Alabama versus Georgia (this is not about football)

The incident I am about to relay to you happened in the early 1940s. Recently, on a trip to Fort Benning, Georgia, a guide at the  National Infantry Museum told us a story about one of the U.S. Army's most colorful generals. 

Gen. Geo. S. Patton, Jr.

As you would imagine in 1940 Fort Benning, Georgia was a hubbub of activity. On the European continent The forces of Adolf Hitler were rapidly conquering neighboring countries. The swastika of Germany flew over Austria, Poland, Denmark, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Belgium, Norway and France. The training of soldiers were top priority at the fort in Columbus, Georgia.  At that time the 2nd Armored Division had as its training officer was one Colonel George S. Patton, Jr.  Patton would be promoted to brigadier general and assume command of the 2nd Armored Division whose tagline was "Hell on Wheels" later that year. It  was when he was commander of the tankers that the following incident occurred. 

Geographically, Fort Benning sits adjacent to the city of Columbus, Georgia, on the banks of the Chattahoochee River.  Across the river is the smaller city of Phenix City, Alabama. At that time and a few decades later the city was ruled by organized crime. The city was famous for its houses of ill-repute, bars and gambling establishments. All of these were super inducements to the soldiers of Fort Benning. They were the red flag to the Army's bulls.  Frequently soldiers were robbed and often would return to the fort beaten and bloody after a night in Phenix City. One one particular occasion some soldiers of the 2nd Armored division were jailed by the local police.  The general requested that the chief of police release the soldiers. But, the Chief of Police of Phenix City, Alabama, refused the general's request.  George S. Patton, Jr., Brigadier General, of the United States Army was not accustomed to having his requests refused. He proceeded to persuade the chief of police to honor his request. His method was one of simplicity.  He took one of his Sherman tanks to downtown Columbus to the riverbank*. The big gun on the tank was aimed toward Phenix City. There was no response to the General's second request.  He simply gave the command, "Fire". He called the Chief of Police again and asked that the soldiers be released and that the first shot had been a warning shot and that there would not be another. Within a few minutes the soldiers cold be seen returning across the 14th Street Bridge. In the crowd of onlookers someone was heard to say, "Boy, that's blood and guts!"
And that they say at Fort Benning is how Patton got his nickname, "Old Blood and Guts".

Sherman Tank

 * Today you can still see the marks made by the tank's tracks in the street.

My First CD

I was in the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, AZ and I saw a guitar case for an air guitar.  I thought that was a little bit strange.  I went home and did a little research on google and found out they have contests national contests, international contests, I think in some Scandinavian country.

What I really wanted to find was a CD of the air guitar. I never could find a CD of the air guitar so I decided to make my own.  
And here it is. Our own CD of the air guitar.

I did all the artwork in Photoshop.  Notice I have a little blurb up here for a bonus.Gotta grab the viewers attention.
At the bottom is listed the artists that are on the compact disk.
Up here in the top left corner, notice it is rated PG-13. The production compony's name is Tonette.  Tonette being a combination of mine and my wife’s names. Tony and Claudette.

On the inside we have the CD itself, opposite we have some more copy.  Below is a little pull-out of with guitar chords and also guitar pick. I’ve always been a fan of giving a little bit more that what’s expected.

On the back cover is a list of the performers and their recordings like Gotcha by Alfredo Colbert, Caliente -Jose Garcia, Relative Noise by B. B. Steele, Brainfire by Ray O. Vac and others.  Lot of these names are reminiscent of old blues players, I really like those guys. 

And there it is.   Our own air guitar CD.

My Second Best Girl: Sophie.

Sophie

Cats. I like cats. But I haven't liked cats forever. I read that the Spaniards brought domestic cats to the new world.  Did you know they can make over one hundred sounds. I thought they could only "meow". My relationship with cats is relatively short. I've never had a pet since childhood.  When I was a little boy my sister and I  each had a kitten. Unfortunately, mine got bitten by a snake and died. That was the last pet I had except for a goldfish. My daddy always had hunting dogs, but they weren't pets. Then, when I was nigh on to sixty years old I married a lady with two cats. Marshmallow was an orange point Himalayan and Shadow was something else. Shadow was very old and finicky, but Marshie took to me right away. A few years later Marshie died suddenly of an apparent heart attack and Shadow followed later of old age. She was seventeen.

A few years later we decided that we had a mouse problem and went shopping for a cat. We found one at the shelter. There were a lot of cats at the shelter; big ones and  small ones in all different colors.  But we found the one we wanted in a cage all by herself. There was a note saying she did not play well with other cats. But that was not a problem for us so we took her home. I named her Sophie for the French actress Sophie Marceau. Remember her? She met Mel Gibson in that tent in the movie "Braveheart". Sophie is a big kitty at over thirteen pounds. Her front climbing gear had been removed. The house's curtains and upholstery was safe.  We determined she was a Norwegian Forest Cat. I have become quite fond of Sophie. Sure enough she did not get along with other cats. When a daughter brought her cat with her when she visited, Sophie  hissed and was hardly cordial. We have not had other cat visitors.

