Air Traffic Mike's

Happy 25th Anniversary!!!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Fri, 24 May 2013 16:42:00 +0000

Happy 25th anniversary, INDEED!

Twenty five years ago today, Captain Carlos Dardano and First Officer Diamecio Lopez pulled off the most improbable of landings.

They landed a three week old Boeing 737-300 carrying 38 passengers and a crew of 7 (including themselves) with both engines rendered useless by water and hail ingestion.

In and of itself, that's a pretty snappy piece of flying.

The "Miracle on the Hudson" was also a snappy piece of flying.

I just happen to be of the opinion that the landing made by Captain Dardano was at least twice as spectacular on May 24, 1988.

Why?

Captain Dardano and First Officer Lopez were at the controls of TACA Flight 110. Having lost both engines in heavy rain and hail around 16,500 feet. These two men, on a vector to attempt to ditch the airplane in Lake Pontchartrain, were able to guide their airplane to a safe but improbable landing.

They landed safely on a levee abeam the Industrial Canal behind the NASA Michoud Facility. They did so only after breaking out of the clouds around 1,600 feet MSL (Mean Sea Level).

To complicate matters they had to make a left turn from a heading of 330 degrees all the way back around to a heading of approximately 90 degrees.

To complicate matters further, they had to clear a levy wall just prior to landing. With no engines, if they had misjudged the height of the levee wall or had come up just a bit short, the airplane would have broken up on impact. Likely, there would be no survivors.

Obviously, they cleared the wall.

They landed on a soggy, but sturdy, stretch of grass having nothing but brakes to bring the airplane to a stop.

Oh, and if there weren't enough factors working against them, Captain Dardano only had one eye. He had lost his left eye to gunfire during a civil war in El Salvador some years earlier. On that day guerrillas had attempted to stop him from taking off with a small plane load of passengers. He made the takeoff safely, but lost his left eye to gunfire. His quick actions and skill saved a plane load of passengers that day as well.

You'd think that would be a pretty heroic career by itself.

I was a direct witness to this event. I was coordinating with the Air Traffic Control Towers at both NAS New Orleans and Lakefront Municipal Airport. When I wasn't coordinating, I was monitoring the controller working the flight and brainstorming with others who had come to the TRACON to assist in any way they could.

It was the first "Witness Statement" I had to write as an FPL (Full Performance Level) Air Traffic Controller.

However, all of us were safe on the ground.

See an interview with Captain Dardano here.

See an in depth show on the flight here.

The skills of Captain Dardano and First Officer Lopez were ultimately what saved the day. They followed the first rule in flight emergencies:

"Regardless of what's going on around you, ALWAYS FLY THE AIRPLANE."

Eastern Airlines Flight 401 is a prime example of what happens when that rule is ignored.

Twenty five years. I can still see it as clear as a bell.

Happy 25th Anniversary Captain Dardano and First Officer Lopez. May we all be here to celebrate the 50th Anniversary.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

What's In A Number?

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Mon, 20 May 2013 18:32:00 +0000

Yesterday the numbers were 222 and 129 to start the day.

Last night's numbers were 187 and 111.

Either set in the Pick Three Lottery will give you odds of 1 in 500 of winning on a "straight" bet. The odds for a "box" bet will be 3 in 500.

It's pretty easy to see how the states can make money hand over fist from just that one form of a bet.

Unfortunately I wasn't playing the lottery, however I was certainly gambling. You see, those numbers looked like the following: 222/129 and subsequently 187/111.

Those were my 7:00 am and 7:00 pm blood pressure readings. Needless to say, I felt it. My normal level of tinnitus (ringing in the ears) was up to the "whoopee" level, my head was pounding, and I had no appetite. I normally take one pill in the morning with breakfast. Yesterday by noon I had doubled it up. I even took a precautionary aspirin in the event of a stroke.

By bedtime it had come down significantly. This morning's numbers came it at 154/87. Still high, but the physical effects are minimal. Right now the only lingering condition is the tinnitus.

So what's a retired guy to do?

Well, nothing changes until you change it. That rule certainly applies to me.

Red meat? Out of the diet. I'm going to miss it but I can get by on fish and poultry. Besides there are plenty of good produce outlets around including the Memphis Farmers Market at Central Station.

Beer, wine, and spirits? I'm going to miss you three but you're not worth dying over.

Blood pressure medicine? I'm going to have to schedule you better.

Exercise? Welcome back. It's easier to walk in my Memphis neighborhood because there's a lot of things to look at and take pictures of. The architecture alone can occupy me for many weeks. Few of my friends drive around the neighborhood. There are plenty of cabs and the trolley. I used to average around five miles of walking a day.

I've been fooling myself thinking I'm still in the shape I was in when I was in my 20's and 30's. Part of that is most of us guys carry the "Not me, I'm bulletproof" in the health sense.

What brought it home to me was an article I read this morning online. It was a notice that a 54 year old controller died suddenly. I didn't know the man personally, but I do know that he was active on behalf of the Union for many years out West and an avid cyclist.

A thoracic surgeon once told me that in his observations over a long career heart attacks seemed to be the most fatal in the 50 to 59 year old men. I don't know what the studies say, however he did a number of heart procedures and was very well respected among his peers.

Blood pressure check at 2:15 pm EDT: 140/85.

I like those numbers much better.

Looks like it's time to make a pot of white chili. Recently I've become a fan of using ground turkey. This will be the first pot of white chili I've made in many years.

Maybe I'll start experimenting with tofu next.

Anyone have a good chicken fried tofu recipe?

Until the next time, all y'all take care.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Memphis In The Meantime

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sun, 19 May 2013 07:18:00 +0000

It's true.

I'm hitting the "Volunteer State".

How long?

As long as I like.

It's a free world and I'm a free man.

Lisa, I'm going to need a Strawberry/Basil Martini and sit and shoot the shit with you. You have a remarkable sense of what this world is about.

Paully, Otto, and John D., first round is on me at the Saucer.

Danno, first round is on you at the "Goose".

Shawn, I still like my Kooky Bacon/Blue cheeseburger medium rare. Great wins in the BBQ fest!

Patrick and Deni, I can't wait to see the baby.

Chef Mike, I hear a bowl of Cheeseburger Soup calling my name.

Collin, I hear a Blind Bear Chilli Mac and cold one calling me.

Beale Street.

Redbirds baseball.

Maybe an NBA Championship?

Tom Lee Park.

Memphis, Air Traffic Mike is coming to the house in June.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves

Meanwhile, Over In Downtown Memphis.....

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Mon, 13 May 2013 19:16:00 +0000

It's THAT time.

Better than Christmas.

More fun than wearing a "pork chop vest" in a tank full of hungry sharks.

BIGGER than.........dare I say it??????????? ELVIS!!!!!!

Okay......at least bigger than Elvis' last pair of boxer shorts.

I competed in it for 10 years, 4 as the Head Chef.

It draws teams, not only from around the country, but from around the world.

If you can't eat various forms of pork, beef, and poultry, with the only sources of fiber being slaw, BBQ'ed beans, and ice cold beer for four days straight, go cling to your Mommy's skirt.

Oh yeah, baby, it's time for the MEMPHIS IN MAY WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP BBQ CONTEST!!!!!!!

Over 250 teams competing for trophies and prizes. Here's a list of the Competition Teams for the 2013 event.

I'm following a couple teams off the list. "The Moody Ques" and "Squeal Street BBQ". Both are comprised of (mostly) Downtown Memphians. Not remarkably, both teams are comprised (mostly) of my friends.

Now this isn't "New Jersey" grill cooking by a long shot.

If your idea of a BBQ is a backyard, burgers and hot dogs cooked over some cheap barely lit charcoal, and sodas, you can stop reading right now and click on THIS LINK and play the maze. It's designed for a child to play.

If that requires further instructions, you should never play a maze again and take up the "Bobby Sands Diet" immediately.

It's obvious the gene pool will be fine without you.

If your idea of BBQ consists of boiling a slab of ribs on the stove as a precursor to cooking over charcoal, please CLICK HERE, stand back against the wall, and close your eyes. It will only hurt for a second.

Blindfolds are optional.

If your best slab of BBQ ribs only takes one hour from start to finish, CLICK HERE to keep you entertained while your ribs "cook to perfection". Then, if you'd be so kind, CLICK ON THIS LINK as you dine and keep telling yourself, "I'm in rib Hell. I'm in rib Hell. I'm in rib Hell". The truth of the matter is, you ACTUALLY ARE in "Rib Hell". I just want you to finally realize it.

If you cook your ribs over a nice hot, steak searing bed of charcoal, please Click On This and listen to the song in its entirety before you ~~sacrifice~~, er, cook your ribs.

Finally, if you cook your ribs using your "Late Aunt *insert name of crazy Aunt here* because she "knew you'd have wanted them this way" in a crock pot filled with the cheapest BBQ glop sauce, click on this: "Hi Aunt *insert crazy Aunt name here*". The psychic on the page has all the answers you need.

I'd really like to help out anybody who fits into those profiles listed above.

I really would.

However, I can't.

Those are the folks well past any help I can offer.

For those of you who routinely have to eat their food, here's something to help you wipe that food out of your memory.

I have 30+ years of cooking BBQ the right way. I'll be at it this weekend, facing west in homage to my fellow chefs and aficionados. As for those of you stuck eating and enjoying "< BBQ", I say you might want to entertain yourself with this tradition pirate shanty.

AAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

That's all I'll say about BBQ.

I'll leave you with this link to what I think is the best children's song ever written. It's a happy song about a child going to Florida on vacation. You can Play It for yourselves first.

I always ask that parents review any songs prior to playing it for their children or those children in their care.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

FUMOTs For Charity......the Connections Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sat, 11 May 2013 18:21:00 +0000

This morning as I type, an old college buddy of mine is participating in an event. In spirit it reminds me of the early days of some of Memphis most venerable events.

