Wr Quotes

If it came to a choice of being loved without respect or respected and not loved, I wanted to be respected. And JinYeong promised both.

Eurion wrinkled his nose and went behind the curtain again. “I think you’re beautiful, Lady,” he called back to her. “So you should think I’m handsome.

You cannot understand how much patience I need in order not to lose my patience, so that I can withstand all this misfortune all by myself. Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Galatea Kazantzaki wr. c. June 1922

what was the point in being supposedly more intelligent or stronger than humans when there was no kindness or compassion with it? What was better about being more intelligent if you were also more cruel? What was the point in being more logical and unemotional if that just made you a psychopath?

If it only depends on your point of view, what's actually the truth?

I wrote a poem about happy times with a lady, About how nice it feels to love and laugh like crazy, But there is after all a pen in my hand and not her hair. All happy stanzas have a sad air.

She was interesting in a cockatrice kind of way: alien and very, very deadly.

It is never of the least use to be snide to boys suffering from calf-love: they seem to take it as a challenge. The only thing to do is be polite and elder-sisterly, and hope that they recover quickly.

You must think I’m an idiot,” I said. “That thing isn’t JinYeong, and if you think I’m gunna hold back from blasting it so far Behind that it wakes up back-to-front just because it has JinYeong’s annoying little face, I’ve got some news for you.

Awful places, towns. Nasty little secrets lying around and popping up when you least expect ’em. People expecting you to eat potatoes.

WR8TH: i hear ur looking for me

Everyone thinks they have the best dog and none of them are wrong.

And when we wr i t e he r life hi s tory, we f ind tha t we know nothing about the f i r s t s even ye a r s of he r life, but the de eds of he r l a t e r chi ldhood a r e to be s e en in the old rocks .(

For the next two weeks, WR8TH’s virus kept to its routine—waking up at nine a.m. and systematically nibbling away at ACG’s database. It was a model employee that way. Didn’t take a lunch break and never called in sick.

Worry is interest paid on trouble before it falls due.

Our real self is not the captive of Space and Time

It's not as reassuring holding onto someone when you're the one leading into danger

You can't agree to disagree with the law!

I’d throw Kirby Tate in there too.” “It gets weirder,” Jenn said. “I saw that same guy shoot one of the tactical guys in the back.” “Friendly fire?” Hendricks asked. “Nothing friendly about it.” Hendricks chewed that over. “So Lombard gets wind that we’ve been in contact with WR8TH and calls in his old hitter to tie up loose ends. He’s been on us from day one. Follows us to

Lord Pecus looked speculative. “Would you marry me as I am?” “Oh yes!” I said encouragingly. “Do go on.” “Will you marry me, Isabella?” I shook my head. “No, my lord.” He looked quizzical, though not discouraged, so I explained. “You’re asking the wrong question again.” He took a meditative sip of port. “Do you know how to break the curse?” “I believe so. There, you see how much easier things are when you ask the right questions!” “I suppose it would be too much to ask of you to tell me how to do so?” “That’s another of the things I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you,” I said regretfully. “I’m terribly sorry, Alexander; but I’m afraid you’re going to have to work it out on your own.

Of course he burst through the door. It cracked against the massive slabs that formed the stone walls, sending splinters flying, and I didn’t have to try very hard for the startled jump as Lord Pecus strode into the room. I gave a maidenly shriek, and in a moment of truly inspired acting, snatched my dressing gown from the bed to my chest and assumed pose #35, Maidenly Horror. Hands clasped below the breasts and clutching my dressing gown as if to protect girlish modesty, eyes wide- maybe finishing school had been useful for something after all. I thought I might have gone too far, but Lord Pecus, who at my shriek had stopped two strides into the room with a look of horror on his mask, hastily turned his face to the wall. He tried to utter a disjointed apology but I threw one of the pot-pourri bowls at him, and it smashed satisfyingly on the wall, cutting off the attempt.

I sighed. “Very well, if that is too difficult, show me all communications the day the Pecus Curse took effect.” The Book paused, its writing fading in and out uncertainly. At length, a sentence formed. I don’t think that’s allowed. “What do you mean, it’s not allowed!” You’re concerned in breaking the curse, the Book scrawled. It would be considered cheating. This is outside my parameters. “I am most certainly not concerned in breaking the curse!” I told the book firmly. “It has nothing in the world to do with me. Lord Pecus can look after himself.” Lord Pecus seems to have chosen you to break it, smugly said the Book. That means you’re not allowed any help. You wouldn’t want to cheat, would you? “Of course I would!” I said. “What a ridiculous question! I quite often cheat, thank you very much; sometimes it’s the only way to get things done. For example: how may I break a curse if I’m not given any information?” It’s meant to be hard, inked the Book, sulky again. That’s the way it is. All the True Love curses are like that. “I utterly refuse to be involved in anything so trite as a True Love Curse! And if you dare to tell me that ‘Lord Pecus seems to have involved me’, I shall begin ripping your pages out!

I was sitting at the dressing table, brushing out my hair, when a loud, abrupt tattoo was pounded on my door. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and rose from the low stool. My bowl of pot-pourri was to hand: I was ready. “Who is it?” I called out. “Dinner is ready,” said Lord Pecus’ voice. It sounded as though he were speaking through clenched teeth. “You have five minutes.” “I’m not coming down,” I retorted. “Go away!” “Lady Farrah, if you’re not out of your room in the next few minutes, I’ll fetch you out.” I winced, but it had to be said. “You wouldn’t dare!” The puerility of it was embarrassing. Fortunately, Lord Pecus was too annoyed to notice. “Two minutes, Lady Farrah!” “I absolutely refuse to come out!

