Naptime at the Airport

An occasional nap is a wonderful thing. I like to take my naps on Saturday afternoons with the house empty of people, a cool breeze coming through the window, and a fan on to drown out any noises that would cause the dogs to bark. These two dogs know the Saturday afternoon schedule better than I, the signal for naptime being the closing of the laptop. Then I find them waiting on me in the bed. The key element here is the fan. Without the fan, the dogs will bark…and continue to bark until whatever is causing the noise moves on down the road. They’re Maltese and that’s what they do…bark.

I would have to be an air traffic controller to sleep through the racket these two can make when a truck moves past the house. Speaking of which, those controllers have got to get some sleep off the job…so the rest of us can get some sleep.  How on earth they can sleep at an airport is beyond me. I have trouble sleeping in a motel room, shades drawn, air wide open and no noise whatever. You have to wonder how they get the job of air traffic controller in the first place.

It might go something like this: “Hello Mr. (your name here) welcome to the Air Traffic Control Testing Facility. You were chosen because of your ability to count sheep, eat donuts, drink  large quantities of coffee and sleep and this is where we find out just what you are capable of sleeping through, how long you can sleep through it and what it takes to wake you up. Now go down that hall and you’ll find a room full of comfortable upright chairs, with coffee, donuts and a monitor provided. On the monitor will be all sorts of airplanes (not real ones of course) moving back and forth, back and forth. You are to sit upright, drink at least two cups of coffee and stare at the planes until you go to sleep. Based on our research that should take between five and six minutes, and that’s when the actual exam will begin. A signal will be given and a squadron of B-52s will pass over this facility, followed by a Blue Angel breaking the sound barrier at tree top level, and one helicopter, plus the phone will ring every five minutes. When and if you awaken, you get to watch an action flick and if you sleep during that, we have an airport waiting for you. Oh, did we mention the music? The Atlantic City Convention Hall Organ (loudest musical instrument known to man) will be used to replace the violins used in “Concerto for 2 Violins in D Minor” by Bach” and played over the intercom during testing.” As anyone can see, passing the exam would be a feat in itself.

Years ago I tested for air traffic control in the Air Force so I know something about how it goes. I qualified, which scares me to death thinking that someone like me might be directing planes over a major airport. The stress of watching hundreds of planes each day narrowly missing each other while one drinks coffee and eats donuts has got to be tremendous. Plus, I’m one of the few people I know who’s fallen asleep during sex. I took the burden of possibly firing me off the Air Force and went into recreation instead. It’s hard to sleep when you’ve got balls coming at you. But, if I were in charge of our controllers I would insist on no fans. The humming of the fan is too similar to the sound of an aircraft engine and if they weren’t sleeping already they would be soon. Keep the AC off and invest in some Maltese and that should do the trick. It looks like we’re going to keep our feet on the ground for the next few years.

 

It May Have Been the Rain

 It may have been the rain. I just wanted to relax, put the feet up for a few days, maybe do some walking (not much) or read but, after day one at an Orlando KOA the lizards left and the frogs took over. It wasn’t forty days and nights but close to forty hours and it rained so hard I wondered if the Creator had decided to give water another shot at humankind... perhaps throwing in a few tornadoes for those at Disney who came for the rides.

We stayed in one of those cabins on wheels, my wife, daughter and a guy married to her who turned out to be an expert on tornadoes.  The rain came for nearly two days and I know because every two hours old “Credit Union”, a loving term I use to describe the wife when she’s in fiscal mode, would remind me.  “Harmon, it’s a hundred dollars a day here, hear? And it’s rained for two days straight!” “Yes dear, two days, one hour and ten minutes.”  She thinks I hung the moon I suppose and can therefore take care of weather.

We mostly ate, (one belt notch worth) and watched all the wars on TV, until I looked out the window and saw RV awnings, and small stuff spinning through the air. Things began to spin out of control then and I’ll admit I felt a bit like Noah must have felt with no letup in sight and small animals (our two dogs) cringing in the corner.

