Okay, the weekend was great but Monday sucked.

Hello everyone, funny thing happened while I was playing with Miss Wiggles where she takes gymnastics. See there was this rope mounted to the ceiling for climbing and me being a excellent dad I had to show my daughter how I did it when I was a rough, tough, and much younger soldier. Yours truly scampered quite well up the twenty some-odd foot rope but when I came down on the cushions that protect the youngings from hurting themselves I looked down and saw my my right foot at a ninety-degree angle compared to my left. Within thirty minutes my ankle had swelled to the size of a nice watermelon and right now looks all purple and reddish. Now the pain is managed and bearable but with the house in chaos and the computer in a spot that does not lend well to extended writing I'm going to be away for a few more days. The little blue pills I'm taking for the pain make my head a little more than the usual weird so that is another reason why I will be away. I started typing this a good while ago and had to have Spoilboy take over. Everyone hang tight and I'll be back sometime Saturday.

Doing the Sunday night hokey pokey

Strangeness and overwhelming confusion seem to permeate my life and honestly at times I just find its just best for me to sit back and go with the flow. Adding to the confusion is how some around me, while driving themselves crazy trying to keep up, seem to get upset with me for not doing the same myself. Now I bounce from one bizarre and confusing situation to another concerning my wife and kids hoping someone will fill me in with the details at some point.

My son finally got a cell phone this weekend but much to my surprise after months of whining he gazed upon the thing he most wanted in the world and said he couldn't show his face while using it because it was a pre-paid cell phone. None the less when asked if it would be best for us just to return it he quickly grabbed it and ran upstairs. A few hours later he was begging for more time since he had already used what time we bought texting.

After being told by Dragonwife that it was going to be a low budget weekend with no eating out or mad rushes to the grocery store for chips, beer, ice cream, and a can of whip cream (wait that was just me fantasizing) after Miss Wiggles throw a fit saying she has no clothes that look nice she and Dragonwife ran off to the nearest upper end department store and come back with multiple bags fill with bright fancy new clothes.

I in turn now sit upstairs drinking some fine ice tea wondering when I can just get out of this town just for a weekend. Luckily one is coming real soon. I still can't get over the nagging feeling with a world going crazy on almost every level maybe the hokey pokey is really what its all about.

A Parrothead Review: Sins of the Assassin.

A novel by Robert Ferrigno, and a hell of a ride on the dystopia express.

You should always be careful when you step through the looking glass and enter the surreal and while novels provide a relatively safe way to do so even then the results can be unsettling. Not too long ago I stepped through upon opening a book entitled “Prayers for the Assassin”. In this book we learn in the prologue the United States experienced a post Iraq mega-malaise, a major economic downturn equal to or worse than the Great Depression, and as the fabric of a tired disillusioned society frays a major conversion of the “blue states” populations to Islam who were tired of the empty shell of the Christian faith. The killing stroke for the country came in the form of two terrorist nuclear bombs, supposedly planted by the Israelis, that destroyed New York and Washington DC plunging the country into a second civil war as the Islamic north and west try to conquer the south that turned back to its Christian roots and wanted no part of the new Islamic States of America forming the independent nation of the Bible Belt. The main body of the story takes place decades later as the heroes Rakkim and Sarah, both citizens of the Islamic republic, race to expose that it was not the Israelis that nuked us but a fanatic billionaire Muslim called the “Old One” who wishes to establish a global Caliphate. As they dodge an even more fanatic assassin sent by the Old One to kill them they struggle to collect the final pieces of evidence of the attacks they journey through a polluted and the very alien land of The Islamic States of America.