...Obduracy can be overcome by determination. More insidious, and far harder to destroy, was women's internalizing of the notion that they were somehow inferior to men, a complementary species designed (in W.R. Greg's words) to 'complet[e], sweeten, and embellish the existence of others'. [Women] still chose to become nurses rather than doctors, secretaries rather than bosses: to be ill-paid facilitators for people no more talented nor, in many cases, better educated than themselves, but who simply happened to be men. The notion that they might be their bosses' equals penetrated only very slowly; the possibility that they might even be their superiors, though accepted in theory, has perhaps still not wholly sunk in.

I distinctly saw a tremor of laughter shake him, but he said: “Then I feel no scruple in adding that if you refuse my dinner invitation again, you’ll be carried down, nightdress or no.” I gave a tiny sigh. “May I ask why?” “It’s . . . necessary,” he said, after a brief pause. “I’m sorry to insist, but I do insist.” “Very well,” I said consideringly. “I have a stipulation, however.” “Which is?” “You dine with me unmasked.” There was a short silence, then Lord Pecus took in a slow breath. “Do you know what you’re asking?” I levelled a steady gaze at him. “I believe so. I may add that I think it only fair in the light of what you are asking, my lord.” He gave the low, rumbling chuckle that I liked. “I think we will get along very well, Lady Isabella.

He grinned at Lord Pecus and remarked: “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you she’s only a poor female. That’s where the conversation usually goes from there. I’m sorry to say I know it from experience.” “I was just getting to that bit,” I told them, looking up demurely through my eyelashes. “Of course, I feel bound to point out that my bashful nature wouldn’t allow me to do anything so bold as swindle you. You being so big and frightening, you know.” Lord Pecus looked startled. “Pardon?” Melchior grinned a little wider. “She can keep it up for days until you’re convinced that she’s misguided but sweet and that you’ve been a beast to her, and then she pinches your best invisibility spell and makes off with your fiancée.” “She wasn’t your fiancée then,” I pointed out primly. “Besides, if anyone was ‘made off’ with, Annabel made off with me. I was merely an innocent bystander who got caught up in the general confusion.” “I suppose my invisibility spell got caught up in the confusion as well?” “How did you guess?” I marvelled. “Your grasp of the matter is really commendable, Melchior!

Psihanalistul W.R. Bion a fost cel care a folosit termenul " continere " pentru a descrie capacitatea unei mame de a se oscupa de durerea bebelusului. Nu uitati pruncia nu e o perioada de extaz; e una de teroare. Ca bebelusi suntem prinsi in capcana intr-o lume ciudata, straina, nu putem sa vedem bine si suntem intr-o stare permanenta de surprindere fata de propriul trup, alarmati de foame si gaze si excretii, coplesiti de sentimentele noastre. Suntem, literalmente, atacati. Avem nevoie de mama ca sa ne aline si sa intelleaga ceea ce traim. In vreme ce ea face asta, invatam incetul cu incetul sa ne descurcam singuri cu starile noastre fizice si emotionale. Insa capacitatea noastra de a ne contine depinde in mod direct de capacitatea mamei de a ne contine - daca n-a avut parte de continere de la propria mama, cum ne-ar putea invata ceea ce ea insasi nu stie? Cineva care n-a invatat niciodata sa se contina e bantuit tot restul vietii de sentimente din zona nelinistii ; sentimente pe care Bion le-a numit pe drept cuvant " groaza fara nume " . Si o astfel de persoana cauta la nesfarsit aceasta continere, de care nu se poate lipsi in surse exterioare - are nevoie de o bautura sau de o tigara cu marijuana ca sa " indulceasca" aceasta neliniste nesfarsita - ca urmare, dependenta mea de marijuana.

How you react to reality is more important than the reality to which you react.

Exodus 3:13–15 God’s Name God’s statement “I AM WHO I AM” (Ex 3:14) is essentially in answer to the question, “What is your name?” God’s initial answer seems evasive. He is hinting at the real answer, though, since the Hebrew words for “I am” sound a bit like “Yahweh,” the name finally revealed in Ex 3:15 (“the LORD”). Two aspects of how divine names were utilized in ancient Egypt may relate to this revelation of God’s name. First, ancient Egyptians believed in a close relationship between the name of a deity and the deity itself—i.e., the name of a god could reveal part of the essential nature of that god. In Egyptian texts that refer to different but important names for the same deity, the names are often associated with particular actions or characteristics, and the words used tend to sound similar to the names with which they are associated. One can say there is wordplay between the action or characteristic and the name. For example, one text says, “You are complete [km] and great [wr] in your name of Bitter Lake [Km wr] . . . See you are great and round [šn] in (your name of) Ocean [Šn wr].” One can discern a similar wordplay at work in Ex 3:14. The action God refers to is that of being or existing. The wordplay consists in that the statement “I AM” comes from the Hebrew consonants h-y-h, while the name in Ex 3:15 contains the consonants y-h-w-h. Both words come from the same verbal root, and the linguistic connection would be immediately clear to an ancient listener or reader. It is not that God’s name is actually “I am” but that “Yahweh” reveals something about the essence of who God is—an essence that relates to the concept of being and to the idea of one who brings others into being. A second aspect of divine names in Egypt may be relevant. Deities sometimes had secret names, and special power was granted to those who knew them. Certain Egyptian magical texts (e.g., the Harris Magical Papyrus) give instructions on how to use the words of a god and thereby wield a degree of that god’s power.