 Lightning struck at least fourteen hundred times (Weather.com) in a twelve hour period, causing this “strobe” affect when you looked at them. They will no doubt need counseling as both have tics as a result of dodging thunder (a thing that cannot be done) for twelve hours. At the KOA you are encouraged to “pick up” after your dog. I’m going to stop here and let your imaginations do the rest. Those doggie doo baggies are over-rated. “Credit Union” wants to put diapers on them but I just can’t get my head around that.

The tornado warning…not watch, with the difference being the position of your head, lasted the twelve hours as we sat in what every weather man/woman on earth will tell you not to be caught in during a tornado…a trailer on wheels made to look like a wooden home. My son-in-law, the weather “expert”, reminded us to listen for the sound of the train. “Train?” We asked. “Yeah, the train sound…that tells us when it’s time to go sit in the bathrooms across the street.” “Uh, how much time to we have after hearing the train sound?” I asked, being the oldest person in the cabin and no doubt in need of more time to get to the bathrooms across the street. “Not long.” He said, which meant I was relegated to standing in the rain periodically, so as not to miss “The Orient Express”. 

To make matters worse, one of the dogs had what “Credit Union” refers to as “my god, it’s a flea infestation!”  That’s what she calls it and the dogs know that what comes after that is, “it’s got to have a bath!” So here they are dodging thunder, sensing the end of life as they know it and having to worry about the worst possible end time…the bath.

Did I mention sleeping on the floor? Well, we did have options. Option one was sleeping in a double bed designed for large dwarfs.

Option two was sleeping in bunk beds designed for large dwarfs. 

 

And option three was sleeping on the air mattress “teaser”, no doubt designed by an insomniac bent on revenge.

 I chose three and wasn’t disappointed as it never failed to let me down around three AM.  They say this was one of the most beautiful KOAs in Florida. Maybe we’ll find out next year.

The Kansas Wheat Field

Well, it finally happened. The baby boomers are turning into their grandparents. And to be PC, let me say I appreciate being here this long. There we sat, watching that new sitcom, “Modern Family” of all things... me, the dogs and wife, hugging the new space heater and enjoying a gay couple, and two “dysfunctional families”  and…  I like that Columbian woman, she’s really funny and because I have an eye for “talent”, I can appreciate her contribution to the show. But I digress.

 I remember it like it was yesterday, truth is, it had to be or I’d probably forget it. Nine thirty rolls around and the wife decides it’s time for bed. I’d had a nap earlier so I was going to stay up for another five minutes, loads of energy and all. She gets up, looks back at me, sitting next to my TV  table and says, “You know, I can’t put my finger on it but I had the strangest feeling I was seeing your granddaddy Harmon sitting there. I said, “He’s been gone since 80’, as far as we know, what’s this all about… dear?”  “Well, she says, there’s  two pill bottles, a box of Kleenex, three pairs of reading glasses, some Corn Huskers lotion and a tube of Cracked Heal sitting on your table. Reminds me of that picture we took of him thirty years ago that sits in the den.”  I had no idea they had all this stuff back then so I walked in there to take a look and sure nuff…it was all there but the Cracked Heal (new remedy I suppose).

I’m thinking, there must have been some additional items that made those folks REALLY old, so I said, “Well, you don’t see a TV Guide or magnifying glass around here anywhere do ya?!” “Nope, she says, we’ve got internet, the   magnifying glass is in the bedroom where you left it.” She’s always claimed the female has some part of their anatomy that acts like a GPS system or locator that can find objects the male loses.  I adjusted my laptop and thought about… being old. It sneaks up on you.

At some point we all think about what was, more than what is to be and that’s when it begins. When you hear yourself saying, “I remember when” or “I used to” more than “I can’t wait to” you know something has changed about you. Your first indication, unless your wife decides you need to know, might be the mirror. Most guys begin shaving around the age of fourteen or so, can’t really remember it was so long ago, and they tend to concentrate solely on the face. At that age we have no ears in a mirror. Now our ears look like a Kansas wheat field. 

