In the Army, you never stay anywhere very long.  You receive orders, perhaps move to a post and are assigned to quarters.  And, that is your “temporary home.”  Sorry Carrie.  You might plant flowers.  But as for trees or shrubs, what’s there is what you get.

Our first permanent assignment (which means more than six months) was Fort Hood, Texas.  After waiting almost a year, we were assigned to quarters on Newton Court, right across from the Officers Club.  After spending three years in law school in a cramped apartment, this house seemed enormous.  The dining room was large enough to play ping pong.  We didn’t have any dining room furniture, so we bought a ping pong table.

The yard had lots of vegetation.  The back border of our yard consisted of pomegranate bushes – ten to twelve.  The fruit was so bitter that you couldn’t eat it.  But, at the left front corner of the house was a kumquat tree.   The fruit from that tree tasted like nectar for the gods.  I would lose myself under that tree, picking, peeling and devouring the precious fruit.  The next and last year in those quarters resulted in no fruit.  A late frost wiped out the buds.  I have bought kumquats, but they never tasted as sweet as the ones hanging from that tree.

In 1990, I retired from the Army and we bought a not-so-temporary home.  We have lived in it for the last twenty years.  At the corner where the driveway meets the sidewalk to our front door, we have a crepe myrtle tree.  The first thing we noticed was that the pinkish red blooms were enormous.  Some were almost as large as a soccer ball.  We looked around the neighborhood and found that there were bigger crepe myrtles.  There were also more robust crepe myrtles, but none had blooms as large as ours.  We hoped this would not lead to bloom envy.

Our pride was dashed with the first good thunderstorm.  Many of the branches were broken and most of the rest of the tree was practically on the ground.  As soon as it stopped raining, I rushed out and cut off the broken branches and shook the other blooms to remove the weight of the water.  I ended up with petals all over me.  Next, I tied up the remaining branches like they were public enemy # 1.   This kept the tree upright, but with the next storm, many of the branches snapped.

The tree became an obsession of ours.  Rope, rope and more rope.  Carole observed that Fort Myer had a large number of crepe myrtles and each winter they would cut them off at about two feet.  So we did that for a few years.  Each year the tree grew about the same height, with the same enormous blooms and the same wet weather results.  I bought more rope.

One year, we had an extremely severe winter and lost some shrubs.  I thought the crepe myrtle was toast.  Crepe myrtles get started late in the spring.  I didn’t realize that and since everything else was green, I figured our crepe myrtle had croaked.  I cut it all the way to the ground.  I am telling you it did not look alive.

By June, it was shooting out of the ground like a weed.  It wasn’t quite as tall as previous years, but it still had its beautiful over sized blooms.  I had to use a lighter weight rope that year.

About three years ago, Carole came up with an article in Southern Living entitled, “Stop! Don’t Chop!”  It gave a blow by blow accounting of how to cut and shape your crepe myrtle.  The article gave credit to a brochure from the Spartanburg Men’s Garden Club.  You probably were wondering what the Spartanburg men were doing when it wasn’t NASCAR season.  Well, they are trimming their crepe myrtles.

Anyway,  I’m into my third season of following their advice.  But I still had to deal with these gynormous blooms.  As things will happen, all the stars lined up a year ago.  Just as the blooms were at their peak (and before a storm),  we were having stone edging  placed around the house.  Tom Hardy, our landscaper, looked at the crepe myrtle and said, “You know, you need to remove some of those blooms off of the branches or you will have trouble when it rains.”   Duh!

He pointed at a branch with three large blooms and said I should cut off one or two.  There it was, the answer I had never considered.  It never crossed my feeble mind to whack off some of the blooms.  It was truly hard to do, at first.  But, it worked.  I may have had one branch snap last year, but that is real progress.

I actually put on my calendar for the first of February to trim the crepe myrtle.  Well, it is still waiting to be trimmed.  I couldn’t get to it in February because of the damn snow.  There is still time.

 

We arrived home on February 5th from our two week Panama Canal cruise.  We ducked in right before the second monstrous snow storm wiped out Washington, D.C.  It wasn’t easy, but we made it home, picked up our dog and were protected against whatever Mother Nature wanted to throw at us.

We sat at the kitchen table and stared at two weeks of mail.  It was well over a foot high.  Then it struck me.  It might be interesting to see what kind of mail one received over a two- week hiatus.  I knew it wasn’t going to be exciting, but it might be interesting.