The Canine Commandments I. Accept others for who they are and love them unconditionally. II. Be loyal. III. No matter what happens, or how much someone is mad at you, run back and make friends. IV. Be happy with who you are. V. Live for today. VI. Go with the flow. VII. Life is the journey itself. VIII. Make the world a better place. IX. Have fun! X. Have everlasting and absolute faith.

Dogs don’t do this –they show you exactly how they feel and don’t try to mask it or make it out to be more than it is.

contimpt iv coort, the coorts ar-re in contimpt iv th' gov'nor, an' if annybody but Tiddy Rosenfclt has anny other feelin' f'r ayether iv thim I haven't heerd him speak." "They ought to fire out the raypublican," said Mr. Hennessy. "Sure 'tis comin' to a nice state iv affairs whin th' likes iv him can defy the coorts." "Thrue f'r ye," said Mr. Dooley. "But I don't like th' looks iv it fr'm our side iv th' house. Whiniver a dimmycrat has to go to coort to win an iliction I get suspicious. They'se something wr-rong in Kentucky, Hinnissy. We were too slow. Th' inimy got th' first cheat." YOUNG

A poet risks all in order to create a sought after image. A talented writer and poet exhibit the courage to follow his or her mind to whatever shaded places it craves to travel. Exploring darkness and lightness of the soul allows an artist to render an artistic statement of his or her being.

Don’t mess with me and my fav 100% Savage Best Friend Anna! We’re so emotional 100% Savage Sisters for life! Wr truly don’t give a fuck about players who are playing around with our feelings. Players are north worth it&we stay away from players too! Of course, We forgive them and accept people’s apologies many times who hurted our feelings. But, it does take about a week for me&her to heal from them too to stay calm for sure. We give people unlimited chances to forgive them too! Be careful with us too for how everyone treats us too! My fav 100% Savage Best Friend Anna protects me and I always do protect her as sisters&as best friends! I’m so grateful and so thankful to have her in my life as my fav 100% Savage Best Friend&my fav 100% Savage Sister for life too! Love her so much in my life!

There’s nothing subtle about a group of halmoni,” YeoWoo said, climbing the stairs ahead of him. “Even if they hadn’t taken the aggressive approach, they would have “omo, omo!”d us into the place they wanted us to be.

I no longer ignore hidden youths in kitchens,” Athelas said. “I find it unwise. Why were you hiding?

It was far harder to get caught doing something wrong if he was, in fact, not doing anything wrong.

I’m not sure that killing should be the default answer to all of our problems.

You speak like a Chalcedean,” Wintrow observed. “There, I am told, to be a woman I’d little better than to be a slave. I think it is born of their long acceptance of slavery there. If you can believe that another human can be your possession, it is but a step to saying your wife and daughter are also possessions, and relegate them to lives convenient to one’s own. But in Jamaillia and in Bingtown, we used to take pride in what our women could do. I have studied the histories. Consider Satrap Malowda, who reigned consortless for a score of years, and was responsible for the setting down of the Rights of Self and Property, the foundation of all our laws. For that matter, consider our religion. Sa, who we men worship as father of all, is still Sa when women call on her as mother of all. Only in Union is there Continuity. The very first precept of Sa says it all. It is only in the last few generations thaf wr have begun to separate the halves of our whole, and divide the—

Experience is a good teacher, but her fees are very high.

Your youngster looks like he knows his way around a deck. When you think he’s ready to try a term under a different captain, he’d be welcome aboard Tarman. Things are a bit more rustic and he’s be sleeping in the deckhouse with the crew, but I’d be glad to foster him for a trip or two.” Brashen and Althea exchanged a look, but it was not his mother who said, “Not quite old enough yet. But I’ll take you up on that offer when he is. I know he’d like to see his aunt and uncle soon. Not to mention his cousin Ephron.” Brashen smiled as he attempted to change the subject. “When do you think Malta and Reyn might be bringing the baby downriver for a visit?” “You’d take Boy-o off my decks?” Paragon was appalled. “Only for a short time, ship. I know he’s yours as much as ours,” Brashen replied placatingly. “But a slightly wider circulation of experience wouldn’t hurt him.” “Hmph.” The figurehead crossed his arms on his carved chest. His mouth went to a flat line. “Perhaps when Ephron is old enough to take his place here for a time. An exchange of hostages, as it were.” Brashen rolled his eyes at them. “He’s in a mood today,” he said in a low voice. “I am not in a mood! Merely pointing out that you are a liveship family, and that you should think well before letting one of your own go off on another liveship, with no guarantees that he will be returned. Ideally, the exchange should be a member of Tarman's family.” He turned his gaze to Leftrin and Alise. “Do you expect to breed soon?” Leftrin choked on his tea. “Not that I'm aware,” Alise replied demurely. “A pity. It might be productive for you just now.”Paragon was politely enthused. “Can we please just not?” Althea asked him, almost sharply. “It's bad enough to have you offering Brashen and me your helpful insights into productive breeding without you extending your wisdom to our guests.” Alise could not tell if Brashen were embarrassed or red from suppressing laughter. “It was Tarman’s suggestion that they might find such information helpful, as so far they have enjoyed breeding, but fruitlessly. That’s all.” Paragon was unflustered. Brashen cleared his throat suddenly. “Well, speaking of hostages—” “Were we?” his ship interjected curiosity. “We were. Speaking of hostages, how did all that work out? There were rumors in Bingtown, but we left to go south and pick up your stock, and then returned right up the river. So wr haven’t heard much of that.