I remember when I was on one of 12 teams participating in the Memphis Italian Festival.

Most of us can remember the early days of the Beale Street Music Festival when there was plenty of space in Tom Lee Park. Back then we could just walk up and buy tickets at the gate. I met more than a parcel of people who are now some long term friends while working as a volunteer selling beer.

Finally, one of the most recent examples, the Southern Hot Wing Festival. The first couple were little more than a one block neighborhood party.

For those events and many others, those days are long gone. All have gone on to become big production events attended by thousands every year.

Many of them like the Wing Fest raise money for charity.

Keep all that in mind.

My East Coast Peeps might be asking themselves, "Hey ATM, what in the cornbread Hell is a FUMOT ?"

It's an acronym.

If there's anyone who doesn't know what an acronym is, please report to the nearest "Temp Agency" with your diploma.

FUMOT is a term used to describe motor vehicles. It stands for:

F*cked
Up
Mode
Of
Transportation

Maybe you've never owned a FUMOT. Maybe you've never been in a FUMOT. However, I assure you, we've all seen a FUMOT.

Click on the link here to see the best ad ever for some guy trying to sell his FUMOT on Craigslist.

The above picture was taken on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Half black Chevette, half red *racing* Chevette for sale. As if someone would even give any credence to a "Sports Edition" FUMOT. Wait, it's even more of a FUMOT because it comes with it's own hand crafted FUMOT car port.

Wait.........festival...........charity.........FUMOT.........racing?

Ladies and gentlemen there is a place where all those words collide.

It's a seasonal racing event open to all with a set of rules for safety.

24 Hours of LeMons!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At some point I'm sure that an official apology will need to be issued to France for the take off on "24 hours of Le Mans" car race. However, until Hell freezes over, the French can bite our American asses.

Now, like the "LeMons" race name indicates, it is indeed and endurance race. When you're racing FUMOTs sometimes just backing out of your driveway is an "endurance race".

My college buddy Dave, his son Anthony, and a group of others are racing this home built gem up at New Hampshire International Speedway in Loudon, New Hampshire, at this time of writing:

Ain't she a real beauty?

They even made an appearance on "Car and Driver's" blog.

(Near the end of the pictures. While you are getting there, look at the various cars.)

The car started off it's life as a Datsun 280Z. That was a long time ago and thousands of dollars worth of depreciation. As with all the "LeMons" cars, it can't exceed a value of $500 (excluding safety equipment). The "LeMons" cars have to meet a level of basic driver safety. You can read about the "Prices and Rules" here.

Even with the safety requirements and beat up cars, you can get injured OR WORSE. These are still automobiles. You are actually racing. It appears the driver suffered some sort of physical malady. The California Highway Patrol investigators found the car to be mechanically sound.

Here's what I like about this travelling circus:

Cheaper than entering a team in BBQ Fest.
Easier than setting up/tearing down than ANY festival.
You can wreck a car and not get a ticket for it.
The Judges can tar and feather a driver if they're being a jerk.
You are actually racing without being on I-240.
No fancy set up needed for team members or sponsors.
If the Judges like your car, they can buy it for $500.
The Judges have only bought two in the history of the series.
Tailgating is legal for food AND while racing.
When some button down collar guy says to you, "I was at BBQ Fest last weekend, where were you?", you get to respond, "I was driving in a car race, Bitch!!!". Guess who gets the girl?

The series is coming to Millville, NJ in August. I plan on going to the event and talking to some of the participants. I also plan to talk to Dave a little later in the week to get his point of view.

"FUMOT racing...BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO!!"

Besides, monies raised goes to the Speedway Children's Charities.

More to follow on this topic, folks.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

50........It's Not Just A Number

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Tue, 07 May 2013 20:59:00 +0000

He was by all accounts a good kid.

Excellent student.

Outstanding musician.

Caring brother.

A bright light when the world got dark.

His smile brightened up any room he entered.

I guess.....well okay, I know, God needed him worse than we did.

But it still really hurts my heart all these years later.

In 1983, May 8 specifically, I graduated from college. It was Mother's Day. And his 20th birthday.

He'd only see 4 more birthdays.

He's the stooge on the upper left (circa 1981).

Front row: Bruce, John, ATM.

Back row: Gary, Kevin.

Gary would have been 50 tomorrow. He died in a car accident at 24 in July, 1987. Bruce died at 50 from cancer in January 2010.

Like I said, it's not just a number.

Neither were they.

However, in a family full of strong willed, intelligent, and funny men......they made it a five way tie.

Gary, I'll stop by to see you tomorrow.

I miss you, kid.

Mike

So I Got On The Scale Today....

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Mon, 06 May 2013 17:57:00 +0000

239 lbs and dropping.

Not bad.

Blood pressure: 120 over 81.

Better.

For a 6 foot tall man with a large frame, I'll take it. When I say "large frame", I mean it. My brothers Kevin, Bruce and I were measured for tuxedos when I got married in 1989. At 24 inches, I had the largest neck. Not a fat neck mind you, just muscular. Kev and Bruce came in at 23 inches and 22 inches respectively.

Don't think we didn't have a good laugh over that.

My problem was I "stress ate" after Bruce got sick and my divorce. I blame nobody but myself.

Now, I've cut down the calories. I walked two miles this morning at Fort Mott. Maybe someday soon I can close the lid on the vodka bottle. But not today.

Soon though. Very soon.

There are changes going on in my life. They are changing without my input.

That's just how life is.

I could fight it or embrace it.

I'm embracing it.

And so it goes.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

In The Name Of God, Amen........

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sun, 05 May 2013 15:20:00 +0000

Once upon a time, a young police officer went to the home of a young widow.

He was in tears.

He had to give her the most devastating news a man could give a widow other than the news her husband died.

Maybe even more so.

He had lost a classmate. A kid he knew personally. A family he knew in his hometown.

His name?

Bruce Maahs.

The kid who died that day? Gary Walker.

My beloved brother.

I wouldn't have anybody else give my Mom the news.

He was THAT kind of man.

Bruce went on to make a difference in Pennsville, New Jersey.

He rose through the ranks from Patrolman to Chief.

He married a local girl, Lori Chapman (the sister of a good friend of mine). They have a wonderful daughter, Macy.

Friday night, Bruce went to sleep.

He didn't get up.

He was 50.

Far too young for a good man to go. Besides being the Chief of Police, he coached the high school track team. He was, and will always remain, a role model to his team.

Just like he was to the township.

Lori, Macy, and Donnie my thoughts and prayers are with you. My deepest condolences.

Mike Walker

The 2010 $100 Challenge Revisited

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 02:26:00 +0000

A couple of years ago, I decided to conduct what I called "The 2010 Air Traffic Mike $100 Challenge".

The rules were simple. Buy $100 worth of groceries, eat all meals at home, no going out and spending a ton of money at a bar until the food stuffs are exhausted, and (if you have one) blog about it.

As it turned out, I went from 8/21/10 all the way to 9/2/10. Thirteen days. Three meals a day plus two snacks. Thirty nine homemade meals, twenty six snacks. I didn't go out except for a "Plate Party" at the downtown Memphis Flying Saucer and go to team trivia two Tuesdays in a row. My friends Paul Ryburn and Sam "Otto" Wood were each kind enough to purchase me a beer in support of the mission during the trivia games. Paul's blog covers what's going on in downtown Memphis and the surrounding areas. Otto's older, but still in use blog, is a place where Otto posts whatever he's interested in. Otto's second blog is dedicated to all things "WordPress". That's really convenient for a lot of folks, especially seeing as Otto works for Matt Mullenweg. Otto is a talented computer "Ninja" to say the least. He's also one busy m*ther f*****r.

BTW, Happy 10th Anniversary WordPress!

"Holy Tangent City, Batman!!!!!"

Getting back on track. What reminded me of the challenge was the last three days of cooking. I had a post-Christmas bone in whole turkey breast in the freezer downstairs. I decided to break it out and put it to use. I thawed it out on Friday. Saturday, I removed both breasts from the bones, washed the meat and carcass. I made turkey stock from the carcass and stripped the remaining meat off the bones.

Here's how the weekend/Monday night went:

Saturday: Herb Butter roasted Turkey Breast (1) with Baked Sweet Potatoes and Lima Beans. (Photo not available, it came out really blurry due to photographer error). - ATM

Sunday Lunch: (2) Leftover turkey (skin removed) from Saturday night served on leftover whole grain bread with light Miracle Whip.

Sunday: Turkey Noodle Soup served with Whole Grain Bread. The soup used the turkey stock, meat from the carcass, and leftover turkey from Saturday. It included root vegetables on hand and leftover corn that I had stripped from the cob.

"ATM's Homemade Turkey Noodle Soup"

Monday Lunch: Leftover Turkey Noodle Soup with saltine crackers.

Monday: Braised Turkey in garlic, onions, and herbs with Lima Beans (leftover) and Green Salad.

Before: Pan seared, garlic toes added and slightly cooked, and raw Vidalia onion. Covered with a lid and placed into a 350F oven until the internal temperature reaches 150F.

After : Allow to rest for 10 - 12 minutes.

"ATM's Garlic/Herb Braised Turkey"

Oh, and what would garlic/herb braised turkey be without making a "Bistro Sauce"?

Make the sauce as follows:

It's one trip through the immersion blender away.......after I skim off the excess olive oil/turkey fat......then it is about 90 seconds worth of "BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR".

That's a nice, tasty bowl of "HAPPY" right there. Pan drippings with most of the oil/fat removed, poured into a small mixing bowl, and immersion blended. The thickening agents are the onions and garlic with a bump from the herbs during the seasoning stage. The crust around the edge of the bowl is from it being reheated in the microwave. 2:00 minutes at 60% power, stir, 1:30 minutes at 70% power.

