return to perhaps too often but I do believe it. Today will be a good day.

My female roommate, the pretty Russian Blue cat is still in heat. She reminded me of that off and mostly on during her restless night. The catnip did not seem to work.... for either of us. You may agree that it was probably fortunate indeed that I resisted the compelling urge to pour NyQuil on her food in the wee hours of the morning. That might have worked of course but worked far too well.

DOG DAYS of WINTER?

For those who actually like the cold as I do or are a big fan of Jack London as I am, I have it on very good authority that the annual Iditarod long distance trail dog race is now fully underway between Settler’s Bay and Nome Alaska, some 1500 miles. Mushers with a team of twenty-one astonishingly energetic sled dogs cover the distance in nine to fifteen days, or perhaps more depending to the rather fickle Alaskan weather I would guess. Weather that includes incredible sub-zero cold (-100 F. / -73 C.), blizzards, gale force winds, deep snow and white outs. Men and women with antifreeze in their veins, compete in this annual endurance race that rewards strength and perseverance.

I am unaware of what the winner gets as a reward beyond the reasonable assumption that whatever it is it includes something warm and satisfying. Last place contestants get the “Red Lantern” award. That is actually highly respected as a symbol of great tenaciousness in the mushing world. No matter how great the reward for the winning musher I suspect that the reward for the dogs may fall somewhat short of that.

It must be food as sled dogs seem to shun the traditional canine place of honor by the fire. Sled dogs eat 10K to 12K calories a day just to make up for the fuel they burn on the trail. From what I’ve read just the thrill of the race is reward enough for these incredible northern canines. They wear boots, you know. Maybe in addition to food they also get sporty new boots? Whatever they receive they deserve it. And so do the mushers.

Fittop:

"Success has many fathers but failure is an orphan" or something to that affect. Christmas at my house was a time for warming golden fires that lit all the rooms and my britches when I backed up to them, being visited by all the relatives who were rewarded by a seat at a table absolutely groaning with all kinds of delicious food and beverages. Just the unbelievably delicious fragrance emanating form my grandmother's steamy kitchen each Christmas Eve is a delightful confection the memory of which can still satisfy yet also bring a sweet pang of nostalgia.

In the sixties my mind was mostly on girls, politics (because of Kennedy), space travel and the original seven astronauts. I wrote my senior theme on those spacey guys and, of course, the space program. That was timely, interesting to many and I managed to get an A+ on my theme. The teacher was also fascinated by the space program. That helped a lot. I was also building and flying small solid fuel rockets. One of our neighbors had a tin roof on his house. Imagine his families surprise when, one fine day (nowhere near Christmas) they suddenly heard a crash and the sound of something tumbling around on their roof. Imagine my own surprise when I saw my rocket hit that roof when the "chute" had failed to open. Further imagine how difficult it was for me to go to that home, knock on the door and ask for my property back.

Racing home from work one evening in my little red Opel GT with the fuel gauge bouncing on EMPTY and every gas station I passed showing a sign stating there was no gas available was more than enough to satisfy me there was a problem somewhere in the fuel supply, manufactured by the greedy or not. I was lucky that day. The last tiny, one pump station I would come to before the sputtering of my starving 2.9 ltr. engine would commence, was closing for the day but had gas! I filled up, there was no limit there. That was enough gas to get me back and forth to work in that little two seater until the "Gas Crisis" abruptly came to an end.

Conserving water is important for us all my friend. My friends in Canada has a rather elaborate water saving setup including rain barrels. For those interested in conservation fortunately there are loads of purpose built items available at hardware stores today. There are many useful pamphlets available from county agents and a veritable cornucopia of info online. if you thing the oil crisis was inconvenient wait until there is a worldwide water crisis. Well, I guess none of us will see that but my grand kids might. Desalinization might help. But it will take more than that. If you folks are accustomed to a good shower every night , flushing your favorite toilet when advisable or cooking, much less having ice in a drink when thirsty, Google to your hearts content. Get involved.

The blooms here have been exploding for weeks. It is worth the wait. I am however concerned we may have a long, hot, humid summer. Why did I pass on the gallon size bottle of industrial strength sunscreen I saw offered online at a very reasonable price in January?

Folks,

42F. here at 10:15 this sunny Monday morning. Apparently my usually dependable muse has unforgivably over slept today. If you wish to write and all you have to write about is good weather you are in serious trouble my friends.

Of course, mostly thanks to my prodigal pal Dux and his main squeeze Olga, I have plenty of experience being in and getting out of serious trouble. So I feel confident I can manage to extricate my nether portions out of this one.

A COMPLETE NOSE UP
Chapter One

I remember the time the monarch visited the Studley Grange RAF base. The base CO saw to it everything right down to the dirt skirting the enlisted men’s latrine was made clean and polished brightly. As for me, I was hard at work with a crew of very keen fellows polishing the prop hubs of our Spitfires and pulling the grass from the treads of the tires on all the undercarriages.

