Ever'body's posting recipes, which is cool. But Cranky Professor posted something for colds, and there, I have the best...
Mom swore by this stuff. In fact, many of the girls I dated met Mom because of it: they'd come over to get dosed when they got sick...
This makes about 2 liters. You want to drink it as hot as you can, as fast as you can. If Mom was serving you, you'ld only get to stop to breathe...
Spiced Tea
1/2 tsp whole cloves
1/2 cinnamon stick
3/4 tsp black tea
1 1/2 qts cold water (6 cups)
1 1/2 cups OJ
3/4 cup lemon juice
3/4 cups sugar
In the first pot, bring water to a boil and remove from heat. Add cinnamon stick. Steep teabag w/ clove for 5 minutes. In a second pot, heat OJ, lemon juice, and sugar. Stir frequentally until sugar is dissolved. Add the contents of the juice mixture to the tea. Serve hot!!!!
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
12 November 2007
31 October 2007
Goin' to Thailand (pt III: the Voyage Home)
Ok... I'll explain the delay some other time.
When I left off, we were on our way home (and I was considering being the first guy to swim the Pacific)...
So... back to the airport in Bangkok. First stop, customs... where we waited with dread while the folks in front of us got EVERYTHING torn apart, looking for contraband. The screeners there were so thorough, I was expecting a body-cavity search. Thankfully, we got lucky: after a cursory look at us, they waved all four of us past. Good thing... none of the screeners looked like my type...
Onto that modern device called the airliner. Thankfully, we managed to get Dad's remaining Valium away from him while we were in country, so he didn't foolishly do anything to spark Mom's homicidal side. Of course, being unable to smoke resulted in the three of us immediately having nic fits. Other than that, the flight was uneventful. Flew into Detroit without a hitch...
Yes, Detroit. For some reason, there are only certain International airports that work inbound from faraway places. I figured LAX, or maybe SEATAC... we got to land in a city whose claim to fame is "Where the Weak are Killed and Eaten". I felt VERY sorry for the foreign-born that were gonna be stuck with any kind of layover. Of course, we had some problems of our own...
See, Spoon is a reactive hypoglycemic. And, as we cleared customs, her blood-sugar decided now was a good time to seek bedrock.
We come through the customs station, and see a door to the outside world. Outside, where Mom Dad and I can deal with the withdrawl symptoms we're experiencing. We set Spoon in a chair ("Be back in a minute, and we'll find something to eat"), and head out...
BLISS! Nicotine FINALLY entering the system! YAY!
Ok... let's go get... wait a sec. Why is that door we came through mirrored on this side, and why won't it open?
Seems the exit doors after customs are one-way. And my (currently brain-dead*) wife is on the wrong side of them.
This should be an easy fix, right? Have some security schlub escort one of us back through, nab Spoon, and be on our way to a restaurant. To quote Bill Cosby: "RIIIIIGHT!".
Close to an hour of running around the airport, trying to get SOMEONE to understand that I need to get to my wife, and deal with her blood-sugar levels. FINALLY find a stupervisor that can bring us back to the other side of that door... only to find Spoon missing.
I came close to jail right then. I figured "justifiable homicide"... had someone walked us back right away, my wife wouldn't be wandering around without benefit of an IQ. I promised myself that, if she HAD truly disappeared, so would the stupervisor...
Mom and Dad head to the proper ramp, with the idea that MAYBE she would figure out where to go on her own. Me? I start wandering some of the various areas that she might have gone to. Thinking up new and worse tortures to visit on folks for coming between me and my wife. Then I hear the page, calling me to the ramp where Mom & Dad are...
Seems Spoon realized that her brain was shutting down, and dug out a power bar hidden in her bag. The mind re-engaged, and she went looking for us... while we were trying desperately to get back through the door to look for her. Mom thoguht it was funny: she always liked laughing at me when I got "needlessly upset".
Brat.
The connecting flight back to Milwaukee was also uneventful, although by this time, I just wanted to get home. I ALWAYS have this reaction: no matter how much fun the trip is, or how much I love the destination, the last couple hours of the return trip I ALWAYS get impatient to be home.
Through the airport, out to the car, and we're on our way home. Barring a stop for dinner, we drove through.
Couple days after getting back, Mom asks if we're ready to do it again. I just smile, and ask when she wants to leave... ;)
*For the record, I love my wife. And she's normally VERY intelligent. But when her blood-sugar tanks, you might as well remove her brain from her skull. No biggie, I'm the same way (although she gets bitchier than I do).
When I left off, we were on our way home (and I was considering being the first guy to swim the Pacific)...