Tomorrow: (2) Open face Turkey Sandwiches topped with the remaining sauce.

Three entrees x 2, Two lunchtime sandwiches x 2. Total cost less than $25.00. The turkey was on sale for $0.99 per pound back at the start of the year. The 12 pound bird cost $12.24 including tax. It was already frozen and kept beautifully in the freezer here. Garlic and onion costs totaled $2.10. Salad ingredients cost $3.75. Lima Beans (frozen, 1 lb. bag) cost $1.02 (on sale). Loaf of whole grain bread $3.08. Herbs, salt, pepper, butter, and Miracle Whip cost $1.25.

That's a total of $23.44. That's 10 individual servings averaging $2.35 each (rounding up is more fair).

I might just do the $100.00 Challenge in May after the produce stands start to open for the season.

That's when the $100.Challenge can really stretch on.....I'm not opposed to a seasonal vegetable dinner, a tomato/corn on the cob/bacon dinner or any of the sort.

We'll see.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

So Splitty the Maul And I Took A Ride Yesterday

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 15:45:00 +0000

After three days of walking "Billy" and "Kappy" in, on, and around Fort Mott, I decided that maybe I'd just take my camera out solo and learn as much as I could about it.

Taking pictures while trying hang on to two excited Dachshunds proved to be quite a task with mixed results.

"Kappy"(L) And "Billy"(R)

Dachshunds are just like any other hound dog. They can detect the most minute scent and go after it. Fort Mott has a everything from other dogs on leashes to various native fauna including deer, raccoon, possum, etc.. Whatever scent they detected they chased after.

It's not the most efficient way to take pictures I assure you.

Splitty the Maul asked if he could come along and "ride shotgun". As any true South Jerseyan knows that whenever someone calls "Shotgun!!!", they are automatically along for the ride in the right front street.

It's one of the many *unwritten rules* that govern our daily lives here.

Note: Please click on the "Splitty" link above. It shows an earlier ATM/Splitty the Maul tour de force of Salem County. Splitty also give a *AHEM* "lesson" in American History as viewed through the eyes of a maul. - ATM

Just around noon we hopped into the AirTrafficMobile and headed down to the local boat ramp. Frankly, it is one of Splitty's favorite places and not a bad place for me to take a series of pictures while trying out the different features of the camera.

We were there in less than three minutes.

Told ya it was local.

Splitty jumped out of the car. I talked him into posing for a few pics.

Suddenly, Splitty eyed up a couple of seagulls fighting for the the same piling.

I caught Splitty in an unguarded moment and caught the shot.

Splitty pointed out, "Hey ATM, did yew know that yer lookin' at the State Bird of Delaware?"

I replied, "No Splitty, I wasn't aware of that."

To which Splitty replied, "Heck yeah ATM> That there is the Delaware "Seagull on a Stick"! ya hear so much about!!!"

Mauls.......fountains of information I'm telling you.

Shortly, we spotted an ocean going ship coming down river. I took the time to test out my zoom lens.

As it passed, I caught Splitty in another unguarded moment.

Mauls dig big ships.

After spending about 45 minutes at the boat launch it was time to move on.

One thing is for sure, Splitty is a very patriotic maul. Probably more than most in my opinion. Seeing as such, I decided to take him someplace he'd never been.

Finns Point National Cemetery.

We had no sooner entered, when Splitty stopped to say a prayer for all the souls entombed and enurned here.

I left him there to pray. I wanted to get a few pictures of the grounds.

The Union Monument dedicated to the 230+ Union soldiers and officers who died while working at the POW camp at Fort Delaware on Pea Patch Island in the Delaware River. It has often been referred to as the "Andersonville of the North". While far less POW's died at Fort Delaware, the body count was still as grim as the conditions.

How grim?

This is a monument dedicated to the 2,500+ Confederate soldiers who died in captivity at Fort Delaware. They died mostly from disease, starvation, and general neglect. The bodies are entombed to the left of the monument in unmarked graves. The names of the lost are posted on bronze plaques at the base of the monument.

If you look closely to the lower right of the picture, the markers closest to the stone fence are the graves of German submariners captured in World War Two. They died in captivity at Fort Dix from injuries sustained on board after being depth charged and shelled by American coastal patrols.

For the record, Finns Point National Cemetery is still an active cemetery. The remains of men who fought in World War Two, Korea, and Vietnam (and their spouses in some cases) are buried here as well. Currently, due to space, they are only accepting creamains with the exception being if there is room for a spouse's coffin at the grave site.

It's most recent claim to fame involves this small building with the mansard roof:

Caretaker William Reese was murdered by Andrew Cunanan. Cunanan was on a murder spree that ended in Florida after he killed designer Gianni Versace. Cunanan killed himself eight days after the Versace murder.

Leaving the cemetery, Splitty and I headed over to nearby Fort Mott to get some pictures I missed over the past few days.

Few people know there's an anti-aircraft gun here awaiting restoration.

Few know that these gun barrels are back there as well. I'm not sure what the three smaller barrels go to, but the two in the front are Navy 5 inch 38 caliber guns. They were very common during and after World War Two. I know for a fact that they were used on destroyers and battleships. I also know for a fact that they had a range of up to nine nautical miles. (1 Nautical mile = 6,006 feet as opposed to 1 Statute mile which = 5,280 feet)

Splitty was starting to get tired. I left him nod off to sleep in the car so I could get one last picture on the mini-road trip.

I wanted a better picture of the South Fire Control Tower (Fire Control Tower #2). I've been up in this structure a couple years back when the Fort had an open house event.

There's another one coming up in May. I'll get pictures from up there then.

With Splitty snoring like a clogged up bear I got in the car and drove home.

I had one more surprise for him.

"Morty the Maple" had awakened finally for the rest of the season. He had asked for Splitty.

I left the two of them so they could catch up with each other.

Okay folks, I have things to do today including getting outside in the Sun.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Shades Of Fort Mott, Batman!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 20:14:00 +0000

Over the last three days I've returned to doing something I do a lot of when in Memphis.

No, not getting all liquored up.

Walking.

On an average off day in Memphis I cover between five to seven miles on foot. Everything I need including produce and meats are generally within walking distance of the Air Traffic Casa. When the Memphis Farmers Market is in season from Spring through Fall (Saturdays from 7:00 am - 1:00 pm) I'll walk down there, load up on meats, fish, fresh vegetables (whatever is in season), and occasionally fresh flowers. The vendors, especially the meat and fish sellers, are usually more than happy to hold your purchase while you shop around. Then, I'll gather up my purchases and catch the Main Street Trolley (north loop or south loop) back to Union Avenue and put my groceries away.

I usually eat out on the weekends, but I do have lots of professional cookware and a well laid out kitchen. Take my word for it. I gutted the old kitchen and rearranged the layout myself. Anyway, between prime beef, farm raised catfish, fresh vegetables, my oven/stove, and a Weber Kettle Grill on the covered patio, I can crank out some serious food.

Best part of all of it is that I don't have to drive if the weather is nice.

Additionally, with the numerous restaurants in the area and Beale Street two blocks south of the Air Traffic Casa, I can be anywhere from a great dive to fine dining within minutes on foot.

South Jersey is a lovely place but nowhere near that convenient.

However, the traffic is nowhere near as heavy nor dangerous in the small town I grew up in. So this morning, just before noon, I loaded "Billy" and "Kappy" into the AirTrafficMobile and drove to a former fort here in town. Fort Mott State Park was part of a three fort defense system designed to protect the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, South Jersey from the Salem River to parts north, New Castle, Delaware northward including the cities of Wilmington, Delaware and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was brought about by the findings of the Endicott Board tasked by President Grover Cleveland in 1885 to study and recommend coastal fortifications.

*Historical Note From Splitty The Maul: "Among the numerous Endicott Period fortifications are Fort Sumter and Fort Alcatraz.".

Thanks for info, Splitty

"Anytime, ATM!"

History aside, I took "Billy" and "Kappy" to Fort Mott.

"Kappy"(L) and "Billy"(R)

It was a perfect day for an uninterrupted one hour walk. Now when I say "uninterrupted" I mean *other than doing what dogs do like peeing and cutting the occasional biscuit*. Dogs are going to do their thing when out and about. "Billy" usually stops at the first loud noise to check it out. He was abandoned and on his own for around a month during one of the worst January's we've had.

You can read about his rescue here.

While we were walking I took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures both yesterday and today. It's not easy to do with two little wiener dogs on a double leash. However, I have developed a few techniques to help myself out.

Some photos from the last two days:

Fort Delaware (zoom shot)

Unrestored North Fire Control Tower (Fire Control Tower #1) - Fort Mott

Batteries Arnold and Harker 12 " Gun mounts from atop Battery Krayenbuhl. - Fort Mott.

Note: Preservation work is in progress. Battery Arnold is complete. Work Battery Harker will in less than a month according to a contractor I spoke with yesterday. - ATM.

"Three Forts" Ferry Pier - Fort Delaware (Center- Right in the distance) -State of Delaware

Cooling Tower Hope Creek 1 Nuclear Generating station - Lower Alloways Creek, NJ*

Note: There were two busloads of children from the Vineland School District at the fort today for a picnic. One of the young students wanted to pet "Billy" I picked "Billy" up and let the little fellow pet him. I put "Billy" back down, turned with my camera, and took this picture. The little fellow asked, "Hey Mister, what is that big thing you're taking the picture of?". Honest question. I asked him, "Do you ever watch "The Simpsons"?". He got a big smile on his face and said, "Yeah! I watch it ever week!". I looked south and pointed to the cooling tower and told him, "That's where Homer Simpson works in real life." The little guy ran back over to the group at the picnic tables to tell them the exciting news. I'll take up the ramifications of that with St. Peter when my time finally comes. - ATM

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign."