Ada, I hope your drive was okay and everything went smoothly. Excited to meet you and get started tomorrow. Best, WR

The word the Anglo-Saxon poets of Dark Age England used for fate highlights this ironic, circling, swerving logic; they called it wyrd—a word related to a lot of other w-r words still existing in our language that connote twisting and turning (worm, wrap, writhe, wreath, wring, and so on—even word, which, as writers know, is made of bendy-twisty marks on paper or stone). Wyrd, or weird, is the bending force in our lives that, among other things, causes dark prophecies to be fulfilled not only despite but actually because of our best efforts at preventing them. It also warps our mind and induces a kind of compulsion around more appealing-sounding prophecies, as it did to Shakespeare’s Macbeth after hearing the Weird Sisters’ prophecy that he would become king. When we realize that the Minkowski block universe, in its resolute self-consistency, imposes a wyrd-like law upon us (a “law in the cosmos,” you might call it), then all those antique myths about prophecy and the ironic insistency of fate start to appear less like the superstitions of benighted folk in the Back When and start to seem remarkably, well, prescient. And not only prescient, but based on real-life experience with prescience. Divination was an important part of Greek culture, for instance; it was even the basis of their medicine. Sick patients went to temples and caves to have healing dreams in the presence of priests who could interpret their dreams’ signs. They were not strangers to this stuff, as we now are. As intrinsically precognitive beings who think of ourselves as freely willed, the logic of wyrd is our ruler. We can’t go anywhere that would prevent ourselves from existing, prevent ourselves from getting to the experiences and realizations ahead of us that will turn out to have retroinfluenced our lives now, and this imposes a kind of blindness on us. That blindness may keep us from going insane, reducing the level of prophecy to a manageable level. It is why our dreamlife only shows us the future as through a glass, darkly. It is also why the world seems so tricksterish to those who are really paying attention. That we are interfered with by an intelligence that is somehow within us but also Other is the human intuition that Freud theorized in such a radical new way. His focus was on how this Other inside could make us ill; the flip side is that it really does serve as our guide, especially when we let ourselves be led by our unreason. Research shows that “psi” is an unconscious, un-willed function or group of functions.2 The laboratory experiments by Daryl Bem, Dean Radin, and many others strongly support something like presentiment (future-feeling) operating outside of conscious awareness, and it could be a pervasive feature or even a basic underlying principle of our psychology.

Sioux

continued,

go, we only got three horses. The other three

I had a little trouble doing an about face on a carpet while wearing tennis shoes, but managed not to fall on my face as I left his office.

It was hot, there was no shade, and we were once again waiting on “the word”.  Everyone was bitching about getting water or getting into the shade.  The staff sergeant in charge of this detail was afraid to let anyone wander away in case the plane arrived.  No one was having any luck in trying to get him to understand that if we die of thirst or a burst bladder, there would be no one to catch the damn airplane anyway. 

On New Year’s Eve everyone was looking forward to an evening movie.  For a change, I didn’t have duty with the Admiral.  I looked forward to sitting back and just watching.  The movie we selected was “The Days of Wine and Roses”.  It sounded like a good New Year’s Eve flick; wine and roses, how bad could that be? Unfortunately, the movie was about alcoholism and was one of the most depressing flicks I had ever seen.  Our New Year’s Eve turned into a depressing drag and the news about the situation between North and South Vietnam added to the misery.

I made a date with her for the following week.  Mid-week, I went for a ride in a T-28.  The engine failed, the pilot slid the plane into the sand of the Mojave out near El Centro, and I slid into a hospital bed for about ten days at North Island Naval Air Station.  While I was in the hospital, the CARDIV left for WestPac.  I called Marguerite and told her what happened and that I wanted to see her again.  I’m not sure she believed me, but agreed to another date.  Unfortunately it had to be a short date because I had to head for Norton Air Force base to catch a flight for Hawaii, to meet up with the CARDIV.

One of the first things you had to know was the difference between “In Coming” and “Out Going”.  The first loud noises or explosions we heard had everyone jumping and getting ready to run for the bunkers.  A loud voice in the darkness shouted for us to relax, it was “Out Going”.  The voice was referring to artillery fire being shot away from our location and hopefully onto a Viet Cong location.  It was normally referred to as an H&I fire (Harassing and Interdiction).  Another voice in the darkness asked, “What does in coming sound like?” The loud voice in the darkness answered, “There will be no doubt in your mind when you hear it.  If you don’t hear it, you will most likely be dead.