So... back to the airport in Bangkok. First stop, customs... where we waited with dread while the folks in front of us got EVERYTHING torn apart, looking for contraband. The screeners there were so thorough, I was expecting a body-cavity search. Thankfully, we got lucky: after a cursory look at us, they waved all four of us past. Good thing... none of the screeners looked like my type...
Onto that modern device called the airliner. Thankfully, we managed to get Dad's remaining Valium away from him while we were in country, so he didn't foolishly do anything to spark Mom's homicidal side. Of course, being unable to smoke resulted in the three of us immediately having nic fits. Other than that, the flight was uneventful. Flew into Detroit without a hitch...
Yes, Detroit. For some reason, there are only certain International airports that work inbound from faraway places. I figured LAX, or maybe SEATAC... we got to land in a city whose claim to fame is "Where the Weak are Killed and Eaten". I felt VERY sorry for the foreign-born that were gonna be stuck with any kind of layover. Of course, we had some problems of our own...
See, Spoon is a reactive hypoglycemic. And, as we cleared customs, her blood-sugar decided now was a good time to seek bedrock.
We come through the customs station, and see a door to the outside world. Outside, where Mom Dad and I can deal with the withdrawl symptoms we're experiencing. We set Spoon in a chair ("Be back in a minute, and we'll find something to eat"), and head out...
BLISS! Nicotine FINALLY entering the system! YAY!
Ok... let's go get... wait a sec. Why is that door we came through mirrored on this side, and why won't it open?
Seems the exit doors after customs are one-way. And my (currently brain-dead*) wife is on the wrong side of them.
This should be an easy fix, right? Have some security schlub escort one of us back through, nab Spoon, and be on our way to a restaurant. To quote Bill Cosby: "RIIIIIGHT!".
Close to an hour of running around the airport, trying to get SOMEONE to understand that I need to get to my wife, and deal with her blood-sugar levels. FINALLY find a stupervisor that can bring us back to the other side of that door... only to find Spoon missing.
I came close to jail right then. I figured "justifiable homicide"... had someone walked us back right away, my wife wouldn't be wandering around without benefit of an IQ. I promised myself that, if she HAD truly disappeared, so would the stupervisor...
Mom and Dad head to the proper ramp, with the idea that MAYBE she would figure out where to go on her own. Me? I start wandering some of the various areas that she might have gone to. Thinking up new and worse tortures to visit on folks for coming between me and my wife. Then I hear the page, calling me to the ramp where Mom & Dad are...
Seems Spoon realized that her brain was shutting down, and dug out a power bar hidden in her bag. The mind re-engaged, and she went looking for us... while we were trying desperately to get back through the door to look for her. Mom thoguht it was funny: she always liked laughing at me when I got "needlessly upset".
Brat.
The connecting flight back to Milwaukee was also uneventful, although by this time, I just wanted to get home. I ALWAYS have this reaction: no matter how much fun the trip is, or how much I love the destination, the last couple hours of the return trip I ALWAYS get impatient to be home.
Through the airport, out to the car, and we're on our way home. Barring a stop for dinner, we drove through.
Couple days after getting back, Mom asks if we're ready to do it again. I just smile, and ask when she wants to leave... ;)
*For the record, I love my wife. And she's normally VERY intelligent. But when her blood-sugar tanks, you might as well remove her brain from her skull. No biggie, I'm the same way (although she gets bitchier than I do).
17 October 2007
Goin' to Thailand! (pt II: Strangers in a Strange Land)
So anyway... we've arrived in Thailand. When I left off, Mom was ready to kill Dad; Dad wouldn't have been able to feel Mom killing him; Spoon was marveling in a foreign culture; and I... I was trying to stay awake...
Twenty-four hours in economy class is SERIOUS torture. Especially for a smoker. Had Mohamed Iwannadie tried hijacking our flight, I would've killed him (or helped, if he offered me a smoke). I gave consideration to swimming back...
We made it to the hotel in fairly good order, and Mom was mollified by those members of the staff on duty remembering her from previous visits. Into the rooms, into beds, and out like lights: jet-lag sucks.
The next morning, Mom went crazy: she wanted Spoon to see EVERYTHING in Thailand during that 17 day stay. I finally convinced her to slow down a bit by pointing out that running us into the ground wasn't helpful. I even pointed out that return journeys were possible (not realizing she would be gone in about a year).
We still managed to see several zoos (which are a REAL treat in Thailand, as you can often interact with the animals). Had to shake mom down after each: since you're actually interacting with the critters, mom kept trying to steal various beasties (especially the gibbons). Of course, since we all hate critters, we understood... ;)
Then there was the Royal Palace.