She is not real crazy about people either. When we have guests she rarely makes an appearance. I can understand why she hates children. They always want to to fondle and cuddle.  If they show her any affection she rarely responds. It is not always easy living with an antisocial cat. I've learned a bit about cats though. Sophie seems to favor almost anyone who offers food, but not always. I have seen visitors try to befriend her with all kinds of kitty treats and she will refuse the most delectable. Toys are no temptation from a stranger either. I don't quite understand it but Sophie is fond of me and I offer neither food nor treats. She is overly fond of Claudette, but then,  Claudette is the one who feeds her. I do not. But she is part of my daily routine. 

When we first got Sophie she would only "say" "meow". However, after being with us a while her vocabulary has increased exponentially. I have counted over twenty-five different sounds she makes. She is very good at begging when she wants to go out on the back porch.  It is saddening to hear her cry when she discovers one of us has left the house. I think she has trained us very well. I awake early, about five or so. Groggily I walk downstairs and position myself on the sofa facing the television, in a semi-reclining position.  I nod off and continue a night of slumber. Almost immediately, or so it seems, ( I have no concept of time while asleep.) I am awakened by a "meow" of nearly ninety decibels. (OSHA requires hearing protection in an environment with a noise level above ninety decibels.)  Sophie has arrived! She will then climb aboard my stomach,  dispersing her body weight via her four feet and lie there purring. A warm, purring, thirteen pound, ball of fur. 

Life is good!

Flying

I have always loved airplanes.  When I was a toddler my mother would take me outside when she would hang the laundry to dry.  I would sit in my little chair looking up at the sky. At the sound of an airplane I would point my chubby finger skyward and scream, "airpane, airpane".  Later, after spending years building model airplanes, I would find that I was afraid of heights. I was not just afraid, I was flat out scared!  Yep! Terrified! If man had been meant to fly, God would have given him wings!

But, those Wright boys from Ohio didn't know that, so they built the airplane. And since then airplanes have become the way to get from one place to another place FAST.

When I was twenty-one-years-old, the federal government decided that I was needed in the United States Armed Forces - the Army. I was drafted. You see there was a bit of a scuffle going on in southeast Asia at that time, and they said my services were needed.  That meant that I had to fly. The cross-country flight was not so bad; we stopped a lot. My belt size went from a 38 to a 35 inch size from tightening my seat belt.

When we flew across the Pacific I saw the longest crap game in the world.  It lasted from San Francisco to Manila. I was very concerned when we stopped over in Guam.  The plane was descending and descending and I could see nothing below except water. I began reciting what the stewardess had said about landing in the water.  I was not sure that my seat cushion would support me; it did not look like a life jacket. I looked for someone to trade with, but it looked like everyone had the same size cushion.  After boot camp I was at my lowest weight since I was fourteen.  That would help. A few minutes later the plane made a funny noise, like metal scraping against metal, and I was thrown forward against my seat belt restraint as the plane slowed on the runway. Soon I was off the plane and inside that airport building. They call it a terminal.  I don't like the idea of something being terminal.  That kind of signifies the end of something. It could be me!

There was that one time while in the Navy when some of my shipmates and I had to wait for our plane to be retrieved from a snowbank before we could board it. The plane was an R4D, also know as a DC-3, a WWII vintage aircraft still in service. In those days you always faced aft on military aircraft. I don't like to ride in any vehicle faced toward where I've been, although faced forward I may not be able to see where I'm going. It was a rough ride back to Norfolk, cold, drafty, and noisy. Years later I was taking a very small airliner out of Albany, NY.  That flight was kind of dicey.  The plane had a late departure due to mechanical problems. Naturally you always wonder if they got it repaired properly. It was a small twin-engined plane with a pod underneath for luggage.  I think it was a Piper or Cessna. When we finally were taking off, the safety instructions came from a tiny speaker sounding an old eight-track tape from the sixties. Then the Captain spoke over the speaker with the "Welcome aboard"speech. That's when I found out we had a woman pilot.  I don't have a problem with women. (I married two of 'em and my mother was a woman.)  But I was not ready for a woman pilot. A soon as the plane lifted off the runway, all the snow in the world descended on us. 

I have flown many more times since then, and some flights have been quite memorable.  Once in Alaska I was in a Turbo Otter float plane flying through the mountains. Yes, I said through the mountains.  The plane did not fly over the mountains but between the mountain peaks. They were craggy peaks with a smattering of snow. They were like giant hands with claws reaching up to grab us.  I decided that I would look up front to see how the pilot was driving. He was a wiry looking fellow with salt and pepper hair stuffed under a battered New York Yankees baseball cap. There was a grin under his huge handlebar mustache and his eyes were fixed on an attractive blonde in the co-pilot's seat. His demeanor did not instill confidence, but both of his hands were on the control yoke. Back in my seat I tightened my seatbelt, pulled my earphones back on and closed my eyes. The landing was my smoothest ever on water. Actually it was my only landing on water.