The second novel of the announced trilogy, “Sins of the Assassin” has been released and this time we take a trip into the Bible Belt states, and just so you understand right off it ain’t no wonderland. After the Second American Civil War that killed up to 36 million Americans the Islamic States ended up in control with the blue states of the north east, the Midwest, and the Pacific states, along with most of the Rocky mountain states. An independent Nevada where the civil war was barely a minor bump in the gambling profits, and Mormon Utah which controls parts of several other states it borders both wiggled out from the Islamic government. The Bible Belt in turn got the states of the old Confederacy, most of Missouri, Kentucky, and West Virginia. For the Bible Belt, South Florida broke away and is independent. At the start of the second book a couple of years have passed from the first and we quickly learn that both of the major American nations are having territory claimed by its major and more advanced nations to the north and south. The Mexican Empire has already taken a small chunk of the southwest from both countries and wants more. South Florida, suffering from flooding from global warming, wants territory all the way into Georgia, and even Canada wants a nice chunk of the northern Midwest states. But even with all this going on the various factions in both the Islamic republic and the Bible Belt fear each other more. So much that when Islamic republic intelligence catches wind of a Bible Belt warlord, Colonel Zachary Smitts, is searching for a doomsday weapon developed and hidden by the old United States it has to send someone either to steal it or destroy before the Bible Belt can use it on them. Sending Rakkim and a super-geek kid Leo into the Bible Belt we are soon exposed to the nasty underbelly of how this part of the old United States has fallen. David Koresh’s former compound in Waco is a major tourist attraction which every Sunday the ATF attack is recreated on a full scale replica. And yes, Koresh and his followers are the tragic good guys fighting off the nasty federal government agents. While racism is dead in the Bible Belt, indentured servitude is a commonly used method to collect debts or “teach someone a trade”. Coming full circle, Bible Belt Americans are the mid-21^st century’s dirt cheap labor providing cheap commercial products for Russia, China, Brazil, Canada, and a whole range of 1^st world countries for which neither the Islamic republic or the Bible Belt can be called members. And of the two major American nations while the Bible Belt keeps most of the form of government of the old United States its central government is weak with local warlords holding most of the power.

As Rakkim and Leo enter the Bible Belt through what remains of Texas not part of the Mexican Empire and work eastward toward the Colonel we get a good look at rural poverty, corruption, and abject decay of what was once the most advanced country on the planet. Rakkim and Leo briefed that the warlord colonel is a dangerous man out to destroy the Islamic republic find him to be a thoughtful caring man after working their way into his camp. Yes, he is a Christian and patriot to the Bible Belt but he is in no way a threat to their country. Given that the elected Bible Belt leadership is extra eager to sale both the people and their natural resources off at rock bottom bargain prices as a warlord he honestly is an improvement. The worst things that can be said about him is that once the super secret weapon, hidden in an abandon coal mine, is found he plans on selling it to the Chinese who are the leading world power with the Russians nipping at their heels. Rakkim makes some seriously disturbing discoveries as his plan to steal the hidden weapon works his way to a conclusion, namely what the weapon actually is and in its current shape. Saying anymore would be giving far too much away in an otherwise enjoyable futuristic thriller. The biggest drawbacks I will discuss involve Rakkim’s discovery of a secret cabal of people from both the Islamic republic, namely Rakkim’s wife who is major player in their government, and the Bible Belt who are at least exploring ways to begin to work toward reunification of the two countries. The author has created, in my opinion, an unbridgeable scenario between the two and given how the Islamic republic and the Bible Belt populace view each other a reunification strains the book’s credibility. Also an issue is the comic book villain of the Old One who has a strong hand in what goes on in the second book. The Old One is somehow a combination of Lex Luthor, the emperor from Star Wars, and a hundred-plus year old Donald Trump with his hands in everything around the world. But ignoring him and just exploring the American dystopia while cheering on the conflicted but heroic Rakkim still makes this an excellent read.

Our country faces severe challenges across a whole range of issues as we enter the 21^st century. For me part of the attraction of this trilogy is safely reading about this surreal world in the comfort of an easy chair as I sip a cold ice tea. While this review and these books should in no way be thought of a prediction of future events it would be unwise to discount them as a cheap thriller. The problems that plunged the fictional United States of these books into a spiritual and societal depression, economic collapse, then civil war are real even if we never see terrorist nuclear weapons explode in this country. Far too many people from all factions (left, right, liberal, conservative, fruitcake, or wacko) view but a single facet of the world and are hell-bent ever to see it through someone else’s eyes. The United States has enjoyed the pinnacle of world power these last couple of decades but has lost the vision of what put it in this spot. Americans have generally become conceited and lazy thinking the world owes us something simply because we view ourselves as the rulers of the world. God, karma, or simple history usually has a place for those who view themselves that way and to put it kindly it is the pages of a dusty unread forgotten history book. When you’re on top of the world and abuse your status there is only one way to go and its down.