My first impression there was "poor muzzle discipline": the guard station at the front gate had 5 or so M60s on a table, pointing out at the crowd. Quick note: most of the Thai army equipment is 'Nam era US. Although the finish is pretty well worn off, *I* didn't want to help "test" them for functionality...
Beautiful architecture, though. And the guards are VERY professional. The average tourists, though, I could have done without...
What is it about being in a foreign land that makes so many become total idiots?
There were other sights of note (Mom would NOT allow Dad and I to take the trip to Angkor Wat: Dad's promised to take me there, if we ever get to visit him). Eventually, I'll post pics (have to find the damn things)...
We also met a VERY cool couple: James and Verity. British, with that touch of class that is all to seldom found anymore. Although James LOOKS like something a father would have nightmares about his daughter dating, he was an absolute gentleman. Spent a couple afternoons with the two of them in the pool, teaching young children the joys of pool-tag...
Unfortunately, all good things must come to and end. We headed back to Bangkok to retrace our flight, back to the land of death and taxes (I was STILL thinking of swimming home)...
Twenty-four hours in economy class is SERIOUS torture. Especially for a smoker. Had Mohamed Iwannadie tried hijacking our flight, I would've killed him (or helped, if he offered me a smoke). I gave consideration to swimming back...
We made it to the hotel in fairly good order, and Mom was mollified by those members of the staff on duty remembering her from previous visits. Into the rooms, into beds, and out like lights: jet-lag sucks.
The next morning, Mom went crazy: she wanted Spoon to see EVERYTHING in Thailand during that 17 day stay. I finally convinced her to slow down a bit by pointing out that running us into the ground wasn't helpful. I even pointed out that return journeys were possible (not realizing she would be gone in about a year).
We still managed to see several zoos (which are a REAL treat in Thailand, as you can often interact with the animals). Had to shake mom down after each: since you're actually interacting with the critters, mom kept trying to steal various beasties (especially the gibbons). Of course, since we all hate critters, we understood... ;)
Then there was the Royal Palace.
My first impression there was "poor muzzle discipline": the guard station at the front gate had 5 or so M60s on a table, pointing out at the crowd. Quick note: most of the Thai army equipment is 'Nam era US. Although the finish is pretty well worn off, *I* didn't want to help "test" them for functionality...
Beautiful architecture, though. And the guards are VERY professional. The average tourists, though, I could have done without...
What is it about being in a foreign land that makes so many become total idiots?
There were other sights of note (Mom would NOT allow Dad and I to take the trip to Angkor Wat: Dad's promised to take me there, if we ever get to visit him). Eventually, I'll post pics (have to find the damn things)...
We also met a VERY cool couple: James and Verity. British, with that touch of class that is all to seldom found anymore. Although James LOOKS like something a father would have nightmares about his daughter dating, he was an absolute gentleman. Spent a couple afternoons with the two of them in the pool, teaching young children the joys of pool-tag...
Unfortunately, all good things must come to and end. We headed back to Bangkok to retrace our flight, back to the land of death and taxes (I was STILL thinking of swimming home)...
12 October 2007
Goin' to Thailand (ptI: the Trip There)
This is Mom's month, and this story's humor kinda rests on dad. But it (and the sequels) have some of my favorite Mom memories...
One of my brothers had gotten involved with a Thai girl. This is (usually) not a Good Thing. But mom was supportive...
When the relationship (and everything attached to it) came apart, mom flew out to Thailand to try and talk sense into my bumbling sibling.
And proceeded to fall in love with the country. She and dad went back many times: although airfare can be pricey, it's still a fairly cheap vacation. In 2002, she and dad took Spoon and I. Total price was around $7K (airfare, lodging, food and bric-a-brac for four people for 17 days). And WHAT a trip!
First off: dad doesn't really fly well. Not that he's afraid of flying, or anything: he just doesn't enjoy it. First thing he does, is pop a Valium (so he can sleep). He then forgets about it, and proceeds to pop another.
We were SOMEWHERE over the Pacific when the lil' box lunch came, and dad "discarded" what he didn't like.
By tossing it on the floor.
Mom was, to put it mildly, unamused. At this point, she starts trying (unsuccessfully) to confiscate his remaining valium...
Then he wanted a drink, but didn't want to take the cookie out of his mouth. Made sense to try and suck tea out of the bottle through his nose, right?
Mom was NOT happy. While Spoon and I tried desperately not to laugh, we watched mom give serious consideration to widowhood...