Dux dropped by the hanger we were working in at the time to make sure I wasn’t being bone idle at the same time that he was.... I think that was it. We had a brief conversation about the booze-up planned for that night in honor of the auspicious occasion. We were both looking forward to it. Dux offhandedly remarked that both he and Olga had been asked by the CO to put on a spectacular display of acrobatics for the King and his military brass hat entourage.

I congratulated Wing Commander Dux and then sincerely wished him good luck as he swaggered off, seemingly very satisfied with himself I thought. No, he may have thought I was, but I wasn’t the least bit jealous. Dux was, hands down, our best pilot. About all I was qualified to demonstrate was how to land upside down and walk away to tell about it. Yes, and not to put too fine a point on it, I had already demonstrated that difficult maneuver more times than I cared to remember.

Just before parade that afternoon the CO sent for me. As I stood there before his desk, he looked me up and down, got up from his comfy chair, walked around his desk and gave my uniform a closer inspection. Why was he doing this I wondered? I hoped the single gong I had received for auspicious gallantry (AKA saving the CO’s wife’s ginger cat from drowning) would hide the ugly cigarette burn from one of Dux’s wind blown ashes. I was wearing my best uniform for the occasion.

The CO made some cautionary remarks regarding the care and cleaning of an officer’s uniform that I do not now clearly recall. I do recall that whatever he said pretty much included a tour of every single blemish, stain and sewn up tear he could find. That was when I bravely asked for permission to speak. That given reluctantly, I asked why I was being given the most unusual close, personal inspection since I had no part in the royal proceedings of the afternoon.

Beyond the fact that both Dux and I had once been caught on parade wearing short pants and on another hilarious (his words not mine) occasion kilts, he asked? Struggling not to smile, I managed not to answer. Afterward I wondered if I had done so if most of a day and night under close arrest might not have prevented the complete “nose up” that was to come.

TO BE CONTINUED (If I have the nerve)

Gents,

A couple of cold days around 0 degrees C and winds to punish the careless dresser. Long Johns recommended. Whether a school kid in Jutland, the part of Denmark connected to continental Europe and sitting on top of Germany looking like a face with a knitted night cap on the head was cold these past few days I don't know. Perhaps he was properly dressed as he was outdoors with a metal detector, searching for what might have been just a mirage. It is a true story and it was a hell of a history lesson. HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED:

In school, the history teacher gave the kids an assignment to write an essay about history. The young man who lives on a farm in the aforementioned part of Denmark, in the region of the city of Aalborg, knew that during the war, a Nazi plane had crashed in the fields of the farm. Allegedly, the crash site was cleaned up by the Nazis, but our intrepid scholar, explorer and scientist searched the fields with a metal detector anyway and lo and behold! Eureka! He found not only the crashed plane, a Messerschmitt 109, but also the remains of the perished pilot, a student pilot who apparently was on one of his first solo rides on the type before being sent to war. The plane crashed late 1944 and the amount of wreckage was quite large. The exact cause of the crash has not been reported but the pilot may have been identified already.

Quite an awesome history lesson and imagine the 109 lying just below the feet of the people working the farm growing crops, for 73 years.

Folks,

Just when you thought I was run over by a truck or something worse this morning, here I am late but no worse for wear just typing away to ruin an otherwise perfect day.

MG:
I have finally seen a real Spit up close in Canada but have yet to see a real 109. What a story. Very interesting indeed. I wonder if the wreckage was salvageable either as a whole or as parts for other 109s being restored. There aren't all that many flyable 109s left unless they were made in Spain and those just don't look right to me due to the oddly shaped cowling area created by a different engine. You can see those clearly in the "Battle of Britain" movie. The He111s were spot on in that film however. Maybe that didn't matter to you as much as it did me? Much less shark-like IMHO than were the 109 Es in the real BoB.

A Complete Nose Up
Chapter Two

Having completed my inspection and now wearing a uniform completely clean of every visible speck of monarch offending lint, I dashed away from the CO’s office not even bothering to return several snappy salutes from lower ranks also wearing uniforms that appeared lint, smudge and wrinkle free. I was worried. The CO had not summoned me to pick lint from my dress uniform you see. No, indeed, for that detail was but an inconvenient after thought.

I had been summoned before “He who must not be named” because my pal Dux had complained his Spit was in just too sorry a state to parade before the King. According to Dux there was an offending blemish on the bottom of the starboard wing root and far too many Hun bullet patches on the fuselage. I admit that was true. All were lucky shots he usually claimed. The gist of it was that Dux was given permission to fly my beautiful plane “Geronimo” for the grand exhibition of aerobatic skill.