Back in Beijing, it was 9:56 A.M.—four minutes before the race’s start—and Phelps stood behind his starting block, bouncing slightly on his toes. When the announcer said his name, Phelps stepped onto the block, as he always did before a race, and then stepped down, as he always did. He swung his arms three times, as he had before every race since he was twelve years old. He stepped up on the blocks again, got into his stance, and, when the gun sounded, leapt. Phelps knew that something was wrong as soon as he hit the water. There was moisture inside his goggles. He couldn’t tell if they were leaking from the top or bottom, but as he broke the water’s surface and began swimming, he hoped the leak wouldn’t become too bad.4.18 By the second turn, however, everything was getting blurry. As he approached the third turn and final lap, the cups of his goggles were completely filled. Phelps couldn’t see anything. Not the line along the pool’s bottom, not the black T marking the approaching wall. He couldn’t see how many strokes were left. For most swimmers, losing your sight in the middle of an Olympic final would be cause for panic. Phelps was calm. Everything else that day had gone according to plan. The leaking goggles were a minor deviation, but one for which he was prepared. Bowman had once made Phelps swim in a Michigan pool in the dark, believing that he needed to be ready for any surprise. Some of the videotapes in Phelps’s mind had featured problems like this. He had mentally rehearsed how he would respond to a goggle failure. As he started his last lap, Phelps estimated how many strokes the final push would require—nineteen or twenty, maybe twenty-one—and started counting. He felt totally relaxed as he swam at full strength. Midway through the lap he began to increase his effort, a final eruption that had become one of his main techniques in overwhelming opponents. At eighteen strokes, he started anticipating the wall. He could hear the crowd roaring, but since he was blind, he had no idea if they were cheering for him or someone else. Nineteen strokes, then twenty. It felt like he needed one more. That’s what the videotape in his head said. He made a twenty-first, huge stroke, glided with his arm outstretched, and touched the wall. He had timed it perfectly. When he ripped off his goggles and looked up at the scoreboard, it said “WR”—world record—next to his name. He’d won another gold. After the race, a reporter asked what it had felt like to swim blind. “It felt like I imagined it would,” Phelps said. It was one additional victory in a lifetime full of small wins.4.19

We were pretty certain that the British wouldn’t be celebrating the 4th of July; it wouldn’t be one of their favorite days.  However, we were surprised to learn that the “Summer Ball” would be held on Saturday the 5th of July.  We’d jokingly said that it was nice of them to hold that ball on the 4th of July weekend and it seemed as if not only the whole squadron but damned near the whole base had picked up on our attempt at humor and received it very well.  Several of our friends and neighbors joked how nice it was of the Royal Navy to hold a ball for the Yanks on “Their Special Holiday Weekend.

The Lcdr said, “Could I help you?”      “Yes Sir, if the Admiral is not too busy I would like to say a quick hello.”      “I’m sorry; who did you say you are.”      “Spicer, Captain Spicer, USMC.”      I saw the Admiral’s head come up, and then he stood up and came around the desk and stood in the doorway to his office.      “For heaven’s sake!! Spicer, get your ass in here and tell me what the hell you’re doing in London.”      The Lcdr had a very startled look on his face and moved aside.  I mumbled a thank you to him and went straight back to the Admiral’s office.

I recognized the Captain and Commander.  I just guessed that the oldest looking officer with the most gold braid hanging off his uniform was the First Sea Lord and I was right. 

We had no clue as to getting on the train and had our first experience with the station Zugmeister (Train Master).  This guy had enough gold braid on his hat to be a Field Marshal and there was no doubt that he was in charge.

I’d taken German in college and thought I understood so I picked up our bags and we proceeded to what I thought was Bahn Drei.  We were about to board the train that was parked there when we heard a very loud shout to HALT!!  It was the Zugmeister.  He was shouting in German, and I finally said, “English bitte.”      Disgustedly he said, “You are on zee wrong platform and are trying to get on zee wrong train.  I told you Bahn Drei and you are on Bahn Funf. (5) Bahn Funf is ober der!”      I looked in the direction he pointed and there was no train.  I said, “There’s no train over there and we are supposed to be leaving here in 5 minutes.”  I was thinking in British Rail terms.      “Zat is zee Bahn fer der train to Munich and zer vill be a train on time for zer departure!”      “Ok, Ok, we’ll go over and wait there.  How long will it be before the train comes in?” This guy was about to bust a blood vessel.      “Zee train vill be der and leaf on time.”  He pointed at Bahn funf platform again and stomped off.”      Marguerite said, “You suppose he was in the German Army in the War?”      “What would be your first clue?”      “I can’t believe we didn’t get on the right platform, I thought you said you took German in college.”      “I did, but I got a C.

I started on the bunny hill with the kids and on the second day got a little too over confident.  I also misinterpreted the symbols on the trail marks for the degree of difficulty and managed to find myself at the top of the mountain and the beginning of a double Black Diamond run.   I had no idea until I discovered the only way down was to ski, and that the double Black Diamond meant “For Experts Only.”      Marguerite had gotten off at a rest area, found a nice table outside, got a cup of hot tea and rented a telescope so she could watch me ski down the mountain.       She got a ski show all right; about 200 yards down the slope I lost complete control.  I saw the sky and ground so many times as I tumbled I lost count and when I did come to rest it was at the bottom of the run and I was minus a ski.  A nice Swiss couple had retrieved it for me and it wasn’t until they gave it back that I realized just how lethal a runaway downhill ski could be, I was damned lucky it didn’t go through somebody down the mountain.      I realized I was over matched and stuck with the bunny hill for the rest of the day.

Our only landing aid was a human T made up of Royal Marines lying on the flight deck holding torches.  The theory being that if, as the pilot, if you got the descent angle correct, then the visual aid would look like a lighted T on the flight deck.  The correct angle would be about a 3 degree glide slope and the aircraft should arrive just short of the T in a hover.  Once in the hover the pilot would detach the under slung load, or land vertically to discharge passengers.       This didn’t work real well on the first couple of tries because our human T didn’t have quite the confidence in the pilots that was required for this, and as we drew close, and were at the very critical stages of our approach, our human T landing aid would appear to move or disintegrate completely.      We shut down for a while and after a “quiet word” from either the Commando Sergeant Major or one of the Colour Sergeants, our human landing aids quit moving and things worked out well.