Pawleys magic

No one will ever say that I do things the easy way. But it took me moving to the middle of the continent to realize things about the place I came from. I had lived almost all my life on the coast of South Carolina with all the ocean, sand, and sea breezes anyone could ever want and it was not until I was stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado did I learn to love the ocean more than I could ever imagine. While I was born on an army base in Arizona my dad was stationed at I spent most of my childhood living just a few short miles from Pawleys Island. A place that I still consider very magical and special to me. The best way I can describe the Pawleys Island of my youth was that the place had an out of the way coastal village feel. Even though now urban growth has taken a great deal of the quiet coastal village feel and replaced it with urban yuppie coastal chic I still love going back to it.

Georgetown, the town I lived in and about 15 miles south of Pawleys, in the 60's and 70's was a small, quiet, southern town. You would be hard pressed to find the "higher forms" of culture that other people in bigger cities appreciate about their hometowns. But we did have the beach and you could find many of us heading for the ocean anytime we got the chance. While classical music was in short supply we did have beach music. And while fine restaurants, at that time, were few we did have fresh oysters, shrimp, grits, and some of the best home cooked fried flounder you could ever find.

As the years for me went by I had come to overlook the very magic of the place. So one day in 1986 I left my home and flew far away to Colorado to serve my country. At that point in my life I wanted to see a different part of the country, and to get away from my family. Like many of my age I had come to view their affection as more an interference in my life and I wanted to strike out on my own. I arrived in Colorado in the summer and quickly fell in love with the place. The mountains were awe inspiring and I enjoyed hiking threw the trails in the warm months. But in October the snows began and at first I enjoyed the snow, I had only seen snow about five times my entire life before living in Colorado. When it did snow in South Carolina the snow had the good manners to have melted away within a couple of days after throwing the entire state into a panic. In Colorado it snowed and snowed and when you think it wouldn't, it snowed some more. So this Lowcountry boy began to dread the winters and, no I never learned to ski. By the time snow skiing season had begun I had decided that the best place for me was in my room under four blankets doing research on human hibernation. Except for my duties I was pretty much holed up until spring. Thank God even though there might be five feet of snow of the ground and more still coming the boys and girls at the various pizza joints always got the pizza to me at least warm.

I was on my second year in Colorado when I returned home on leave and realized how badly I missed the ocean. I came home in late September and the cold winds had already started blowing at Fort Carson promising an early winter but the weather at Pawleys Island was still fully entrenched in summer. This was 1988 and most of the tourists had gone home and the locals were busy with their lives. Kids were in school and the great majority of adults were at their day jobs and this was before hurricane Hugo trashed the place when you could still see the "arrogantly shabby" bumper stickers on the cars of people who lived at Pawleys.

I wasn't suppose to have leave that summer. My unit's leadership wanted enough people on hand for any last minute demands for extra bodies any other units in the division might need for their summer field training. The eternal curse of those in air defense units is to be farmed out to other units when they need someone to pull their shit details like good old KP, guard duty, or my favorite driving some gung-ho officer around who at 1:30am wants to go find his buddy in another unit to trade MRE's. This is after you have just gotten in your army fart sack (sleeping bag) after pulling four hours of guard duty. So I was very surprised one fine morning to have my First Sergeant at morning formation call out several names, mine being one of them, wanting us to report to his office. Usually such a call does not mean good news but once the others and I were assembled in his office we were quickly told that we had been approved for leave anytime between now and the middle of October. While this was good news I had no high expectation that I would be able to get a plane ticket back home for the seven days of leave that had popped up for us. But none the less I called and got a great airfare for a flight just three days later. Here is where I should have called and told my family that I was coming home. But some idea popped into my head to fly in and surprise them with a call from me at the Charleston airport.

I flew into Charleston late one morning and hustled over to the military lounge to call my family and eat all the taxpayer provided free food and drink all the free sodas I could while I waited for them to automatically drop whatever they were doing and joyfully drive the sixty miles south to pick up their grandson, nephew, or cousin. After several hours of calling and getting absolutely no one I started to get worried. I had even begun to entertain the thought of renting a car when I finally reached Uncle Paul at his house. I quickly learned that my grandparents, Uncle George, and his wife were on vacation at Cherokee, North Carolina and would not be back for at least the entire week I would be on leave. Uncle Paul, Lady Einstein, and their son Neo were themselves but a few hours away from driving down to Miami to board a Carnival Cruise ship and seven days in the Caribbean. I had somehow picked the very moment that month when the entire family was just not busy but away for the entire time I was scheduled to be home. Uncle Paul explained that since I had called several months before saying that it didn't look like I would make it home everyone had made other plans. Renting a car was looking like my only option to make it home, which would blow my budget for just about the entire trip. Uncle Paul told me to hang on and call him back in one hour. When I did he he told me that my honorary uncle Surferdude was on the way to pick me up and would take me back to Charleston the next week. Uncle Paul told me to hang out at his house and that the place was mine along with his car. True to his word SurferDude showed up a little over an hour later and dropped me off at Uncle Paul's beach house. My luck continued to hold out as bad when SurferDude told me he had to go back home and get ready for work the next day.