Carole starts by sorting the mail.  She takes out the bills and her stuff (coupons and magazines) and I get the rest.  Weight wise, I get 90% of the mail.  Quality wise – 3%.

I noted that on February 1st, we received our Christmas card from Carrie (the Weird) Baker.  This was really early for her.  I hoped everything was OK.  Usually the card arrives so late, you are not sure whether it’s late or early.  We won’t be able to complain to Carrie about our snow, because she lives in Rapid City, South Dakota.

At Fort Riley, I was a member (and for what seemed forever, the miserable Secretary) of the Ancient and Honorable Order of Lion Tamers (AHOLT).  This gaggle had no social redeeming value.  But each year, we took a picture of ourselves and the miserable Secretary mailed it out to all previous members as our Christmas card.  We made great effort to mail it out before St. Patrick’s Day.

I was convinced that I would have more credit card solicitations than anything else.  I was wrong.  I only had two.  I guess they have given up on me.  The big winner was charitable solicitations.  If I ever gave a buck to a charitable organization, it never forgot me.  In fact, the Alzheimer’s Association sends me something every month.  I guess they figure if I’m concerned about Alzheimer’s, maybe I won’t remember that I have already given.

Right behind charitable solicitations are political solicitations.  In weak moments, I have contributed to both political parties  Consequently, I have made both of their mailing lists.  Do you know what?  I think the same people write the material for both parties.  “The other party (be it Dems or Reps) is part of an evil plot to destroy our country.”  The only way I can save the Free World is to send money.  It is really tough carrying this awesome responsibility.

Then there’s the mail where they want to sell you stuff.  A store closing sale.  Cars at bargain prices.  Membership at the Smithsonian.  Insurance solicitations.  Oh yes, let’s not forget lawn care.  I haven’t seen my lawn in three months.

I received two letters from brokers who want to take Carole and me to dinner.  Isn’t that nice?  We don’t even know them and they want to take us to dinner.  Maybe they are lonely.  I’m torn, but not that torn.

Golf Magazine wants me to renew my subscription.  What they don’t realize is that each year I go to the D.C. Golf Expo out by Dulles Airport and, as part of the entrance fee (which is quite low), I get a year’s free subscription to Golf Magazine.  There is a slight glitch this year.  It was to be held on the 5th, 6th and 7th of February when nobody could get out of their driveway.  The Golf Expo was snowed out.  But if it ain’t free, I don’t want it.

As I am wrapping up this list, I want to mention that I received three golf brochures from Myrtle Beach.  I am convinced that there are only two types of people at Myrtle Beach, golfers and those who mail out golf brochures.  I wonder if they could include a free subscription to Golf Magazine.

Now the US Postal Service is talking about not delivering on Saturday because they lost billions last year.  That would mean that I would have to wait the entire weekend to get my Alzheimer’s’ solicitation.  By Monday, I may not remember whether I have already donated.

If you would have asked me last fall about winters in Washington, DC, I would have told you that they really aren’t bad.  My theory, while not scientific (or even accurate) is that the Blue Ridge Mountains seem to break up whatever is coming at us.  Heavy snows seem to go to our North.  Then, I would mention that I bought a snow blower about five years ago and never used it the first three years.  This year, all hell broke loose.

Carole and I are planners.  So we started planning our Christmas party in February 2009.  For any number of years, we had a party every year.  Then, about ten years back, we went to every other year.  In February 2009, we hadn’t had a party in five years and to my surprise, Carole wanted to have another party.  We sat down and made a list of what needed to be done each month.    For example, outdoor lights needed to go up in October.  All indoor decorations had to be completed by November so that Carole could start cooking in December.  Cooking is a major project.  I actually had the tree up and decorated before Thanksgiving.

The party is always the Saturday before Christmas.  So, December 19th was the day.  We invited over 100 people.  We are like the airlines, we overbook.  But through the years, we have acquired so many dear friends that it is hard to know where to stop.  There’s military friends and Carole’s crew of volunteers from the Fort Myer Thrift Shop.  There’s the neighbors and the Arent Foxers.  And, of course, my golf buddies.  We figured somewhere between 60 and 70 would come.  To our surprise, about 85 RSVP’d that they were coming.  I began moving furniture around so that there would be room for three more bodies here and four over there.  On Thursday night, I grilled five marinated flank steaks.  That morning, we picked up a 12 pound Honey Baked ham.