I see rather than hear a guy in a suit and tie knocking on my door.  I wave him in, he opens the door and starts strolling toward my desk, he’s followed by two long haired, bearded, overweight, scruffy looking assholes both wearing glasses, short sleeved white shirts with their shirt breast pocket full of pens and little ruler looking things, complete with pocket protectors.       He’s wearing a really cheap looking blue suit, that’s been worn shiny slick and had to be right out of the 50’s.  The suit is adorned with a greasy looking; really wide tie that had more soup stains than Campbell’s.  To complete his ensemble he’s chosen a pair of shit brown shoes that hadn’t seen polish since they were new, which had to be a long time ago.  To top it all off, he’s sporting the most massive “Comb Over” on his head I’ve ever seen.  On the left side of his head was a “Tuft” of very thin gray hair.  He’d allowed this to grow until he could comb it all the way over the top of his bald head and down to his right ear.  I couldn’t help but stare.      Marines are first impression people and if you present a poor one, they generally will turn you off immediately. 

The Pasty was the time honored lunch of Cornish miners.  It was flaky pastry stuffed with a meat, potato, and vegetable, usually turnips.  Robert told me that Cornwall had been famous for Copper and Tin mining years ago.  The miners didn’t want to take the time to climb all the way out of the mines for lunch but needed a hot hearty meal.  So the women had come up with the Pasty.  In the old days besides the meat, potato, and vegetable, there had been some type of fruit put in at the end for desert.  The women would bring these to the miners fresh from the oven and lower them down.  They put different designs in the dough so the miners could identify their wife’s work and the markings were always put on the desert end so the men would know to eat it last. 

a team of suspected terrorists had boarded an aircraft in London that they were going to hi-jack.  Their target aircraft was a new 747 Jumbo Jet.  The terrorists didn’t realize the aircraft had been switched to a smaller 707 until after they were aboard and the aircraft was taxing.  Airline officials said they had planted a note in the first class bathroom notifying the Captain of their intent to take over the plane.  Sources also revealed that once they realized the aircraft wasn’t a 747 they tried to retrieve the note but it was too late, a stewardess had accidentally discovered it during the climb out while the fasten seat belt lights were still on and people weren’t allowed to move around the cabin.  The aircraft had been diverted to Shannon, and British authorities had taken ten suspected terrorists into custody.  After a slight delay, the aircraft had continued to the United States without further incident.      Marguerite and I looked at one another for several seconds.  She broke into a grin and said, “Well, looks like we sure dodged the bullet on that one and it will make a great story for our grandchildren.”      “Yes, it will.  I wonder if we’d ever known what happened if we hadn’t just happened to catch that news broadcast.

I asked them when I could get my household goods delivered.  At first they told me ten days, but when I started screaming at them they apologized and said they had the wrong Captain Spicer, the other guy was a Navy Captain, so in my case they could be there to unload tomorrow afternoon but not till about three pm.  I was pretty sure they were lying about a Navy Captain.

the President asked the Admiral if he could smoke out here.  This was normally never done.  No one would even think to smoke on the flight deck.  Today, the rules were different.  The Admiral said, “Well sir, that’s not normally done, but we aren’t fueling any aircraft and nothing’s going to take place out here while you are on deck.  So yes, I guess you can smoke out here.”      With that answer, the President reached into his jacket pocket and produced a metal tin that held very short little cigars called “Between the Acts”.  He started fumbling through his pockets, obviously looking for a light.  The Admiral began checking his pockets and then gave me a panicked look.  I reached into my pocket and handed the Admiral my prized Zippo lighter, the one with the Marine Corps emblem.  The Admiral immediately gave it to the President, who flicked it open and lighted his little cigar.  When he finished the lighting process he snapped the lid shut, rolled the lighter around in his right hand, paused for a second to notice the emblem, and promptly put the lighter into his right coat pocket.  The Admiral looked at me as if to say, “We will work it out later

Clark went on to tell us that we would provide a color guard every Friday for the recruit parade.  There would also be color guard details all over the San Diego area.   Any service club, school, ball team of any kind that wanted a color guard at their event could get one just by asking.   “You’re lucky it isn’t football season or we might as well live in our dress blues.

Pax Romanus

You’d better be a good shipmate or Boats just might throw your ass over the side one night.  NOBODY questioned Boats. 

I looked the Gunny straight in the eye while I was speaking.  When I finished, I was pretty sure the “crock of shit” expression had changed to something I read as “no shit?” 

On Sunday afternoon, we all went out and played touch football until it was time for the evening meal.  One of the guys brought a football with him, something I couldn’t even imagine being done at boot camp.  Of course this guy was an All-American football player, so why wouldn’t he bring a football.

Then Staff Sergeant Alley said, “Are you stupid, candidate? You’ve got five shining examples of how a bunk is supposed to be made and yours looks like some shit ass kid at YMCA camp made it.  You’ve got 3 minutes to make it right.”      Candidate Myers just stood there.  He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this and I’m pretty sure he had no idea what to do.      Staff Sergeant Alley said, “Two minutes and forty-five seconds now, candidate.”      Myers was completely frustrated and couldn’t seem to do a thing.  Finally Staff Sergeant Alley grabbed Myers’ mattress and linen and threw it out into the middle of the squad bay.  He told Myers to start over.  He left the rest of us standing at the position of attention.

Saturday’s schedule was our first personnel inspection, followed by what was labeled on the training schedule as a “Conditioning Hike”.  Hoffman and I translated that into a “very long run through the woods with all your gear”.