We land in Japan: only a couple more hours to the Land of Smiles. Quick potty stop: the facilities are located down a flight of stairs, which means we take it in shifts (one of us has to stay with doped-up-dad, and keep him from sliding down that stairway). We get through that challenge...
And mom looses her passport.
Ever try explaining to an irate 5' nothing Italian woman that she is NOT, in fact, wandering around the airport looking for her passport (without which, she could easily be thrown in jail)? Not an easy proposition! Thankfully, the airport personnel manage to locate it, and it's waiting at the gate of our flight...
Tense couple of minutes there
Sooo... we board. I'd say happiness ensues, but have you ever flown economy for almost 24hrs straight? NOT my preferred method of torturing myself...
From Japan to Thailand was fairly uneventful: dad slept, mom stewed, and Spoon and I watched an inflight (don't remember what now). And then, we touched down...
We're there: the Land of Smiles. The first time (not counting the short layover in Japan) Spoon had ever been out of the country...
More later!
One of my brothers had gotten involved with a Thai girl. This is (usually) not a Good Thing. But mom was supportive...
When the relationship (and everything attached to it) came apart, mom flew out to Thailand to try and talk sense into my bumbling sibling.
And proceeded to fall in love with the country. She and dad went back many times: although airfare can be pricey, it's still a fairly cheap vacation. In 2002, she and dad took Spoon and I. Total price was around $7K (airfare, lodging, food and bric-a-brac for four people for 17 days). And WHAT a trip!
First off: dad doesn't really fly well. Not that he's afraid of flying, or anything: he just doesn't enjoy it. First thing he does, is pop a Valium (so he can sleep). He then forgets about it, and proceeds to pop another.
We were SOMEWHERE over the Pacific when the lil' box lunch came, and dad "discarded" what he didn't like.
By tossing it on the floor.
Mom was, to put it mildly, unamused. At this point, she starts trying (unsuccessfully) to confiscate his remaining valium...
Then he wanted a drink, but didn't want to take the cookie out of his mouth. Made sense to try and suck tea out of the bottle through his nose, right?
Mom was NOT happy. While Spoon and I tried desperately not to laugh, we watched mom give serious consideration to widowhood...
We land in Japan: only a couple more hours to the Land of Smiles. Quick potty stop: the facilities are located down a flight of stairs, which means we take it in shifts (one of us has to stay with doped-up-dad, and keep him from sliding down that stairway). We get through that challenge...
And mom looses her passport.
Ever try explaining to an irate 5' nothing Italian woman that she is NOT, in fact, wandering around the airport looking for her passport (without which, she could easily be thrown in jail)? Not an easy proposition! Thankfully, the airport personnel manage to locate it, and it's waiting at the gate of our flight...
Tense couple of minutes there
Sooo... we board. I'd say happiness ensues, but have you ever flown economy for almost 24hrs straight? NOT my preferred method of torturing myself...
From Japan to Thailand was fairly uneventful: dad slept, mom stewed, and Spoon and I watched an inflight (don't remember what now). And then, we touched down...
We're there: the Land of Smiles. The first time (not counting the short layover in Japan) Spoon had ever been out of the country...
More later!
11 October 2007
Revenge
Ok... Here's the set-up. Mom had been pestering me (pretty much from the time Spoon and I started dating): "When are you gonna marry the girl?". I was starting to get tired of the nagging, and I still owed her for the Birthday Incident (never bothered trying to get back at dad: that's pretty much impossible). So a plan was hatched...
The appointment was made for Friday, 29 Jan. Went through all kinds of tribulations to get everything (and everybody) necessary there. Folks were sworn to secrecy: mom knew nothing...
Mom and dad came to town for lunch with my mom-in-law (they always got along well). Afterwards,dad came up with some lame excuse to go downtown, and MIL went along with. They see me, Spoon, my brother Turk, and Spoon's friend Jenny crossing the street to the courthouse in our finery. Mom notices Turk, puts a couple things together, and immediately thinks I'm in major trouble (since he's an attorney in Chicago, I guess I can understand)...
We end up wandering around the courthouse, trying to find the right room (they kept switching on us), gathering more folks as we went. Despite hearing me repeatedly say "We're here for the 1:30 wedding", she didn't clue in. Finally, dad answered her repeated "What's going on?" with "your son is getting married". She got a kinda perplexed look on her face...
"What son?"
Shortly before the ceremony, she was heard to loudly proclaim to the packed courtroom we used "I'm killing everyone here, and I'm starting with my son!".