On Friday night, the snow started falling and by noon on Saturday, we had about 14 inches.  The entire area was paralyzed.  For your information, DC can’t handle two inches of snow.  Schools are shut down when there is a hint of snow in the forecast.  I told Carole that at least the storm didn’t leave us in doubt.  Our daughter, Missy, flew in on Friday for the party and Christmas.  That gave us something to be thankful for.  So, did we have a party?  You bet.  We had those invited neighbors who could walk come over.  There were about 15 of us and we had plenty to eat and drink and eat and drink.

We didn’t have room in the refrigerator for all the left overs.  But, with the cold weather, we filled up the garage.  Did I mention the 22 pound turkey we were thawing out for Christmas eve?  Even though we had food everywhere, Carole decided to fix the bird for us and Missy’s family (Terry and the two kids, Tyler and Kristin, came in on Tuesday).  It was probably the right decision because what were the two of us going to do with a 22 pound bird?  Also, Carole likes left over turkey.

Well, the marinated flank steaks were to die for and we ate them every other day (the other days we had ham).  Christmas is especially good with family around.

Late in January, we flew to San Diego for a two week cruise through the Panama Canal.  I will tell you about the cruise another day.  We were to arrive at Fort Lauderdale on Friday, February 5th.  Our return flights took us through Charlotte and into Dulles International arriving at 9:00 PM.

During the cruise, the CNN picked up by the ship was the international version.  This was really great if you wanted to know the weather in Helsinki or who won the latest cricket match.  So it wasn’t until we arrived at Fort Lauderdale and CNN transitioned to the US version that we found out that DC was getting ready for another snow of the decade.  How depressing.  Neither of us even wanted to eat breakfast.  While we were unaware, our flight had been canceled the night before.  United notified us on our home phone.

Well, we scooted out to the airport and checked out our options.  Our first good omen came when we noticed that our overweight bags couldn’t be weighed because the scale at our counter was broken.  There were two earlier flights to DC.  There was one leaving very shortly to Charlotte and then to Dulles arriving at 3:00 PM.  The other was a direct flight  to Reagan that would get us in at 2:00 PM   Our car was at a Fairfield Inn out by Dulles, but we weren’t willing to roll the dice in Charlotte.  We opted for the direct flight to Reagan and were actually on the ground at 2:00 PM.  Home at 2:30 and had picked up our dog, Nikki, from the kennel by 4:30.  Then, we hunkered down for 20 more inches.

We didn’t see a snow plow until late Monday afternoon.  But, with two good size snow blowers and a lot of good neighbor spirit, we cleared driveways and the street on Sunday.  Then, on Monday, my neighbor, Jim Vancini and I drove out to Dulles and dug out my other car.  That’s right, no garage.  Jim found some jumper cables and we were in business.  The battery in my new Infiniti could not believe I had left it out in the snow for two and a half weeks.  I guess they don’t go camping over in Japan.  I was thinking, if I had purchased a Lexus, it might have taken off by itself. 

So, we got the cars tucked away and here comes the three-pete blizzard of this winter.  Tuesday and Wednesday, we had white-out conditions with snow and wind whipping around at 35 mph.  So, so much for the Blue Ridge Mountain theory.  The weatherman was explaining some sort of circular motion up in the air between land and sea that was causing us to be wiped out.  I have decided that global warming is a bunch of crap.  Hey, Al Gore, go home and turn out some lights and leave the rest of us alone.

Bill Grenard is a high school friend.  That would not seem unusual until you realize that after graduation, we both moved away and didn’t see each other until our 50th high school reunion.  In fact, we didn’t hang around much in high school because he was a brainy kid and I was a jock.  About the only thing we had in common was being math wizards.

Well, as you do at reunions, we spent some time catching each other up on what had happened in the last 50 years and found that we had quite a bit in common.  We have kept in touch over the last three plus years.

Shortly before Christmas, he told me that rather than have family members provide him with traditional gifts, he was asking them to write twenty or so questions.  These are not questions to be answered.  He got the idea from a book by Padgett Powell entitled, “The Interogative Mood: a Novel?.”  The book is made up entirely of questions.  He provided me with examples from the book and then provided some questions from him.  I told him I would send him twenty questions for Christmas.

Below, you will find some of Powell’s questions, some of Bill’s questions and my Christmas gift to Bill.  If this inspires you to comment with twenty or so questions, great.  If you decide it is a stupid idea and pass, I will understand.

I liked Bill’s questions better that Powell’s.  And, to no one’s surprise, I liked my questions best of all!