Do one more.  You’re really close.  Just throw caution to the wind and let the weight of your body do the work.  Scare yourself a little bit.  The worst that will happen is you’ll lose your grip, fall on the back of your head, and break your neck.” He was smiling as he said this.

The concierge was about 5’7” tall, blond hair, slightly balding, steely blue eyes, steel rimmed glasses, mid-forties and totally devoid of any apparent sense of humor.  If this guy wasn’t a former SS officer I’d never see one.  I greeted him and told him what I wanted to do.  He looked at me very sternly and said, “Zo you vish to go to Zermatt, eh?”      It was as if he was saying, “Are you papers in order?”  It almost gave me a chill.  As an American you’re born into freedom.   You can’t imagine some government jerk or army officer questioning your right to go anywhere.  It was just a brief flash for what it must have been like during the war and I didn’t like it one damn bit.  It was a realization and I let it go.

The first person I saw inside was a Sister or Nurse or whatever and she had on this enormous white starched hat and an immaculate uniform to match.      “May I help you sir?”      “My wife is about to have a baby!!”      She gave me that look that most women give to men in that situation, indicating I was an over excited male that didn’t know a damn thing.

One grossly overweight young Sergeant I’d put on the PT and Personal Appearance platoon had written a letter complaining to his parents.  They wrote their congressman about how horrible I was treating their son, and we received a “CONGRINT” which stood for Congressional Interest inquiry.  This was a big deal; it got the attention of everyone from headquarters in Washington all the way down to the squadron.       When I showed it to Major Psaros he didn’t even blink.  He said, “Where is this guy?”      “Sir he’s a Sergeant down in radio repair and one hell of a technician.  He’s just a big chunky Italian looking kid and I think he came into the Marine Corps looking like a tub and they slimmed him down in boot camp.  But now he’s just reverted to his natural shape.  I bet his whole family looks just like this.  He’s not going to qualify for reenlistment because of his personal appearance and weight.  He’s one of the most productive technicians, but if he had to saddle up and go into combat I think he’d be a liability.”      “Get his ass up here and let me see what he looks like.”      I brought the Sergeant up to the CO’s office.  The Major took one look at him and said, “Marine, you look like a Technicolor Sea Bag in your uniform.  You’re fat and out of shape.  I’ll give you a month to start showing some major improvements or your career as a Marine will be coming to an end.”      After the Sergeant left Major Psaros told me to take a picture of him in his skivvies, front and side and bring him copies of all the appropriate Marine Corps orders on personal appearance and weight control.      The CO answered the CONGRINT with the pictures of the Sergeant in his skivvies and the copies of the orders.  He didn’t include anything else.  We never heard another word.

The CO had held his briefing, the pilots were manning the aircraft and we had senior officers from the Wing and Group staff prowling around in maintenance control looking at our paperwork, it was in reality a pop inspection.     I thought the CO would be horrified but instead he thought it was funny and gave them all the big wide grin as he was heading out to his aircraft, almost as if to say, “Watch this shit you assholes.

Down here it seemed to be a mixed bag of NVA, the local Viet Cong, and any little old lady with an AK-47 in her shopping bag who felt like emptying a 20 round Magazine into a passing helicopter.

Paddy said, “Don’t worry while you’re gone.  Cecil and I will come around and knock Marguerite up for you.”      Marguerite and I both knew that our countries were separated by a common language but this one got my attention.  We’d already made several mistakes that to the Brits were socially odd until we found out what was wrong.  We’d had several people tell us to “Call” them, but we didn’t have a phone.  We learned that “Call” meant to come by their house, “Ring” me meant to call them on the phone.  The word “Fanny” did not mean the part of your body that you sit on, but the part of a woman’s anatomy that is not normally discussed.  The word “Bloody” was considered a curse word and wasn’t necessarily meant to be descriptive.  So I couldn’t wait for “Come round and KNOCK YOU UP.”       I said, “Excuse me, did you say ‘knock Marguerite up.’”      “Yes, we’ll come round and knock her up for you.”      “Guys, I really appreciate the gesture but I think that’s something I’d better do myself.”      “How can you do that if you’re gone?”      “Well, I can’t really.”      “That’s why we’ll come round and do it for you.”      “I think ‘Knock you up’ means something different here.”      “It just means that Cecil and I will come around, knock on the door and check on Marguerite and Katie while you’re gone.  What does “Knock you up” mean in the states?”      “It means to get a woman pregnant.”      I got big grins from both of them and then Cecil said, “Well, we can see why that might be something you’d want to do yourself.  Sorry for the confusion.

It was a source of income for the United Kingdom to have the German Panzer Battalions rent their ranges for training.      In fact Major Brown took it upon himself to increase those profits in any way he could.  As we were all gathering in the mess the first evening for drinks before dinner, he had champagne delivered to our little contingent of officers.  We made it very clear to him we didn’t order this and didn’t want the cost appearing on our mess bills.  With a quick wink and a smile he told us not to worry.     “The damn Panzer officers are drinking our beer dry, so I told them the Royal Navy pilots only drink champagne.  Not to be out done, the Panzer Battalion Commander has ordered that his officers shall drink champagne while you’re here.  I’m socking it to them on the cost, so yours is on the house.