High atop Battery Harker facing south. - Fort Mott

Yet another note: When we were children growing up, the only hills we had in Pennsville were the parapets of Fort Mott's parapets. This place was packed with wild eyed kids and sleds when we got a good snowstorm. - ATM

Battery Gregg and its 5' gun mount is in the process of being overrun with Tribbles - Fort Mott

Not just seriously overrun....... - Fort Mott

.....MASSIVELY OVERRUN!!!!!! - Fort Mott

Restored South Fire Control Tower (Fire Control Tower #2) - Fort Mott.

Now you've seen the Fire Control Towers and are probably asking yourself how the two Fire Control Towers talked to each other and the gun emplacements.

The Switchboard Room and Plotting Room - Fort Mott

Preservation work nearing completion.......

.......so much more to do.

When I was a child I used to ride my bicycle down here. The stairs and walkways from Battery to Battery were in good repair. There were no safety fences and a soul pretty much had a run of the place. Things are much different these days, and probably for the better. One thing hasn't changed.......parents still bring their children here after a good snowfall to sled down the parapets.

Just like their parents did for them.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Pork, It's What's For Breakfast...

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 18:47:00 +0000

It wasn't until I was a Junior in High School that I learned the value of having a breakfast sandwich.

My oldest brother was in the Navy. The destroyer he was assigned to was docked at the Philadelphia Navy Yard undergoing some upgrades that would take months. He was working Monday through Friday with the weekends off.

Not wanting to leave his car on base, he asked if I would mind taking him up early on Monday mornings and pick him up around 5:00 pm Friday nights. My reward for this agreement was I could use his car during the week. I accepted the terms under two conditions:

1) I'd pay for my own gas.
2) He would have to buy my breakfast on Monday mornings.

First drop off, we left our parents' house at 4:30 am. As we approached the Walt Whitman Bridge leading into South Philly, I became concerned that Kevin may have forgotten about "breakfast". I was disappointed as we pulled into the parking area outside the main gate. As I approached the main gate, he pointed across my chest and said, "Don't go in yet, go over there by the line of pickup trucks with the stainless steel tops on the back.".

I didn't even see them before he pointed at them. Seven, maybe eight little trucks all in a row. I swung the Chevy Vega station wagon hard left and slowed. I was cutting across the parking lot and other vehicles were doing the same. "Park near the third truck.", was my next instruction. I got as close as I could. We both got out. The aroma of scrapple on the griddle, bacon being fried, and the unmistakable smell of eggs being cooked.

We walked over and got in line. Every truck had a line of sailors, welders, pipe fitters, Naval officers of all ranks, and any other type of worker you'd find on a busy Navy Yard. There were two guys working in the stainless steel trailer and the food was flying out. I was studying the magic marker "menu" facing us from inside what was colloquially known as "The Roach Coach" when I heard Kev say, "Two Scrapple, egg, and cheese on hoagie rolls and two coffees, black.". Seeing as how my decision was already made for me and Kev had already paid the guy, I followed Kev to the right to await "breakfast".

Our sandwiches were up in less than a minute.

Kev grabbed a bottle of hot sauce and doused both sandwiches with it and black pepper. He then handed one to me with a cup of the darkest coffee I had ever seen in my life. The stuff had been in the styrofoam cup for less than two minutes and the inside was already lightly stained.

It was the start of a great tradition for six months every Monday morning.

When I moved down south to start my career, I found out two very important things. There is next no chance of finding Scrapple in anyplace south of the Mason-Dixon line. Also, if I asked for anything on a hoagie roll, folks would look at me as if I had snakes coming out of my eyes.

It took some time, but I learned to embrace the "Bacon, Egg, and Cheese" biscuits sold by most of the establishments in Louisiana, Virginia, and Tennessee. However, whenever I got home I would stop at The Italian Kitchen in Pennsville first thing in the morning. As good as a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit is, the Italian Kitchen's scrapple, egg, and cheese sandwich beat anything Dixie could dish up on a biscuit.

Since then, way back in the late 1970's, I have been a fan of having a breakfast sandwich.

This morning I went to the refrigerator. Yes, there is a block of scrapple in there. However, on Sunday, I was over a friend's house smoking pork, wild turkey, and some of the most amazing homemade fresh hot dogs for a project he was working on. It was a gorgeous day to spend 9.5 hours running a smoker with apple and cherry wood.

I brought samples of each home.

The first thing I eyed was the sliced smoked pork loin. A block of sharp cheddar cheese was right next to it.

What's a hungry brother to do?

I didn't feel like fighting temptation.

So I did this:

"The Air Traffic Mike Special"

Smoked marinated pork loin, sharp cheddar cheese, Kosher dill pickles, Light Miracle Whip and freshly ground black pepper, served on fresh oat bread.

Okay, so it's not my beloved scrapple, egg, and cheese on a hoagie roll. However, it has much less fat, many less calories, and lots and lots of great flavor.

On a scale of 1 to 10 I give it a 9.5.

The .5 deduction came from not having any bacon on it. Bacon makes everything better, including scrapple, egg and cheese sandwiches where the scrapple and eggs are fried in bacon fat and the bacon is added to the sandwich.

But seeing as how my blood pressure is still a bit too high and I'm working my way down to 225 lbs. as a start with maybe dropping it to 215 lbs. as a possibility, I was pleased with the result.

Now, time to take the doggies for a walk.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Some Days It's Good To Be Wood

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 23:23:00 +0000

There are times when we all find ourselves distracted to the point of being oblivious.

I'm no exception.

Between doctor's appointments, errands, herding Dachshunds, helping friends out, and life in general, my focus hasn't been good of late. Fortunately, it has been improving.

Take this afternoon for example. Tomorrow's trash and recyclable pickup day in the neighborhood out here. My lack of focus in the last two months meant missing two trash pickups and one missed recyclable pickup day. The township only picks up recyclables every two weeks.

It still confounds me how two adults can generate THAT many recyclables in a 14 day period. The 28 day period (when I missed the recyclable pickup) was particularly disturbing.

Anyway I'm getting back on top of my game. I went out and set the two trashcans on the curb. I walked around to the back of the house and gathered the two full recycle bins and hauled them to the curb and placed them next to the trashcans.

Turning around to go back inside I suddenly heard a deep voice say, "AHEM".

I looked all around me. None of the neighbors were out. As best I could tell, I was the only person out within hearing distance in any direction.

Figuring I was just hearing things because of the gusty winds I started up the sidewalk to the house.

Then, I heard it again. Low, loud, and clear......."AHEM!!!".

Suddenly, I recognized the voice.......

Our good friend, "Morty The Maple" had awakened from his Winter's sleep.

I looked at him and said, "Hold still Morty. I'm going to use the flash on my new camera.".

Before he could respond, I snapped the picture.

Click on the picture to enlarge. You'll notice the pronounced frown up by his arm (branch) just above dead center on his trunk.

In hindsight, I should have realized it have annoyed him. Nobody, not even a mature tree like Morty likes a flash picture upon awakening up from a long sleep.

"Sorry about that, Morty.", I said as sincerely as I could.

Morty accepted my apology. It seems he was more worried about things like having been possibly pruned while he was in a deep sleep and his 2013 canopy.

I took a walk around and took some pictures to show him:

"Gimme the bad news, Mike.", he said with a sigh.

"Morty, here, let me show you.", I said as I walked back across the street.

A wry grin spread across his face as he exclaimed, "At's BEYOODIFUL!!!!! I'm still da best lookin' tree on da BLOCK!!!!"

He asked for Splitty the Maul, but I had to disappoint him. Splitty was out on a fashion shoot with Pepe' El Desatascador.

The "male maul model" market is limited in both requests for such and active participants.

The "Mexican male illegal immigrant plunger model" market was non-existent until Pepe' plunged in cup first.

I should have the proofs sometime this week. I texted Splitty and Pepe's agent:

Pope Vinny LIX

I asked him to tell Splitty that his old friend Morty wanted to see him.

Pope Vinny immediately texted back, "How much duzz da gig pay?".

He was not happy to get my text back saying, "Vin, they're friends. It's a social visit NOT a gig, capiche?".

After two "FUGGEDDABOUDIT!!!!" a $100 bribe, and accepting penance in the form of 100 "Hail Mary's", Pope Vinny LIX agreed to forward Morty's request.

Looks like I'm going to have to send his Popeness on a crummy assignment to remind him just who's in charge of Air Traffic Mike Heavy Industries, LLC.(The official social think tank of Air Traffic Mike).

Well folks, that's it for now. I'll be spending the rest of the night working on Pope Vinny's "penance".

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret..

And Then There's West, Texas

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 15:08:00 +0000

I took their loss of lives personal, too.

My paternal grandfather, Richard B. Walker and my uncle Henry Robert (Uncle Bobby) Walker were two of the founding members of the Hacks Point, Maryland Volunteer Fire Department.

Two fearless men of a fearless family.

The West, Texas Volunteer Fire Department suffered huge losses. That fertilizer plant that was said to have "No chance of a fire or explosion." by it's owners.

Yeah, right.

Hold them to criminal charges.

Their fertilizer plant killed those men

Sadly, in 1947 in Texas City, Texas a similar situation occurred. It is still the worst industrial accident in our nations history.

Texas City Explosion

It was brutal. Those poor men trying to save their city died. Just like the men in West.

To the families in West, Texas my deepest condolences.

Simple words won't ease your pain.

Just know they come from a friend who could be facing the same pain.

We were just lucky.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

On The Boston Marathon

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 14:51:00 +0000

I took the bombings at the marathon personal.