Some of Powell’s questions: 

Do you do yard sales?  Are you happy with your teeth?  Do you in general trust or mistrust earnestness?  Do you attend parades?  Do you gamble?  Do you like pull candy?  Have you any weapons on you at the moment?  Would you buy a pearl choker?  Are you important?  Do you have any skin disabilities such as eczema or psoriasis?  Can you envision saying seriously to someone, “You just holler for help, and I’ll come arunnin’ “?  Do you like to use terms like “triangulation” and “extrapolation” when not speaking mathematically?  Are you bold, would you say?  Can you count in languages other than your mother tongue?  Would you like for your life to be more, or less, dangerous than it is?  Have you ever experienced any sort of hernia?

Is baseball all it’s cracked up to be? Do people stink, mostly?  Is there life on other planets, or after death on this one, as it were?  Do you like stalling for time?  Can you lob a grenade accurately, would you think?  Are there interstices in your character?  Is it hard for you to resist the demands of whiny people?  Have you ever wound an armature for an electric motor?  Do you know precisely what a chilblain is?  Do you bite your tongue or grind your teeth at night?  Have you ever witnessed any credible sign of ghosts?

(I think that is enough.  As I said, I thought Bill’s questions were better.)

Some of Bill Grenard’s questions:

Do you think that the older a person is, the better judgment they have, or does each person exhibit about the same level of good or poor judgment throughout the adult life?  What does the word deuteronomy mean?  Do you think people who live in a hilly area are in general more mentally unsettled than those that live in a flat area?  Have you ever used the word “morsel” conversationally?

Seeing that the latest mountain bikes have 24 or 27 speeds; do you think this is just about right, overkill, or would 48 or 54 speeds be even better?  Do you find that you take pleasure in the successes of underlings, but successes of your peers make you feel bad, at least for a brief time?  Would you rather have a parakeet or a turtle for a pet?  What would change you mind on that?  Would you rather be a cross-country truck driver or a cross-country bus driver?

Do you think there is, in aggregate, a greater amount of talented, high-quality TV programming now that we have 600 channels than when we had just a dozen or so?  Doesn’t it seem that Eeyore is clinically depressed and Pooh is suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s?  How much do TV sets playing in grocery stores enhance your shopping experience?  If you think that people living in hilly areas are more unstable mentally, do you think it is because mentally unstable people tend to move to hilly areas, or is it just that living in a hilly area provides a dimension of variability that people in flat areas don’t experience and that makes them a little less stable?  If you lived in a flat area and wanted to ride around the neighborhood, how many speed would you want on you bicycle?

If you think people have about the same level of judgment throughout their life, should we lower the minimum age for President to 21?  Do you feel that people are subjected to more distractions, say ten or fifteen years ago, and if you do, how do you square this with reports that productivity has continuously increased over the time period?  Do you feel that if the Eeyore character had been a regular on Mr. Rogers, the show would have been much too depressing for small children to watch, or would the children who watched it have just turned out to be very quiet and sort of whiny?

My Christmas present questions:  (You will notice that I write shorter questions and don’t go through the folly of deciding what constitutes a paragraph.)

Is Chap Stick a necessity?  How does my dog always know what time it is?  When are the Vietnam veterans going to be welcomed home?  Why do the American people believe candidates who make outrageous promises and then ignore the fact when they don’t keep them?  Can you dress for success on a nudist beach?  Is a stitch in time better that receiving a penny for you thoughts?  Is Tiger making his own decisions or is he receiving wise counsel and ignoring it?  Why is it difficult for people to admit that they like fruit cake?  Is golf a game or a sickness?  What’s so great about a White Christmas?  What ever happened to Pong?  Why did the lower enlisted man in financial trouble have a color TV, when I couldn’t afford one?  Who are the Jones anyway?  Would there be more or less strife in the world if everyone spoke the same language?  Why should anyone select the  cartoon character Snoopy to be their hero?  Is chess a game or a sickness?  Is there any reality in a reality TV show?  If there is water on the Moon, will the cheese go bad?  Why do they make tooth paste containers so that you can’t get the last of the tooth paste?  Would Yo-Yo Mah be such a memorable cellist if his name were Joe Schwartz?

I guess every young boy has vivid memories of his dad.  I remember my dad climbing up a large Sycamore tree in our front yard.  There weren’t special boots or safety ropes back then.  Or, if there were, he didn’t use them.  He just climbed from limb to limb until he was way up there.  I think he trimmed some dead branches and then, he scurried down.  I was fascinated.  I thought Dad could do anything.