So after SurferDude left I walked a lonely beach with a salty breeze blowing around my head and warm ocean water around my feet. I could hear the seagulls circling around knowing that they were looking for their food. That day the ocean water was so clear and clean it almost looked like water from the Caribbean. I could see many small bait fish swimming around in the shallow areas. More than likely that was what had the gulls in such an uproar. I walked over to the creek side and smelled the marsh at low tide. Some have compared that smell to something bad but to me it's a smell that signifies life. It was there that I meet a beautiful young lady, who for the sake of clarity I will call Sharon, who had also come home from living elsewhere. She was taking a semester break from attending college in Tennessee. Being about the same age and for the most part alone Sharon and I hit it off rather quickly and began to hang out together. A couple of days went by as we walked the beach, saw some movies, and played in the water. After she realized I probably wasn't a complete nut we had dinner at her house and watched the stars come out that night. We talked about our love of Pawleys Island and wondered why we had left such a place. It turned out that she also felt that her family was interfering to much in her life and that moving away would give her some independence. As the night went on a summer rain shower moved in and we went to her room and listened to a Van Morrison album call "Moondance" as the rain fell outside. That morning we walked the beach and watched the sunrise. We spent a couple more days with each other before we both returned to our separate lives. As fate would have it we wrote each other for a few months and slowly drifted away. She had returned to school and I had my duties as a soldier.

It was just a few months later that I was pulling guard duty at place called Pinon Canyon in southeastern Colorado. It was on the plains in a bad snow storm and I was in a foxhole, very cold watching the blowing snow. I was enthralled by the patterns the snowflakes made as they came down but at the same time I knew this place was alien to me. That I did not belong there and that I should return home as soon as possible. Which was of course problematic, I had almost two more years on my enlistment and Uncle Sam was not about to release me. So I did what I had to do and finished my enlistment. I left Colorado in 1990 and returned home to the place I should have never left. I spent the following two years attending college myself and working to shape my adult life. Which looking back to that period now, maybe I should have done a few more things differently. But a real comfort to me has been just strolling down that sandy little island letting the water wash over my feet. It has always has brought be back to some sort of peace and let my mind settle whatever problem I may have had.

Yes, I think of that lovely lady often. After stumbling over "Moondance" at a used CD store years later I bought it and to this day it brings back Sharon and our time together like it was yesterday. I never saw her again, I figure she is happily married having yuppies and raising puppies, as Jimmy Buffett would say. I wonder if she ever thinks of me?

It's 3:00am and Hillary is in the White House answering the phone.

Didn't mean to scare the little fella. Personally, I'm waiting for someone to explain to me how the self appointed empress of all that is holier-than-thou eight years as First Lady makes her her ready to be commander-in-chief. Now as far as knowing which fork to use at a state dinner or having the ability to kiss hundreds of babies on the campaign trail well I'll give her that.

A visit to Patriot’s Point at Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

Back in 1977 after many hours of begging I talked my grandfather into my first trip to visit Patriot's Point where the USS Yorktown was on display as a museum. Back then a trip to the Charleston area was almost an epic journey to a far away place we went to only for a major event like buying a new car, purchasing of serious formal wear like a suit or fancy dress, or sending someone off at the only nearby major airport. Just getting up and going to see something for fun just, at that time, did not seem to make sense to my grandfather. But we did and my grandfather later admitted it was worth the trip. Many years later when my son Darth Spoilboy was about five he and I traveled down and spent the day crawling through the ship. At that time I wasn't into photography and I didn't take a camera so our adventures are lost. This time we had my daughter Miss Wiggles with us as we explored that proud lady. Each time I have come to visit her I'm awed by her size. I understand that many of her later sisters are far bigger in size but what do I know, I'm just an old army fart.

I did notice that during each visit I saw many older guys walking around telling their kids, grandkids, and now great grandkids about their time serving aboard that ship. The only time I got a good chance to hear some stories was my first visit. Since then I have had to keep watch over my kids while trying to listen to one of those fellows tell some of their history on the ship. I hope I have a chance to listen first hand to one of those sailors before they all move on. While these ships, active and retired, are steel the people serving aboard them give them a life all their own.