Three friends of mine were there. One as a spectator. Two as participants. Notwithstanding the fact that I happen to love the city of Boston. I went to college 45 minutes north of there and spent a number of days at Fenway Park and in the city in general.

Contrary to popular (Southern) opinions, Boston is a very friendly place. They are proud of their city and ready to tell any stranger within earshot.

Monday, when news of the bombs going off at/near the finish line, my heart was in my throat. Rebecca was there for the weekend to watch her boyfriend run. Donnie, a high school friend of mine and Kennedy a DJ who used to live near me in Memphis were in the race. I told myself if any of them were hurt I'd be on the road to Boston within the hour.

Fortunately, Rebecca texted me back almost immediately to let me know she and her beau were okay. Donnie's sister sent word on Facebook that Donnie too was safe. I went to Kennedy's Facebook page and found she was safe as well.

I should have been relieved, but then the news reported one of the victims was a little boy who had just run to the finish line to hug his Dad. He was killed by the explosion, his sister lost a leg, and his Mother critically injured.

Then I got angry.

The bombers placed nails and ball bearings in the bombs. That's not the work of a group trying to send a message. That's the work of mass murderers.

And to think it could have easily been Rebecca, Donnie, or Kennedy.

I'm beyond angry now.

I hope law enforcement finds those responsible and just kills them. They don't deserve a trial. They, in my opinion, gave up their civil rights when they built those bombs.

It was an act of war.

Just like 9/11.

Just like the Oklahoma City bombing.

Disagree if you must.

I see no redemption for people that place shrapnel bombs in crowds of innocent people.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves except for the cowardly bombers. I hope y'all die a slow agonizing death.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Air Traffic Mike On Music

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 17:44:00 +0000

Sometimes a simple word or a simple sentence can make all the difference in our lives.

Back in 2003, I purchased a CD produced by my friend Eric Hughes and his band. There was a song on there that, along with the advice of my best friend ("Don't do anything stupid.") kept me from killing myself.

That's how bad depression can be.

It's been 10 years since Eric sold me that disc.

I promised myself I would finally thank him this year as an Easter gift to both of us.

The irony is that Eric doesn't play the song any more. His brother took the step that I couldn't and wouldn't.

But he, and my best friend, saved my life.

I'm lucky and glad to be here.

Thanks, Eric. You too, best friend.

It's a hard thing to admit, yet it's harder to do that to your friends and family.

Besides, you never know what the future has in store for you.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

My Worst Easter Ever (A Repeat)

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 16:51:00 +0000

I'm tired. So here's a repeat of Easter's past.

Happy Easter, folks.

ATM

---------------------------------------------------------------

Honestly, any holiday can go horribly wrong.

I point to the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre" as a prime example.

I'm probably not the only person to have had a "loved one" pass away on Christmas. In my case, it was my great great Aunt Ann. She was my great Grandmother's twin sister. It wasn't unexpected. She had been in the nursing home for some time.

To my grandmother's credit, she spared my family the news until the day after Christmas.

Still, it put a damper on the holiday season.

Then there was that one Easter. No matter how bad other holidays have been since, they will always come up short of THAT Easter weekend.

Maybe "bad" isn't such a good adjective here.

It wasn't ALL that bad.

It was just........different.

It all started off on Ash Wednesday. We all got off to a strong start. We all donned our church clothes and walked over to the Catholic Church. It was only a couple blocks, and besides, it was a beautiful morning. We went to the morning Mass, got palm ashes placed on our foreheads, and headed home to spend a rare school day away from classes.

Dad decided to go into work late that morning. He much preferred the peace and quiet of the sprawling duPont factory to the "peace and quiet" of five rambunctious boys. Since it was such a nice day out, Mom encouraged us to get out and play. With us out from under foot she could get important things done like tons of laundry, vacuuming, and planning dinner.

It was sometime during that day Mom, while talking to one of her friends on the phone, heard about something that would set that Easter apart from all others.

Of course, we were oblivious to it at the time.

It didn't even seem unusual when we heard Mom and Dad talking in hushed tones after Dad walked in the door late in the day.

Hushed tones weren't unusual between them. After all, like my oldest brother remarked, "Every time they start whispering, I always end up with another darn brother.".

Being the only one in the house with a bedroom to myself, I started to get nervous. I had kind of become used to the solitude.

Dinner came and went as did the days of Lent. We soon forgot about Mom and Dad whispering and there was no talk of me moving my bedroom furniture. Life had pretty much returned to normal.

Then the Saturday prior to Easter weekend came. Mom and Dad got us all up at the same time and told us to get dressed.

We all thought we were going to make a surprise visit to one of our sets of grandparents or something good like that.

It was even better.

Upon our arrival in the living room for pre-departure inspection, my Dad announces, "Boys, you're all going with Mom and I to Delaware this morning. We have a surprise for you.".

Nobody loves surprises more than children and we were no exceptions.

We piled into our beloved Chevrolet Impala station wagon and headed out.

We all felt the excitement in the air.

My younger brother asked, "Are we going to see Uncle Bob and Aunt Lil?"

"No.", my Dad tersely replied.

I asked, "Are we going to see Aunt Betty and Uncle Rodman?".

Dad, still terse as ever, "NO!".

My older brother asked, "Are we going shopping?"

"I TOLD you guys, it's a SURPRISE!!!!!!", was all he could say while gritting his teeth.

We tried to prevail upon Mom for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

Finally we settled in and accepted our fate.

Unfortunately, we had gotten on Dad's last nerve. Even idle child chatter was rubbing him the wrong way by this time.

He turned and looked at Mom and asked, "Betty, where did you say the orphanage is?"

That shut us up until we got to where we were really going.

It seems, in talking with one of her friends on Ash Wednesday, Mom had found out about this new Chocolatier. She had found out that for Easter they would be making religious figures from chocolate. After discussing it over with Dad, they thought it would be a good idea to have some Bible based chocolate figures in our Easter baskets.

I thought to myself, "Wow!! When the Easter Bunny sees that we have these in our baskets already, he's REALLY going to load us down with goodies!!!".

See, even at an early age, I understood the TRUE meaning of Easter.

We jumped from the station wagon and ran through the front doors like........well.......kids in a candy store.

Dad, seeing that we might be just a little too excited gave those words that always calmed us down, "Every one of you STOP!!!!!!".

Having restored order to the troops, Dad and Mom took us up to the case with all the religious themed chocolate figures.

To a man, we were all immediately inspired. We had never seen that much chocolate in one place.

Oh, and the workmanship on the figurines wasn't bad either.

My brother Gary was immediately taken by the "Last Supper". It had to be about eight pounds worth of chocolate. The table alone had to be an additional two pounds on its own.

With a limited budget and visions of cavities racing through his head, Dad acknowledged that it was indeed an impressive piece, but nixed the idea.

"You can each pick out one figurine.", he said.

What to choose?

There was the Virgin Mary in white chocolate, a Joseph in a deep dark chocolate, all the various Apostles, and the star of the case, Jesus in any chocolate style you could think of.

Frankly, the Jesus in milk chocolate with raisins was pretty disturbing.

However we all noticed, and maybe rightfully so, the Jesus' figures were a bit larger than the others.

Children understand "value" as it applies to candy. Well, at least we seemed to.

All five of us immediately started clamoring for a Jesus each.

Dad looked at the smiling store owner and asked, "How much are they?".

The grinning man said, "Twenty one dollars each.".

Needless to say, Dad was quite taken back by the steep price. His voice went up a bit as he said, "Twenty one dollars EACH????? How did you come to THAT price for them??????"

The guy never batted an eye as he responded, "Judas.".

Before Dad could catch his breath, the good man said, "I have some smaller ones in stock. Their prices are in line with the other figurines in the case."

As the color was returning to Dad's face, we returned to scoping out the rest of the figurines. It was quite impressive. Besides the Apostles, Virgin Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, there were some of the more popular Saints. I suggested to Mom that she buy Dad a chocolate St. Christopher (then the patron Saint of travelers). She pointed out that chocolate on a warm, metal dashboard might not be a good thing.

So many good ideas get shot down by logic.

Being fairly bright kids, we decided that it might be in our best interests to each get a different figurine just to cover our Holy/Easter Bunny bases.

My oldest brother picked out a Joseph in milk chocolate.

My second brother picked out a Virgin Mary in white chocolate.

Knowing my younger brother really wanted a Jesus, I deferred and selected a John the Baptist with rice krispies.

My younger brother, grateful that I had let him have his way, selected a milk chocolate Jesus with nuts. It was at that point that my oldest brother asked Dad, "What does Jesus need nuts for?".

I stood there waiting for the bolt of lightning to take him out.

It never came, proving that God MUST have invented "comedy" at some point in the first days.

My youngest brother, being a little to young to know much about the faith randomly selected a milk chocolate guy holding a bird. Mom told him, "That's a good one. That's St. Francis of Assisi.".

My older brother whispered something to our youngest. His face lit up.

It would take four years for him to find out that St. Francis was NOT the "Patron Saint of Magicians".

Happy with our selections and with our parents obviously ready to go, we loaded back in to the car. Mom decided that it MIGHT be a good idea for her to keep all the chocolate stuff up front with her.

I don't know where "Moms" get that intuition stuff, but our Mom had it to spare.

Now besides church, there are certain traditions that take place on the week leading into Easter. We decorated the inside of the house, cleaned our Easter baskets, dyed Easter eggs, had our little white shirts, black ties, and tartan blazers clean and ready, and of course were ready for Mass on Good Friday and for Sunrise Mass on Easter Sunday.

There was but one tradition I think we all agreed we hated.

For some reason, to our Mom, for us kids Good Friday = Fish stick Friday.