I dared not point out the more than obvious fact that my plane had no extra holes in it. Perhaps this was because I was actually the better pilot? OK, that would not have been true and I knew Dux’s unbelievably high score of Jerry planes knocked down would attest to that. Still, it was also quite true that I was at least much better at dodging enemy bullets. As I hastened toward the parade ground I thought surely that must account for something.

We were eventually counted all present or accounted for including the king and his large entourage. After the customary review of the troops the King and brass hats retired to a red and white striped canvass awning set up to prevent His Majesty getting sun stroke during the exhibition. Shortly thereafter Dux and Olga took off and climbed to a respectable altitude.

The sun was blinding and none of us were allowed to wear sunglasses. Well, none of us but the King and brass hats. This being the case I am afraid I missed a goodly part of the show. I know this because there was a large amount of clapping from the royal section when i could see nothing at all.

The part I definitely did witness was the final flyby over the royal awning. Olga came first right out of a barrel roll in her custom bright red “Marx’s Pride of the Proletariat” biplane. There was much applause. Next came our Dux in my Spit doing a continuous roll with the hood back not more than 20 feet above where the King’s crown would have been had he been wearing one. I had almost closed my eyes in dread when I saw something shiny detach itself from the open cockpit and drop toward the wind flapped red striped canopy.

It looked to me like some sort of bottle. This was to be confirmed later at the Courts Marshall. Dux defended himself well and was somehow exonerated. He claimed, with a straight face, he knew nothing about the half full bottle of Cossack’s Courage 120 proof vodka having been secreted right under where my own tender butt usually sat. Although it was common knowledge that, being an American, I never, under any circumstances, carried anything but Jack Daniels black label Bourbon under my seat at any time; Olga took the stand and swore on a a photo of Lenin that Dux was innocent. Of course my court appointed defender knew that what was later referred to as “The Jack Daniels, AKA Hail Mary, Defense” was somewhat risky and might have backfired had he tried to use it. Therefore he wisely did not.

As it was unclear as to whom the bottle actually belonged, and as it was unlikely there had actually been any real attempt upon the life of the King, I got off with only a rocket from the CO and 10 pleasant days of sobriety in the stockade. That was mostly because I had shouted something rather ungentlemanly at Dux while court was still in session. I might have repeated the offense had Dux not gotten the same sentence and that was mostly for shouting something similar right back at me.

On regaining our freedom we were soon mates again and, more than anything else, our real punishment was missing what was later referred to by all the survivors as “The undoubted HWH booze up of the year”.

I agree Roger, the BoB Me's always looked odd to me too.

Some of the parts of the crashed Me looked quite large to me and might be used for spares. What I can't quite understand is, how the pilot got killed by a crash leaving the main part of the engine block largely undamaged. Did he die of boredom?

Folks,

MG:

LOL. As a novice pilot any chance he might have simply been afraid to try to land considering that very dangerous, narrow 109 undercarriage. Circling the area he could have just ran out of gas. That would not explain how he may have died. At some point in the war there were many brave Danish partisans about. Maybe one of them brought him down with a big rock or a lucky shot? Perhaps a band of patriots attacked the pilot after he crash landed? Or maybe it was an irate farmer who had just planted his field of legal marijuana and was most perturbed by the audacity of the German crashing there? How about a freak lightning strike? Were there any Allied fighters about at the time? And lest we forget there is also the outside chance "friendly" fire was involved. How about an unfortunate bird strike? That would have been especially unfortunate for the bird of course. We could continue to guess forever. Maybe more info will be forth coming. If so, LMK.

Folks,

We have 55 degrees F. At 8:30 this Wednesday morning. A light rain is falling and now and again there is a gust of wind that gets my undivided when it blows the rain against my window.

I rose early, make that early for me, mostly due to the unsympathetic yowling from my roommate the Russian Blue cat who I am unhappy to report is still in heat. We had a restless night. So far I have resisted looking up methods of painless feline euthanasia. Besides I would miss her when I catch up on sleep and she regains her normal composure.

Up a little too early for breakfast, looking for something constructive to do, I was suddenly stricken with a fit of creativity. The result of which is bravely printed below. Go ahead, feel free to substitute whatever word you feel more appropriate than “bravely”. Right, you should probably read it first.

There Was a Young Man From Gastonia

There was a young man from Gastonia
Who dated a woman called Begonia
She'd sit on your lap
And just take a nap
If you got on your back she'd layonia

OK, OK forgive me. I ain’t no poet. Neither am I much of a limerick writer but that has never stopped me writing what I thought would pass for one before. And speaking of “before” I think the other two I wrote recently were better. OK a better grade of poor.

Good limericks (is there such a thing?) don’t get the credit they deserve IMHO. Feel free to write a better one than I can if you wish. Lord knows you would be hard pressed to write one that is worse.