This is a halfway decent picture of the USCGC Ingham. She served in WW2 protecting ships ferrying supplies to Britain. In 1942 she sank the German U-boat U626. She went to serve in both Korea and Vietnam before being retired in 1988.

The torpedo repair room aboard the Yorktown. A nearby sign displayed at a cutaway torpedo display says that these things carried 75 pounds of explosives. Talk about a place to observe all the safety rules to the letter.

I would love to see some of the chickenhawks flocking around the country being so gung-ho about others fighting having to put up with such tight quarters. Click on the picture to read the sign. For those who may not know for many, many years sailors had LESS personal space than inmates in prison. The ships are larger now and I have heard that they do have a little more space and privacy but serving on a naval warship is not a cruise ship. The duty is long, hard, with many hours to wonder how your family is doing back home. This is true of the army as well but there is an old saying that some people use to explain why they joined army and not the navy. It goes something to the effect: "I can walk far longer than I can swim", meaning if the ship goes down you are in serious deep poop.

Just one shot of the engine room and all the dials and seriously old fashioned controls they used. Dear God, not one computer display in the entire engine room.

One of the anti-aircraft guns now on display on the hanger deck. My first visit there they left old steel pot helmets on the chairs the gun crews used. During that time kids could wear the helmets as they used the manual controls to turn the gun some. Simply, it was a blast imagining Japanese fighters buzzing around as some WW2 battle raged.

I think this is a Grumman F6F Hellcat, thanks Colonel, on the hanger deck. The planes on display in the hanger deck were awesome but my camera, and the operator, were not up to the task top take decent pictures in the low light.

The bridge of the Yorktown. Its hard to imagine all the history that was made and all the courage that was displayed right there as Japanese planes attacked.

One Beach Bum sitting in the captain's chair wondering if I could throw my son in the brig. No, the lower portion of my sweatshirt is NOT my stomach sticking out. Miss Wiggles had ditched her jacket and I stuffed it into my pocket on the front.

The flight very close to the point where the planes left the carrier. On my first visit to the Yorktown with my grandfather they didn't have anything to stop someone from just falling off the flight deck into the water below. In fact I almost gave them a reason that day but my grandfather pulled me back before I did it. Never the less sometime not long later someone did fall off and into the marsh resulting in a chain link fence being installed

F-14 Tomcat. No, I have no idea if that is the one Tom Cruise flew in the movie.

F-18 Hornet.

I hate that small sailboat that screwed up my shot. The old girl has never changed since that first visit but I do think she needs a coat of paint. While we were there a bunch of guys were very busy putting up a McCain campaign platform with many of his suited flunkies floating around making things ready for the senator because the South Carolina Republican primary was the next day. Since I have a bad habit of speaking my political thoughts I did have a small concern that McCain might drop in early and somehow see my daughter and try and do the old political baby kissing routine on her. She has heard enough of me talking about McCain that if she let something slip it wouldn't have been good. I respect the man's service and what he went through during his time as a POW but on international affairs right now he is almost nuts.

The USS Clamagore. She saw a great deal of duty in the Caribbean in the late 40's. Damn, I bet that was some sweet duty.

Miss Wiggles inside the sub. I could not have served on a submarine. I am just to big and just walking through that boat was hard.

Patriot's Point has a model of a Vietnam river operations base complete with a swiftboat. I believe like the one John Kerry served on during his time there. One of the many weird things I saw during the 2004 presidential campaign was how a bunch of non-serving lowlifes had the gaul to say a word against a man that served in a combat zone while many in the Republican party had dad fix them a slot in the safe confines of the Texas National Guard or somehow was able swing several deferments to avoid serve all together. Sure Kerry may have not been Rambo but just serving one day in Vietnam was lightyears ahead of the sacrifice many other did.

Just had to throw this one of a jeep in for shits and giggles. For those that may not know the new hummers now being used have automatic transmissions. The reason was that many kids going into the service back when the need for a faster vehicle was being developed were tearing the poop out of the straight drive transmissions in these old things. It ended up cheaper to buy automatics and deal with their maintenance and repairs instead of teaching the kids to drive a stick and sending the jeeps to a depot repair time and time again to have the transmission overhauled. And yes, I grounded my fair share of gears before I got the hang of it.