I have yet to see a long rectangular fish come out of any body of water I've ever fished. To this day if I get even downwind of one, I begin to gag. Let's face it, if even ketchup can't salvage it you shouldn't be eating it. Had they served fish sticks at the Last Supper, the first crucifixion would have been the chef.

I'm just saying.

Anyway Good Friday, fish sticks, Mass, and all, came and went.

Saturday was here. To us boys, it was "Showtime"!!!!!

Mom got out the baskets. Dad went to the utility room. He brought out the plastic Easter "grass" and the bag of chocolate religious figurines. We had sort of wondered where he and Mom stashed them. The utility room was a perfect place. It was below ground level so it stayed very cool in the Spring. It also had a lock on it, thereby keeping Jesus and company very safe.

If it can be said this way, us boys handled the chocolate figurines with a great deal of reverence. During the week, Mom had told us the stories behind the figurines. While Jesus, Mary, and Joseph's stories were fairly common knowledge to us, the stories of St. Francis and St. John the Baptist were not.

We all mixed up our own colors of Easter "grass", organized our colorful dyed Easter eggs, and Mom carefully set our chocolate icons into their places of honor in our respective baskets.

There they were. All in a little row of cheap, woven baskets. An absolute powerhouse of a Holy Army right there on the dining room table, waiting for the Easter Bunny to salute.

It's no surprise that we kept finding excuses to leave the recreation room and go upstairs just to take a look at them.

However, as we ALL know, the Easter Bunny (like his close ally Santa Claus) will NOT show up if you stay awake.

Like Santa, he "flies solo".

That's just how the big Bunny rolls.

As our bedtimes came, we happily sauntered off to bed.

Just before my bedtime came up, Dad asked me to let our dog, "Rusty" in. Now "Rusty" was normally an outside dog. He had a doghouse in the backyard, and normally that's where he'd stay unless the weather was really bad. That night it was a really blustery, miserable Spring rain. I let "Rusty" in, dried him off with an old towel, and watched as he ran around the house like a banshee.

That was the main reason "Rusty" was an outside dog.

He made "excitable" look sleepy.

At that point, "Rusty" was no longer my problem. He'd eventually settle down like he always did. When he finally would fall asleep, Dad would put him in the half bath off the recreation room before him and Mom went to bed.

The last thing I remember that night was hearing my two older brothers climbing the staircase on the way to their bedroom. Living on the third level of a four level split level house pretty much lets you hear everything.

As was my wont, I woke up early. I was wide awake by 5:30 am. Not wanting to possibly catch the Easter Bunny doing his thing, I turned on my desk lamp and quietly played with some of my Matchbox cars. It wasn't long before I heard my older brothers come down the stairs. I went across the hall and woke up our two youngest brothers.

As I came down the stairs I heard "Rusty" scratching at the door of the half bath. My older brothers looked at me and gave me the "You're younger than us, YOU DO IT!!!" look.

Hey, I didn't mind. "Rusty" was my pal.

I opened the door. I didn't even get a chance to turn the light on. "Rusty" came out like he was on fire.

I closed the door to the bathroom, ran to the back door, and let him out.

Promptly, I forgot all about "Rusty". Easter day was here. We'd be getting ready for Mass soon.

If I was going to find my Easter basket before church, I had to get with the guys and start the hunt.

In short order, my oldest brother found his. I must say, the Easter Bunny was VERY impressed with Kevin's selection of Joseph. There were jelly beans, coconut creme eggs, peanut butter cups, solid chocolates, and a big hollow chocolate egg with chocolate covered butter cream candies inside.

If this was a harbinger of things to come, it was going to be quite a haul.

Next, our youngest brother's basket was located. As with Joseph, the Easter Bunny was very pleased to see his old friend, St. Francis. The Easter Bunny left John a big chocolate bunny, a bunch of marshmallow "Peeps", Hershey's "Kisses", butter cream candies, coconut cream eggs, and a mound of spicy jelly beans.

Two for five and thing just kept getting better.

By this time, the five of us running around like the Marx Brothers had awakened Mom and Dad.

Dad informed us that we had ten minutes to keep looking and then it would be time to get ready for church.

With about two minutes to go, my older brother found his basket. It was obvious that we had scored big points with the Easter Bunny. Bruce had a very narrow list of likes when it came to food, candy being no exception. He had the biggest, prettiest chocolate covered butter cream egg, spicy jelly beans, and Hershey's "Kisses". Not a big selection, but the sheer volume was insane.

As much as my younger brother and I wanted to keep looking for our baskets, it was time to get dressed for Mass. The bad thing about being an excited kid who hasn't found his Easter basket yet is that it was a High Mass. That means longer, more ornate, and the burning of incense.

What else could a distracted, antsy kid ask for?

How about a priest who is a bad "time manager"?

Bless his heart, Father Quinlan had a habit of running long on a normal Mass. That morning we should have changed his name to "Father Hoagie". The man was on a roll.

Just about the time we thought "Sunrise Mass" was going to end up as "Sunset Mass", one of the other priests came in the side door that opened abeam the altar. He quietly got Father Quinlan's attention. That put the good Father back on track. Within 30 minutes we got those words that make Catholics everywhere exhale and make them mindlessly reach for their car keys:

"The Mass is ended, go in peace."

We all walked home, Gary and I leading the way. We were each still without our baskets. We knew that even with Mom and Dad both cooking breakfast, we had a good bit of time before it would be ready.

We had a plan.

We knew we couldn't count on much help from our other three brothers. Not because they weren't good brothers. They were then and that never changed. However, it had already been a long morning, they had their baskets, and it was time for the "Three Stooges" to come on one of the local UHF channels.

Gary and I would team up, and not part company until we found both baskets.

After we arrived home, we changed into our regular street clothes and got to work.

A bonus for us not having found our baskets was that one of the older guys would have to feed and water "Rusty".

We searched high and low. Bedroom to bedroom. Closet to closet. Level by level. We even checked in the full bathroom figuring maybe the Easter Bunny left them in the vanity.

No such luck.

Just as we were about to give up, our oldest brother called out from downstairs.

Our baskets had been found.

What came next became the "Easter Miracle".

We flew down the stairs. I think we covered both flights of stairs in about two steps each.

Gary got ahead of me and went in the bathroom first.

That's when he yelled, "SOMEONE STOLE JESUS!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Sadly, he wasn't wrong.

Where Jesus had once stood, there was nothing but mashed down Easter "grass". The Easter Bunny had left Gary a big chocolate coconut cream egg, but it was laying on the floor in front of the basket.

By this time, Mom and Dad had arrived on the scene.

I can tell you that they were as perplexed as the rest of us. At first, they thought one of us was pulling a trick on Gary. I had an alibi. I was with Gary when Jesus was declared "missing". John was too young to come up with such a devious joke. Bruce was upstairs changing.

By process of elimination, Kevin fell into the "Suspect" column. However, one thing about Kevin both then and now, he's a very honest guy. In a serious situation, if he says he's "innocent", he's innocent. An honest man, through and through.

Mom and Dad both knew that.

Bruce came down and saw what was going on. It took a second, but he had a theory.

"Maybe Jesus pushed the coconut cream egg out of the way and ascended into Heaven."

I'm not sure who busted up first, but I think it was a four way tie between Mom, Dad, Kevin, and Bruce.

I was thinking, "Wow, it's a chocolate miracle.".

Dad, regaining his composure said, "There has to be something to it more than that!".

Gary left the bathroom, very distraught. Mom picked up his basket from the near side of the vanity. I went in to see the scene.

That's when I found MY basket on the far side of the vanity.

It was my turn to to yell.

"JOHN THE BAPTIST IS MISSING HIS HEAD!!!!!!!!!!".

Dad came walking back.

"What??????????", he said almost angry.

I reached down, picked up my basket and sure enough, there was St. John the Baptist laying there with nothing above the collar.

Now Dad was SURE there was some shenanigans going on among the brothers.

All I knew was that Jesus was missing and he might have taken a chunk of St. John with him.

The mystery would have continued except for one thing.

In the midst of all the excitement, Bruce had forgotten to do what Dad told him to do. That was to go out back and feed and water "Rusty".

Dad, obviously confused and more than aggravated, reminded Bruce to go out and take care of the dog. Bruce grabbed the bag of dog food and headed for the backyard. He came back in quickly and yelled for Dad to come out back.

Like Dad really needed ONE more thing to go wrong on Easter morning.

Out he went.

He came back in quickly, picked up St. John, and took him to the trashcan outside.

That was the last I'd see of St. John.

As for milk chocolate Jesus with nuts, his disposal was even less kind.

It seems "Rusty" liked chocolate, but it didn't like him.

Maybe it was divine intervention.

Most likely it was just nature.

A few weeks of Spring storms washed away the poorly digested remains of milk chocolate Jesus with nuts, St. John the Baptist's head, and "Rusty's" sins.

Were it only that easy for the rest of us.

With one of the great mysteries of life solved, we all went to the dining room to enjoy breakfast.

Okay, so we were down a couple of Martyrs, but in the big scheme of things it was really not that big of a deal. There was plenty of candy to go around and besides, like any large family we had no issues in sharing with each other.

You know, that probably would have been enough excitement for one day for any normal family.

Unfortunately, we weren't normal.

Okay, compared to us we were normal.

Sort of.

After breakfast, we had the usual assembly line of dish washing/dish drying. At that time, with us boys all being still fairly young and short, Mom would wash the dishes, two of us would "volunteer" to dry them (as selected to "volunteer" by Mom and Dad), and Dad would put them away. Seeing as how we would be using them again for a big Easter dinner, Dad "volunteered" two more of us to place the freshly dried dishes and silverware back on the dining room table.