Frequently, when flying, an adult must restrain one's self from committing the crimes of infanticide plus.   I added the plus to include the killing of older children also. In air travel the length of time a child can cry is measured in miles or destinations.  I overheard a young mother say rather nonchalantly, "Oh yes, he cried from Chicago to Cleveland".  THEY ARE USED TO THE CHILDREN CRYING!  WE ARE NOT! Don't they know our malice can spread to include them AND their children.

I have my own list of caveats while flying.

1. Always get an aisle seat. (You can stretch one leg out.)
2. Sit next to a small person. (I don't like to have flesh spillage from the next seat.)
3. Sit near the lavatory.
4. If  "Airplane" is among the selection of inflight movies, DON'T WATCH IT!
5. This is the most important rule. If there is a small child in the section of the plane you are in, disregard previous rules and MOVE AS FAR AWAY FROM IT AS POSSIBLE

Just one more note on my air travel adventures. We, my dear wife and I, were on a flight from JFK (the worst airport in the world) to Charleston, South Carolina, late one evening on a small airliner. There were not very many passengers.  There was a very rotund man sitting in front of us. Had he been, and I don't think he was, a pro wrestler, he would have been called a man mountain. The flight attendant asked him to move to the other side of the aisle.  I think this was to balance the load on the airplane. The skies were not friendly to Delta that night and I don't think they would have been friendly to United either. Yep, rough air! It has been said that the air is smoother over thirty thousand feet, but he who said  that wasn't on the plane we were on. About a half hour into the flight things did smooth out though, and we were served coffee and a cookie. Soon after I felt the call to nature and made my way to the rear of the plane. The "Vacancy" sign was illuminated, so I walked right in and sat right down. Did I say this was a very small lavatory, maybe a little smaller that a Porta-John. It was the full width of the rear of the plane. As I was about to reach for the toilet paper, the solitude of my confines was broken by the crackling of the loudspeaker. "This is the captain speaking.  Please refrain from walking about the aircraft. Please remain in you seats and fasten your seatbelts!" So there I am, an old man with his pants around his ankles, precariously trying to maintain his balance while trying to reach a roll of toilet paper which is hell bent on not losing any of its sheets. As luck would have it, the next movement of the aircraft hurled me into the opposite wall and I was able to grab the objects of my desire. An opposite movement allowed me to complete the operation I had begun seemingly eons ago and escape from the tiny lavatory.

I wrote a letter to Delta Airlines requesting seatbelts in the lavatories of their airliners. 

I have found a way to overcome many of these issues I have with air travel though. I fly first class.  Snuggled in my cocoon in first class I am  oblivious to my surroundings.

Gritz

I like grits. I have always liked grits. And I'm not sure why everyone doesn't like grits. There is something about a steaming bowl with a puddle of butter in the middle that I find irresistible. Or maybe some fried hickory smoked bacon crumbled on top with a bit of sharp cheddar cheese.
It is difficult for me to fathom why some people would not be aware of the mere existence of grits. I have seen them referred to as cereal. I find such declarations appalling. When a new acquaintance informed me that grits were available in a upstate New York town, I was overjoyed. But then he told me how he loved his grits with butter and maple syrup, I realized I may not fit into local culture. My new friend was right about one thing though. Grits were available at the local Price Chopper grocery store. I found them in the breakfast cereal section in a cardboard canister with a man with a big hat on the label. Where I had been educated at Bradley Elementary School in Bradley, SC, I learned that men dressed like the one on the grits container were called Quakers.  We also learned that the Quakers settled the state of Pennsylvania. I knew that I could not eat any grits produced by anyone above the CDL. That's the Culinary Discretionary  Line that runs through middle Tennessee. I knew that I would have to write my mother a letter requesting some good old Jim Dandy grits. (I saw my cousin with a hundred pound bag of Jim Dandy dog food once.) Those would be white grits.  Grits are of two colors just like the corn from which they are made, white and yellow.
I have always eaten white grits until recently. Not so long ago we discovered our friend Butch Chastain at the local farmers market selling stone ground grits. Butch is a former airline pilot that now grinds corn into grits or cornmeal with grindstones powered by an antique gasoline engine. Using grindstones to grind grain is almost as old as time itself. Butch only grinds yellow corn so I changed my preference in grits. I can tell very little difference in taste.
I have very simple tastes in grits. I like them well cooked, slowly.  You gotta keep stirring them to keep them from sticking to the pot. My wife Claudette cooks the in the microwave oven.  They’re real good. But I can’t help remembering that they called those first microwave ovens radar ranges. Not sure I like of radar beams touching anything I eat. (I think there was something about this in the fine print of the marriage contract that allows this kind of food preparation.) Grits should gently fall off the fork much like molasses from a jug, not gritty texture and not soupy..  Salt, pepper and a bit of butter is all I require. And I like them served only at breakfast. Recently, grits have gravitated to other meals but not for me. Some of the upper tier restaurants in Charleston not serve grits cooked in milk.  And these grits are frequently covered with shrimp in gravy. Other dishes feature fried grits. The chefs of Charleston's restaurants are a competitive bunch and play a great game of one upsmanship in grits dishes.  No doubt they will soon be served with maple syrup. 

But that's not for me. 

There are things that are best the way they are. They do not need updating or changes in any way.

I feel that way about grits.