 

Ever try to look into your ear? You can’t do it without some exceptional mirror work. My granddaddy had one of those three-way mirrors in his bedroom which allowed you to look sideways at yourself. When we were fourteen we used it to check out the backs of our heads…a place I have no inclination to view anymore.  I wonder who got it when he left us. I sure would like to see inside my ears. I just have the feeling something is in there that shouldn’t be.  I now know why he put so much stock in that mirror. He had discovered his wheat field. I have several older friends who have yet to discover theirs’ and wonder if I should say something like, “say Ray, noticed anything resembling wheat growing out of your ears lately?”

 

 Another indicator of “getting on” is the realization that you have little in common with most of the people you run into. Aside from medication, ailments and grandchildren (which I have none of) there’s little to talk about with the other humans. At this age I’m looking at getting my last dog, last car and hopefully hanging on to my last wife. So when Hugh Hefner twitters his engagement to a twenty something, I figure one of two things; either that mansion he lives in has everything but a three-way mirror or she’s from Kansas.  

Our Song

Packers versus Steelers. “The American Bowl” where two historically significant teams met in the, man I hate that name, “Super Bowl”. I didn’t like the name when it was first coined back when baseball was still our national pastime. It seemed corny or too much like “Metropolis” and the Joker. “Super Bowl”. Why? The halftime shows have been anything but super over the last few years. I miss the bands, they seemed more American to me. Watching young people marching to patriotic themes was really super. I say, “Bring back the bands”. I miss someone singing our national anthem that remembers the words or at least holds up a piece of paper with the lyrics so they can get it right. It’s an important song.

Folks in other countries listen to it when we sing it at the “Super Bowl”. They probably don’t know the words either. But we should. After all, it’s our national anthem. It used to be recognized all over the world as it was sung so many times at the Olympics (in its natural state) and other venues where Americans were successful. Now it often sounds like a rehearsal for American Idol. What’s up with that? Also, it’s getting more and more difficult to understand the “superness” of the “Super Bowl” itself. We know there’s a super amount of beer and nachos sold, and a super amount of money spent on tickets, a super number of super souvenirs one can purchase at supermarkets and a super amount of betting hinging on the outcome. But, other than that, what’s so super about the “Super Bowl”? One thing’s for sure. It’s not the halftime show. I sure do miss the bands. But I digress.


This business of singing our national anthem in an appropriate manner is important. It’s akin to the saying of the Pledge of Allegiance. Oh, I know the anthem sounds like a fight song with rockets and bombs, but that was a part of the history of our independence. We’re Americans, we fight for freedom, justice, and we offer our best for those unable or unwilling to do so in order that others might be free. Singing our national anthem is not an audition, nor a time to show off one’s vocal cords. It’s a time to acknowledge not only our country but the sacrifice made by so many who chose to honor America with their service. Does it not deserve to be sung reverently, accurately, and with a sense of awe that there are those who lived before us and those who live among us, who were and are willing to give their lives for an idea?

Years ago, another time, same place, patriotism was a part of each day spent at school. The Pledge, assemblies and music classes were filled with songs about America, our home, refuge and pride. We were taught about the things that made America a wonderful place to live, grow and become. What happened? How is it that our national anthem can be taken for granted, desecrated or made less than it is? It’s simple actually. We stopped teaching those things we cherished to those who came after us. We assumed that patriotism, love of country and all it stood for were inbred. They are not. Each generation has the responsibility of teaching the next generation love and history of country. When that fails to happen we begin to see what we have seen in recent years. I refuse to say, “with all our faults” blah blah blah. Each family reading this has someone who has made a sacrifice for our country. It’s time we said “enough”, if you want to sing our song, sing it right, if you don’t want to sing it right, sing along with those who do. And sing loud. I sure miss those bands.