I'm sure Dad would have loved to take care of that chore, but he was busy making sure the Easter ham was doing well outside. It would be the only time Dad ever cooked a whole ham on the grill over low coals. Not because he had an inspiration that a slow cooked ham over charcoal might be a good idea, it was mostly due to Mom needing the oven for a special Easter "project".

It seems Mom had run across a really neat bread mold just in time for the holiday season. Add freshly baked bread to the number of baked side dishes Mom had planned and Dad and his ham were pretty much on their own. Due to Mom's enthusiasm, even boiling the ham on the stove top was out of the question.

Everything was going smoothly right up to the moment until Mom sprung the new bread pan on Dad and us boys.

Something has to be a "first" and something has to be a "last". In rare moments, one thing can be both simultaneously.

The "Jesus On The Cross" bread pan was one of the rarest of rare moments.

We all looked at it in awe, shock, and amazement.

Dad muttered something. I'm pretty sure that's why he led the charge to "confession" the next Saturday.

However, today WAS Easter. He was going to support Mom as best he could regardless.

Us boys decided that maybe standing near the kitchen might not be such a good idea. Lightning can hit anywhere and the kitchen seemed to be the next likely place. I can't speak for my brothers, but I know i said a quick prayer for the kitchen's and Mom's safety. The five of us boys scattered out and went about the business of being kids.

In the meantime, Mom made the dough and as per the bread mold instructions, placed the dough into the mold.

Now anyone who has made a yeast dough knows that you have to punch down the dough after the initial yeast reaction occurs. Mom had placed the "Jesus On The Cross" bread mold (filled with a nice smooth yeast dough) on the dining room table. After about an hour, she asked Dad to go check on the dough to see if it was time to punch it down.

Maybe Dad was having a "funny moment", maybe he had just suffered a small stroke, or just maybe it was the second "Bloody Mary" he had with him as he came in from the slowly cooking ham on the grill. I never got around to asking him so I'll never know. Mom asked Dad how the dough in the "Jesus On The Cross" bread pan looked.

We all heard Dad give a poorly restrained smirk.

He turned back towards the kitchen where Mom was neck deep in side dishes and needed nothing else but a simple answer.

Thanks to vodka, she got one.

"Betty", he said loudly, "Christ has risen!".

Mom, biting her tongue so as not to egg Dad on, said in a very sharp and mildly perturbed way, "Well, could you PLEASE punch the dough down?".

I'm not sure what other's definition of "punch down the dough" is, but Dad flattened the heck out of the dough in the "Jesus On The Cross" bread pan.

I know it looked pretty darn flat in there. I was standing next to Dad when he did it.

Mom asked me from the kitchen, "Michael, how does it look?".

I told her it looked pretty flat.

Before Mom could say anything else, Dad chimed in, "Don't worry. Christ will rise again.".

It was at that moment I tied my then all time record for making "the Sign of the Cross".

That would be the last time Dad was allowed to help Mom with bread making.

The rest of the early afternoon was surprisingly quiet.

In fact, it wasn't until dinner that fate would be tempted again.

Now I will say this about my parents. They were both excellent cooks. Dad brought the slow cooked ham to the table. He had basted it with his mustard based BBQ sauce. The BBQ sauce had copious amounts of brown sugar and red wine vinegar in it. The ham looked like it just came off a magazine cover. Mom's side dishes were equally as appealing. Green beans, candied yams with a marshmallow topping, baked macaroni and cheese, creamed peas, glazed carrots, and of course the "Jesus On The Cross" bread still in the bread pan.

We all held our breath as Mom picked up the "Jesus On The Cross" bread pan, gently leaned it against the bread plate, and inverted it.

It was a 50/50 shot that it was going to stick. Not that it was a poorly made pan, that was just Mom's baking average.

She tapped the bottom of the pan with a butter knife and slowly lifted the pan away from the bread plate.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the bread broke free. There, for one and all of us to have was a fine rendition of hot Cross Jesus.

Not I'm sure some of you are thinking to yourselves, "My God, how could this day get any more weird?"

Well that would be as we started to pass things around the dinner table.

As in any large gathering at any large table, not everything is nearby to your dinner plate. Such was the situation at our holiday gatherings, this one not being an exception.

The ham slices came around first. I must say again that this was one of Dad's masterpieces. The outside was crispy with a tangy flavor and the ham itself was "melt in your mouth" cooked.

Next, the mashed potatoes and candied yams made the rounds. With those two served at the same table it is a matter of "one or the other or BOTH!!!!" with most of us opting for both.

After that it became a matter of passing the mac and cheese and veggies around to whoever wanted it next. Passing across the table was never frowned upon, it was just a matter of who asked for whatever it was next.

Finally it was time to pass the bread.

Our yeasty Saviour was closest to me.

I picked up the Holy Serving Platter.

Then, I had an idea.

It was as bad as it was funny.

When confronted by temptation as such, one must follow their conscience.

Unfortunately, I had yet to embrace that concept at the tender age of 7.

I knew that none of us would or could eat until after we said grace.

I also knew that my maternal grandmother always said, "No matter what you say, if you end it with the word "Amen", it counts as a prayer.".

Add in a dash of "call and response" Catholic prayers and my plan was complete.

My brother Bruce asked me to pass the bread.

I slowly held out the plate bearing our Lord and savory Saviour and uttered those words that nobody else, to my knowledge had thought of.

As the plate reached my arm's length, Bruce was leaning over reaching to take it from me.

To his and the rest of the family's surprise I said, "The body of Christ.".

Being good Catholics, and out of sheer instinct the rest of the family (my parents included) all said, "Amen" simultaneously.

Before Mom and Dad could react, Bruce pointed out that we had all said "Amen" and unless Mom Mom was a fibber, that constituted a prayer.

I think that still stands as a family record for the shortest prayer at dinner.

Now I have just two more things to tell all y'all.

I was ill on 1 April.

April Fool's (belated) and Happy Easter to one and all.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Nothing Says, "Happy Easter Week!".........

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 23:33:00 +0000

Like starting off with a slushy, Wintry mix of snow, sleet, ice, and rain.

Punxsutawney Phil took the news hard.

He had predicted an early Spring.

Well, at least he didn't miss twice this year.

I had some errands to do this afternoon. I was sort of hoping the weather would break for a few minutes. I wanted to get some pictures of the old Pennsville-New Castle Ferry and Wilson Line piers.

That wasn't happening.

The river looks like the opening scenes from "Gilligan's Island".

I'm tired of this blustery weather.

Of course, coming off an ugly bout of vertigo didn't help my mood.

So, I did what any guy in South Jersey would do.

I had a Wawa hoagie, some chips, a Diet Coke, and played some Jimmy Buffett music on my lap top.

After a bit, I could almost imagine it looking like this outside today:

Soon.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Splitty Hits Middle Class.....And He Likes It!

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 15:58:00 +0000

So, I was talking to Splitty The Maul this morning.

My insomnia was kicking my rump. I couldn't sleep. Splitty is a late night sort of maul.

He was having a "hard lemonade"..........

I asked him what was going on.

"As if I don't have enough problems, now I'm Marvin Gaye?, was his response.

I had to ask him what the problem was. Hey, he's a friend after all.

"I'm down, ATM.".

"Down like how, Splitty?", I asked.

"Down like Otis Redding in Lake Michigan ATM.", he came back with.

"Otis Redding *crashing* down?", was all I could muster.

"Yep ATM, I gots the the *No Shoes, Splitting Maul Blues", he said as he drank his drank.

Now I know a thing or two about being depressed and depression. The difference between the two is the difference between the common cold and having a terminal illness.

Believe me, sadly, I know what a terminal illness looks like. I can offer two prime examples called "Mom" and "Bruce".

Still, I am always ready to lend Splitty a hand.

Shoes are easy.

Simple.

I got Splitty a shoe.

Maybe it's just me, but I think he looks smashing.

Definitely a boot sort of guy.

Like Dad used to say, "Offer a hand up, not a hand out.".

He was right then.......he's right now.

Get out and help someone today.

You'll like it.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Oh My God I'm Tired

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 08:27:00 +0000

Fudge.

Shoot man, Fudge.

Fill in the blanks.

All y'all know what I mean.

Insomnia, vertigo, and alcohol do not mix well.

I'm living proof (no pun intended).

So here I am at 4:24 am. My eyes hurt from being awake. My head hurts even worse.

My brain is running at full speed.

That's the worst part.

SMF.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

"Morty The Maple" Returns

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 18:34:00 +0000

It's been a while since our good friend, "Morty The Maple" checked in.

What can I say?

After all, he is a tree for God's sake.

However, with Spring nigh upon us, I thought I'd go to the front yard and see if Morty was up. Sure, it's a long journey, but I was up for the challenge.

It was good to see him even slightly awake. After all, it's a very grey, cloudy South Jersey day. Lesser trees are still asleep.

"Yo Morty, how's it going?"

"Ugh......hey ATM, what have I missed?"

"In the arboretum world.....nothing."

"Meh, boring is good."

"So you're good with boring beetles?"

"Watch your mouth."

"Sorry Morty, just thought I'd try some nearly Spring humor."

"Yeah, good luck with THAT career."

"So Morty, what do you have in store for us this year?"

"Shade.......and lots of it!"

"Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet!"

"ATM.....I'm a tree. That's what we do."

"I know, Morty. By the way, today starts your 2013 "Morty of the Month" series on the blog."

"I'll bring my *A* game, Mike."

"I knew you would, Morty."

"Morty In March"

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Hey Folks!

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:38:00 +0000

I'm not dead.

*checks pulse, just in case*

Okay, it's confirmed.

I can't believe it has been 19 days since my last post.

Mea culpa.

My work on the book has been spooling up. Every time I sit down to write I end up writing about ten pages. Think about that. It doesn't sound like much, does it? However, in reality, it's like writing a "major report" length paper every time. It also has to connect to the other "major report" length papers before it and do the same as the project moves forward.