Not again...

I have to apologize to those who read my blog about my latest absence but events have once again overtaken my family and quite frankly I have found myself overwhelmed and lost to a great extent. Several times recently I have sat down at my computer to make comments at other sites and begin a new post entry on my site but I have found myself after many minutes staring at a screen unable to think of anything to write or much less summon the energy to type. Simply put, my uncle who I have given the name "Uncle Paul" to in my posts passed away last Saturday morning. In the course of twelve to thirteen months my family and I have lost my grandmother, my mom, and now Uncle Paul. It was not my intention to report this event chiefly because I just didn't want to write anything like this again. But I have found myself unable to "bounce back" like I had after the passing of my grandmother and mother. My grandmother's quality of life had deteriorated greatly over her last couple of years requiring almost twenty-four hour nursing care at the facility she was living at. While I miss her greatly even now please don't miss understand me when I write that she mostly talked about looking forward to seeing my grandfather again during those times she knew where she was at. I feel she is now in a better place free of the problems and concerns that plagued her in the last few years and along side my grandfather, probably sitting side-by-side next some river fishing. My mother greatly abused her health for years refusing to alter her behavior even after repeated warnings from her doctors that she was putting herself in an early grave. I made my peace with her and her behavior accepting the reality of her choices. That doesn't mean I miss her any less, it's just some things can't be changed no matter how many people endeavor to try. Their passing shook my family and me but there was a certain acceptance of the events due to the nature of their ages and health that made it, in some regards, easier to come to grips with sooner. My Uncle Paul's passing has been far more devastating for the whole family and a private hell for his wife Lady Einstein and their son, Neo.

Uncle Paul's health was far from perfect, he had been fighting a "mild" form of cancer for many years that while under control from chemotherapy never went into a full remission. Even though undergoing the grueling treatments there were several times I saw him up and about living a normal life just one or two days after the end of a session. For many in the family we had gotten to the point of overlooking what he was going through since whenever we saw him he did his best to not to show the toll it was taking on him. But it can be argued that my uncle loved life so much as long as he had breath in his body he was going to live it to the fullest no matter what. As the years progressed he did find himself making more and more visits to the hospital as the toll on his body became greater and it took more attention to stabilize his condition. The visits, at first, were usually just a couple of days but became more severe and longer as each one passed. While he fought to keep the cancer at bay the chemo began very much to be a double edged sword in its own right. The periodic chemical assault that prolonged his life ultimately damaged his liver to the point that just a few months ago while his health was stable he was under going tests in Charleston for a possible liver transplant at some point. The week before the Martin Luther King holiday I learned from my brother Joe Cool that Uncle Paul was once again in the hospital "probably just for a few days" and would be out before we all arrived down on the coast for the early start of the weekend on Friday. I had looked forward to joking with him on the Bush zombie clones roaming the state with the Republican primary coming that Saturday. My uncle was a independant minded Democrat and thought the Republicans a pack of fools. Even though the kids and I made a side trip in Charleston we arrived first in Georgetown to find Lady Einstein and him still at the hospital. His condition was far worse this time but I hoped that a little prayer and his seemly boundless energy might once again bring him back. I kept that hope as long as possible even though it became futile not long later.

One of my other cousins reached me first last Saturday morning with the news I didn't want to hear. I was devastated and I broke down and cried laying on my kitchen floor. The rest of that day was a blur as Dragonwife and the kids packed the needed items for the trip to the coast. I collected myself enough to drive down but I honestly don't remember the trip although Spoilboy did later make a point of asking me if I was okay several times. Needless to say I don't recall him asking me anything due to the shock I was in. The funeral was last Monday and since then I have found myself still unable at times to believe he is really gone. Uncle Paul almost worshiped Lady Einstein and was the type of father I try to be to my kids so I can't imagine what she and my cousin Neo have been through and will continue to have to endure. My other, and last uncle, whom I have given the name Uncle George finds himself the last sibling of the four that included my mother. The depth of his sorrow was such that the entire family was worried about his possible health. He has his wife and two sons but never expected to find himself the last one standing out of my mom, Uncle Bear who passed away in the late 1970's, and now Uncle Paul.

I am uncertain when I will return to blogging on a regular basis. I will be back at some point and I must admit that just getting this off my chest has made me feel better. Until then I will be lurking in the mist somewhere and wish everyone the best. And dear sweet Jesus in heaven I never want to write a post like this again for a really long long time.