I also thought he was indestructible.  When I was four or five, my dad was laying on the living room floor wrestling with my brother, Bill, and me.  Bill was three years older and putting up most of the fight.  I would dive in and Dad would toss me away and continue wrestling with Bill.  After several unsuccessful ventures, I looked around and saw our set of encyclopedias.  I pulled out the letter “M” book, sneeked behind Dad and whacked him over the head.  Playtime was over.  He might have been able to handle the letter “F” book, but there were too many words that started with “M.”  I didn’t knock him out, but I definitely hurt him.  He couldn’t understand why I hit him.  And, I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t think it would hurt him.  It was a tough lesson

One of the things I loved to do was watch Dad shave.  When he would come home from work, he would usually shave before dinner.  Shaving then isn’t like it is today.  Then, it was an elaborate procedure which started with stropping the straight razor.  Back and forth he would draw the razor over the razor strap.  Then, there was the shaving soap and the shaving brush.  No cans back then.  He would lather up the brush and cover his beard with soap.  Then, he would carefully bring the razor to his face and shave away.  Knicks were commonplace back then, but Dad was good and seldom drew blood.  I suspect Dad was performing for me and he definitely had an enraptured audience of one.

Later, Dad brought home a Rolls Razor, made in England.  The container looked like an oversize sardine can.  Inside the container was a razor that could be sharpened inside its metal box.  He would open one side, lift up the handle and slide the blade back and forth against the bottom of the container.  The bottom was a red leather strap.  The handle would slide back and forth on tracks.  Or, he could seal it up, flip it over and then the bottom was a gray honing stone.  It took ten to 15 minutes just to sharpen the nickel plated blade.  Shaving then followed the same ritual – shaving soap – shaving brush – strokes over the face and knicks.

Some time in the late Forties, Gillette came out with its Super Speed twist-to-open model.  When the blade was no longer sharp, you threw it away and put in a new blade.  The dawning of a new era.  While I no longer watched enraptured (I already knew he wasn’t indestructible), Dad kept me informed regarding each improvement.  I still wasn’t shaving, but it was great to see how everything worked.

In 1950, Gillette came out with the Blue Blade.  It was stainless steel and seemed to be the consummate safety razor.  Dad very seldom cut himself.  I started shaving in the 50’s and learned it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

I should probably say that there were other companies out there making good safety razors, but Gillette, in my mind, was a family tradition.  Even after I left home, Dad and I would discuss the latest shaving technology.  Trac II came out in 1971 with two blades.  We liked it.  In 1977, the Atra came out with a swivel head.  We liked it.  Let’s face it.  We were easy.  After shaving with a straight razor, Dad was fascinated with each improvement.

Whenever I hear about a straight razor, I think about the story my Uncle Bob would tell.  When he was young, he would get his hair cut at a barber school.  Barber students who were learning how to cut hair would practice on brave souls like Uncle Bob.  The price was great, but not necessarily the results.  Anyway, this young student was starting to shave around Bob’s ears.  A teacher walked up and said, “If you ever feel the razor slipping in your hand, don’t grab for it or you’ll cut his ear off.”  I told Uncle Bob, if I ever saw him looking lopsided, I would know what happened.

By the time the Gillette Sensor came out in 1990, with its spring-loaded blades, Dad was in his late seventies and not focusing much.  Sometimes he remembered and sometimes he didn’t.  I wish I would have mentioned shaving to him.  I’ll bet that would have all come back to him.

Dad was gone when the Sensor 3 came out in 1995.  I bought it and guess what?  I liked it.  I have purchased every new razor Gillette has brought out.  But, I’m about ready to stop.  First, I have a terrible time buying the right blades for my Gillette Fusion Power.  I have brought home the wrong blades twice.  I have thought about tattooing “FUSION POWER”  on my knuckles, but what happens when the new model comes out.  Then, I still have my old Mach 3 Turbo!  Fortunately all of my mis- purchased blades work in my Turbo.  I think I like the Mach 3 Turbo better.  It doesn’t vibrate, but at my age, that’s probably good.

At Christmas time in 2005, I bought my son the latest Gillette model.  I was disappointed when he wasn’t excited about it.  It was dumb on my part.  He didn’t know the history and quite frankly, even the throw aways today probably do a pretty good job.  I guess you had to watch the Old Man use the straight razor to be wildly impressed.