All of you who know me know how my mind works. Then again, maybe not. The story line is really busy. If you're not paying attention, you are going to miss something. Believe me, I know. I've had to go back and read MY own writings from time to time.

Along with formulating the story line, it has to be populated with characters. My writing partner is absolutely brilliant in this area. She's really fun to work with and has a real knack for seeing what I'm aiming for in characters. We meet once a week in person to review the project.

When I'm not writing/working on it, I'm researching the historical data it's based on. Coming up soon, we'll be interviewing people in person. We both want it to be accurate. That means us taking the time to talk to "Subject Matter Experts". We can both imagine what our characters would go through, but it is important for us both to hear it from folks that have actually lived in that world.

If I had known just how much work it would cause, I would have discarded the question that started this project immediately.

Nah, I wouldn't.

I'm actually loving every second of it. The hardest part of the project is not letting other ideas for books invade my brain. Fortunately, I have a folder on my computer to store those ideas.

So, I might be scarce on the blog for a bit, but it doesn't mean I don't think about you folks. Those closest to me know where to get in touch with me.

For my Memphis peeps, I will see y'all soon. Won't be a long stay, but there will be some serious "Sunday Funday" play going on.

After that, I will probably head over to Jacksonville, FL to see an old friend of mine. He's also a retired air traffic controller.

You know me, I love taking the long way home. I'll have plenty of camera batteries with me.

Then, a run up the East Coast with a stop in Virginia Beach to see my sister in law who we call out of both love and convenience, "Sis". We're lucky to have her in our family. I only wish my brother Bruce was still here.

Then, back to South Jersey.

My faithful lap top computer will be with me on the trip. It's a working vacation for me.

Tomorrow, I say "goodbye" to the beloved Miss Di Anne Price. She was a Memphis legend. Wonderful piano player, soul singer, blues singer, torch singer, story teller, and a real wonderful lady.

Listen to her here.

Good night Di Anne. Gonna miss ya.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

A Visit With Dad

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 17:39:00 +0000

Any other day, the sadness would be close to overwhelming.

Not today.

I just needed to talk to Dad.

He left us on Feb. 4, 1980. He was eight days short of turning 59. His path in life was not even close to being easy. Born on Feb. 12, 1921 he lived through the Great Depression. He enlisted in the Army in Jan. 1942, a month after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.

For his love of, and dedication to, his country he got to relive the horror of the invasion of Europe and killing men he had no grudge against every night until he passed. On the exterior, he was rough, tough, gruff, and a no nonsense man like most of his contemporaries.

Yet, there was a soft side of Dad most people never knew of.

He was a caring father who would defend his wife and children in a second.

He had a really sharp "dry" humor.

Dad was a GREAT card player. His second son Bruce would expand upon that legacy. Dad was brilliant. Bruce was both brilliant and fearless playing cards. Dad would win quite often. Bruce won in a spectacular fashion.

Both were breathtaking to watch.

Today I just needed to talk to Dad.

I could always talk to him. In hindsight, we were kindred spirits. I was able to get him to open up about the war, life, education, dreams, and so many things that are important to a person's life as time goes on.

I just didn't think I'd lose him so young.

None of us did.

Today I went to his grave. It is surrounded by men and women who served our country. Every one of them a hero in their own ways. I thought I needed advice. What I really needed was to spend a few moments with him.

I can close my eyes and still hear his voice.

I can imagine him being here and being 92.

He would still be the same and myself and my two remaining brothers would love it.

Because, like every Dad, for all his flaws he was ours.

And he'll always be.

Dad, it was good to spend time with you today.

Mike.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Gun Control

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 00:52:00 +0000

No two words can spark a heated conversation more.

For the record, I am NOT anti-gun. Guns used for hunting, pistols used for home/self defense, and sporting arms all have valid uses and should never be restricted.

Assault rifles and high volume weapons on the other hand should be available to our soldiers and law enforcement agencies. They are purely and simply weapons of mass destruction/murder.

Personally, if someone breaks into a place I'm staying in, I'll own them in a second. They will be in very unfamiliar territory. I'll be already set up with a Louisville Slugger or Splitty the Maul.

The last thing they'll know or think is, "Wow.......I'm going to die without getting a shot off.".

If it all goes my way, they'll be absolutely correct.

Even if it only goes partly my way, they'll have time for one or two more sentences.

Twice in downtown Memphis I had to improvise a defense against attempted assaults.

The first guy was a stoned out of his mind crackhead. I hit him like Dad taught me to. That would be "Under the God Damned Jaw Right Below the F***ing Ear.". It worked flawlessly. I swung for the fence and landed it right where Dad said it would do the most damage.

Honestly, I thought I killed the bastard.

That was in February 2003.

Two years later, on a nice Sunday in May, some other screwed up dude asked me for a smoke and a light. Smoking is one vice I have never taken up. I told the guy so, apologized and started up Union Avenue for the brunch at the Majestic Grill on Main Street. That's when I heard the 12 ounce empty beer bottle coming at me from behind. Instinctively I ducked and covered my head with my arms.

Then I spun around.

It came as quite a surprise to the bum that I was running full speed at him. He took off towards the Mississippi River and turned on Front Street.

I caught the bastard in front of the Cotton Exchange and used the only thing I could think of to knock him out.

That would be the west facade of the Cotton Exchange Building.

Just like Dad had showed me, I grabbed the asshole by his left arm, planted my right foot in front of his left foot, and drove him face first into the bricks that make the Cotton Exchange so durable.

Some people worry they don't have enough guns.

I understand and appreciate that.

I'm just not one of them.

If I feel like I need a gun, I can make my own in three stops. PVC from the hardware store. A 10 pound bag of spuds from the grocery store. A can of Aqua Net hairspray and a lighter from Walmart.

Done.

Don't believe me?

Fire off a "spud gun" at a sheet of plywood sometime.

I guarantee you, if the "BOOOOOOOOM" doesn't scare the life out of someone, the impact of one of Idaho's Finest will take care of the rest.

Sleep well folks. Your government doesn't hate you or want your firearms.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

I Even Got Valentine's Day Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Air Traffic Mike) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 16:53:00 +0000

Well, sort of.

As you can recall from yesterday's blog, "A Tale Of Two Valentines", I noted a slight disparity between our Valentine's Day gifts to each other.

Her's: A beautiful dozen roses in a festive arrangement.

Mine: The remnants of a half eaten tuna salad sub.

Remembering, "It's the thought that counts.", I finished my healthy breakfast. I was grateful it was only half a sub because I had an afternoon date planned for us.

First stop, a late lunch at Big Fish Grill on the waterfront in downtown Wilmington. We'd eaten there before on Christine's mother's birthday last year. The food and service is excellent.

Christine ordered a bowl of lobster bisque as a starter.

I ordered Lobster Spring Rolls:

The Spring rolls contained a nice mixture of lobster and crispy vegetables. They came to the table hot, crunchy, and not in the least bit oily/greasy. I wasn't so much of a fan of the dipping sauce, but the house peach/Vadalia onion hot sauce (upper right) paired nicely with the rolls.

Our entrees soon followed.

Christine ordered a Grilled Tilapia Salad. I was really impressed when I saw this hit the table. It came with a generous portion of perfectly grilled Tilapia. That was to be expected. However, the salad was made of Spring greens, fresh halved California strawberries, chunks of Granny Smith apple, chunks of Honeydew Melon, crisp fresh red grapes, and a crumble of Gorganzola cheese.

I'm ordering that on our next trip there.

Now I wasn't dissatisfied by my lunch in any way.

I ordered grilled fresh Gulf of Mexico Grouper with Saffron rice and steamed broccoli. As with the Tilapia, the Grouper was perfectly grilled. It was nicely seasoned and made for a perfect light lunch.

There was no way we were going to eat a heavy lunch.

We were going to a matinee showing of "Silver Linings Playbook" at a nearby theater.

I highly recommend the movie. It really deserves all the Oscar nominations it received.

We got home and took care of the doggies. They were happy to see us and even happier to get outside after five hours of holding it.

After things settled down, Christine announced that for being such a good Valentine's Day date she was going to give me a treat.

Then she got the mixer out.

She decided that a perfect late night snack would be some freshly baked cookies.

C'mon.........who don't like cookies?

They looked and smelled real good until they stopped looking and smelling good.

I think we need to get the oven looked at. Christine is an excellent baker.

However, what started off to be Chocolate Chip cookies ended up like this:

"Charcolate Chip Cookies".

I threw one into a glass of milk.

It broke out the bottom of the glass and came out dry and intact.

Still, they were made with love and in most respects were better than my Mom's.

Mom's cookies were legendary and not in the good way.

That's a story for another time.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.

Air Traffic Mike's

Happy 25th Anniversary!!!!!!!!

What's In A Number?

Memphis In The Meantime

Meanwhile, Over In Downtown Memphis.....

FUMOTs For Charity......the *Connections* Edition

50........It's Not Just A Number

So I Got On The Scale Today....

In The Name Of God, Amen........

The 2010 $100 Challenge Revisited

So Splitty the Maul And I Took A Ride Yesterday

Shades Of Fort Mott, Batman!!!

Pork, It's What's For Breakfast...

Some Days It's Good To Be Wood

And Then There's West, Texas

On The Boston Marathon

Air Traffic Mike On Music

My Worst Easter Ever (A Repeat)

Nothing Says, "Happy Easter Week!".........

Splitty Hits Middle Class.....And He Likes It!

Oh My God I'm Tired

"Morty The Maple" Returns

Hey Folks!

A Visit With Dad

Gun Control

I Even Got Valentine's Day Cookies

FUMOTs For Charity......the Connections Edition