My pointing, smiling, and saying "GOTCHA!" probably didn't help.
But hey: she got the daughter she wanted, she was present for the wedding. What more did she want?
Slightly Unrelated Note:
When friends at your wedding smile, start humming the "Mission Impossible" theme, and leave, avoid the reception. Trust me on this...
The appointment was made for Friday, 29 Jan. Went through all kinds of tribulations to get everything (and everybody) necessary there. Folks were sworn to secrecy: mom knew nothing...
Mom and dad came to town for lunch with my mom-in-law (they always got along well). Afterwards,dad came up with some lame excuse to go downtown, and MIL went along with. They see me, Spoon, my brother Turk, and Spoon's friend Jenny crossing the street to the courthouse in our finery. Mom notices Turk, puts a couple things together, and immediately thinks I'm in major trouble (since he's an attorney in Chicago, I guess I can understand)...
We end up wandering around the courthouse, trying to find the right room (they kept switching on us), gathering more folks as we went. Despite hearing me repeatedly say "We're here for the 1:30 wedding", she didn't clue in. Finally, dad answered her repeated "What's going on?" with "your son is getting married". She got a kinda perplexed look on her face...
"What son?"
Shortly before the ceremony, she was heard to loudly proclaim to the packed courtroom we used "I'm killing everyone here, and I'm starting with my son!".
My pointing, smiling, and saying "GOTCHA!" probably didn't help.
But hey: she got the daughter she wanted, she was present for the wedding. What more did she want?
Slightly Unrelated Note:
When friends at your wedding smile, start humming the "Mission Impossible" theme, and leave, avoid the reception. Trust me on this...
09 October 2007
Musings on Mom
Don't know how many of you know: my mother passed away on 13 Oct 03. Obviously, this is not a date I celebrate. This year I've decided to remember her the way she used to be, and share some stories with y'all.
Hopefully, none of these stories will result in her spirit returning to take up her spoon and beat me 'bout the head and shoulders...
Mainly, I remember the lil' things: like getting revenge for the Birthday Incident, or watching her chase a Marine out the door with the above-mentioned spoon. Or the absolute joy she took in Spoon (my wifely unit): she always introduced her as "my favorite daughter", even before we talked about getting married...
She's been gone a couple years now. They say "time will heal", but I gots news: they lie like rugs.
This month though, I'll run through some of the better mom stories...
Hopefully, none of these stories will result in her spirit returning to take up her spoon and beat me 'bout the head and shoulders...
Mainly, I remember the lil' things: like getting revenge for the Birthday Incident, or watching her chase a Marine out the door with the above-mentioned spoon. Or the absolute joy she took in Spoon (my wifely unit): she always introduced her as "my favorite daughter", even before we talked about getting married...
She's been gone a couple years now. They say "time will heal", but I gots news: they lie like rugs.
This month though, I'll run through some of the better mom stories...
07 March 2007
Musings on Mom
Don't know how many of you know: my mother passed away on 13 Oct 03. Obviously, this is not a date I celebrate. This year I've decided to remember her the way she used to be, and share some stories with y'all.
Hopefully, none of these stories will result in her spirit returning to take up her spoon and beat me 'bout the head and shoulders...
Mainly, I remember the lil' things: like getting revenge for the Birthday Incident, or watching her chase a Marine out the door with the above-mentioned spoon. Or the absolute joy she took in Spoon (my wifely unit): she always introduced her as "my favorite daughter", even before we talked about getting married...
She's been gone a couple years now. They say "time will heal", but I gots news: they lie like rugs.
This month though, I'll run through some of the better mom stories...
Hopefully, none of these stories will result in her spirit returning to take up her spoon and beat me 'bout the head and shoulders...
Mainly, I remember the lil' things: like getting revenge for the Birthday Incident, or watching her chase a Marine out the door with the above-mentioned spoon. Or the absolute joy she took in Spoon (my wifely unit): she always introduced her as "my favorite daughter", even before we talked about getting married...
She's been gone a couple years now. They say "time will heal", but I gots news: they lie like rugs.
This month though, I'll run through some of the better mom stories...
NEVER let your mother get to know your Skipper
Given the lack of other writable subjects...
I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...
Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...
Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...
Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...
The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.
That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...
Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...
Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".
I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...
Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.
I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...
Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"
Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"
Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"
Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."
Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"
I walk around the little divider...
And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"
Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...
I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...
I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...
Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...
Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...
Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...
The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.
That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...
Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...
Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".
I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...
Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.
I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...
Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"
Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"
Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"
Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."
Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"
I walk around the little divider...
And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"
Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...
I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)