Can anyone read this?

Michael W. received this lovely piece of Japanese art from this gentleman.

Can anyone translate for him? It was picked up (out of a trench, is that right, Mike?) in Japan during WWII.

Robert W. Snyder, Jr., 1947 - 2010

Robert W. Snyder, Jr., thank you for your service to our county. His obituary is here, please go read the whole thing. The tributes left on the guest book are also worth a look.

Blog-roll update

Wow. I’m really behind on adding people, and honestly, I don’t know where some of you are coming from. Maybe I should rephrase that to wonder why the tens of you are stopping by, unless it’s just out of sheer curiosity to see what tangent I’m taking this week. Not that I’m complaining, and I’m not fishing for reassurances, but as an unpopular kid growing up, I find it amusing that people stop by on purpose, and it’s not to try to T.P. my dad’s trees.

First of all, I am very remiss in not adding bluesun at Dead Man Dance sooner. He’s been commenting since the beginning, and has stuck with me from bayoneting pot roasts to making 18th century gingerbread to listening to me (of all newbies!) offer thoughts on carrying a concealed pistol.

I’ve added Daddy Bear’s Den with whom I have that whole “middle-aged parent” thing going on, and The Clue Meter.

Ah, and the Blazing Orange. He was one of the first bloggers I met in Charlotte before the “Agh! Too many people for me to remember!” thing hit. I know he can pick me out of a police line-up because he and Caleb were standing back-to-back checking out who was taller, just as I stood up from behind the table and tried to scoot past them. It was kind of funny, at least from my perspective, but maybe you had to be there. (And no, I’m not really 7 feet tall. Stop spreading rumors, JayG!)

Anyhow, if for some odd reason you link to this foolishness, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours let me know and I’ll reciprocate. Unless you creep me out, or something.

Three and a half months late

BAG Day. Buy a gun day.

Shorter Half just returned from The Nation's Gun Show.

He showed amazing restraint when he bypassed a Garand and an M14. Instead, he picked up a Mossberg 500. We didn’t have a shotgun, and now we do.

One reason we didn’t have one before now was because I refused to have a Chinese made one in the house. I won’t pay money to the Chinese army.

The first thing I made SH do was run upstairs to show it to Sweet Daughter who was trying to fall asleep. “See? We've got a new gun to keep us safe from the Big Bad Wolf!” He knelt outside her room, aimed down the stairs towards the front hallway, and pumped the slide. SD daughter positively cackled.

I like the safety on the top of the wrist which makes it ambidextrous. I like the lack of sights to distract me. (How do I use those again? *grin*) I did ask SH if we could put a laser sight on it -- I told him I want to put a red spot where I want the red hole to go.

I've never fired a shotgun before, but it seems very intuitive to use. I can’t wait to take it out and make it go “blammo!” Bring on the zombies!

Good day

I found a copy of this engraving at a local antique store today. It turns out that Paul Revere plagiarized it, and that the original artist, Henry Pelham, was not amused.

And I just finished a pint of Bellhaven Wee Heavy Scottish Ale. Shorter Half brought it home after one of his WWII events, and wow. I have a new favorite brew.

Queen of the sky

During WWII, my dad was a bombardier on a B-17 (I believe it was a B-17G), the Stars and Stripes. I don’t know much about what he did – he’s talked about it more with others than with me, but I know that he bombed Germany, and I know he and his whole crew completed their 30 missions successfully. While visiting last week, there was a B-17G at the local airport for 2 days, and the crew called my dad as asked if he would like to come out for a visit. At 94, my dad’s mind is still as sharp as a tack, but his knees aren’t so good, and 25 years of smoking when he was younger have caught up with his lungs. Unfortunately, he had to decline.

A couple of days later, we took Sweet Daughter to a park to do some kid stuff, instead of all that boring grown-up talking, and I heard a very distinctive growly rumbly hum. Once you’ve heard it, you can’t possibly mistake it for anything else. I looked up, and there she was, the Aluminum Overcast, the Queen of the Sky.

Bad taste?

While visiting in the mid-west last week, we took a side-trip to the Hormel Spam museum. It’s a really nice place. It was bright and shiny. It was kitschy. They spared no expense (which they apparently try to recoup soley through the gift shop.)

We checked out the Cyber Diner and played Spamalot.
We watched a movie about the Hormel Girls, and actually saw handful of them tucked away in a back room, apparently there for a reunion of sorts.

All was going well – Sweet Daughter was busy trying to stuff six empty cans with bean bags representing Spam, then putting on lids, “heat” processing them, and labeling them (all while being timed) when an older gentleman came through with a tray of “Spam with cheese” samples. I took one when offered, and when he asked SD if she wanted one, she replied “No, thank you.” as she continued to stuff cans with faux Spam.

His response? “That’s un-American!” he sputtered in a disapproving tone.

My response? “At least she’s got good manners!”, while giving him a modified version of my “eat flaming hot death” look.

And that left a bad taste in my mouth.