He tried to remove it as gently as he could, but it wouldn’t budge so he gave it a pretty good jerk and it ripped the skin on my lip.  He got the butt all right, only now I could feel and taste the blood that was starting to drip down from my lip onto my survival vest.      “Christ, you’re bleeding, am I gonna have to Medivac you as well?  Hey Doc, Captain Spicer is bleeding heavily from his lip, what should I do?”      “Well Captain, you could put a tourniquet around his neck.”      “Naw, he looks gray in the face already. 

We also learned that Joe had been in the Navy for about 8 years, then got out and worked for the Border Patrol in the Yuma area for another 8 and then quit to go into real estate.  She said, “He’d just got tired of chasing down poor Mexicans trying to find a better life.” 

There was no way out of this; the Col was upset for the moment.  I’d seen this before and even if I confessed that it was my fault that I’d created the thunderstorm this morning just to halt flight operations it wouldn’t have mattered so I decided to take a chance and break this up while hopefully maintaining a straight face.      “Well Sir it’s a highly technical problem that has to do with electricity and humidity.”      “WHAT technical problem with electricity and humidity?!”      “Well Sir, it’s the Geeblefarbs.”      “GEEBLEFARBS?!!  What the fuck are Geeblefarbs?”      “Well Sir, they are little microscopic things that ‘Geeble’ down the electrical wires transporting the Ohms that make the electrical stuff work.  When they get wet or it’s really humid outside the Ohms pick up moisture and  swell up, which causes the Geeblefarbs to get too fat and they can’t ‘Geeble’ down the wires and when that happens the things like the UHF radio, TACAN and other electrical equipment just won’t work.”      Now I’ve known other officers who weren’t very mechanically inclined and never curious enough to really know if this was a true technical explanation or not.  I also knew that with those types of people if you said something like this in an authoritative manner that they would simply say, “Oh” and go on to another subject, but I knew Col Psaros (Big George) better than that.      “Geeblefarbs and fat Ohms, you’ve got to be shitting me!”      “I am Sir.”      “You gonna fix this problem we are having, quickly, I hope.”      “Yes Sir, it’s in work now, weather aside, we will be ready to go in about 1 hour.

The absence of the ‘Boss’ here this morning has nothing to do with the fact that there will be a change of command prior to the Norway deployment.

That stupid intercom was only one model removed from a string and two cans, it had been here so long no one knew where it came from, how it got installed and our best technician couldn’t fix it.  The only station that came in loud and clear was the CO’s office and you couldn’t reply to anyone. 

When we entered the library we were surprised to see two other people.  They were friends of Joan who would also be guests here for a part of the holiday.  Their first names were Helen and John and after that the only thing I heard was that she was the Justice of the Peace in Sherwood Forest and he was the Sheriff of Nottingham.      I looked at Tim first who was straight faced as usual, then at Marguerite and we both managed to suppress a grin or a laugh.  I almost said, “Ok, Ok, this shit has gone on long enough, SO we’re not gonna ask if Robin Hood will be here as well.”  Thank heavens I didn’t, because they were deadly serious and it was all true.

deploying from the United Kingdom was a lot easier because you didn’t have to cross an entire ocean to get there.  I’d heard the term “Fortress America” and now realized the full gravity of the expression.  To get to America with hostile intentions you had to cross either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans and bring all your bullets, beans and bandages with you.  To get to the United Kingdom with hostile intentions you only had to cross the English Channel. 

The Royal Navy or any of the Royal Forces do not furnish medical care for the dependants of their servicemen and women.  The United Kingdom has Socialized Medicine. 

The only thing we could come up with on the spur of the moment that would feed the whole crew was spaghetti.  We thought it might be a little risky to try and feed spaghetti to an Italian, but comes the dawn, we were no longer the two Yank Exchange officers and their families at Culdrose, we were the “American Family.

At first light we were in the ammo dump and right on schedule my platoon showed up.  They were Marines, and as such, eager to get the job done.  That was the good news, the bad news was not a single one of them had ever seen a Harrier engine, I think some of them had never seen the engine in their parents car, but they could recognize shiny metal when they saw it and that would be good enough.  The Platoon Sgt had managed to scrounge up magnets from some place and when I asked him about the magnets he said, “Well Sir, ‘THEY’ said we’d be looking for something metal and I thought the magnets would certainly help out here in the bush, we can drag them around.”      “Outstanding Sgt, just goddamned OUTSTANDING.

I had the best view on the whole ship.  Well, maybe not the best view; the Admiral has the unobstructed view from his chair on the port side (left side) of the Admiral’s Bridge, or Flag Bridge.  So, from my position standing behind his chair and looking directly over his shoulder, I figured I had the next best view.

Staff Sergeant Fischer hadn’t given me any directions about how to act or present myself at this proceeding.  The others had obviously been coached to answer in extremely loud voices and to “bluster” as much as possible.  I didn’t feel this was the way to behave.  Besides, I felt so bad that I really didn’t give a shit.  I certainly wasn’t going to stand and scream answers at the top of my lungs like some dumbass and my throat was so sore it really hurt to speak.

the poor man had killed himself in frustration that he couldn’t keep up the garden and grounds to the standard he thought they should be. 

For some reason Jimmy was exceptionally quiet during the first leg of the flight.  The two divisions of four aircraft were a few minutes apart.  We could see the lead four but they were several miles ahead.  However, when we took the lead from Yeovilton to Manston he started into one of his running commentaries that sounded like a travel log.  He’d done this once before with me on an instructor navigational exercise and I’d damned near thrown the map out the window.  It was even worse this morning.      I think he’d named every pub we’d over flown; pin pointed a couple chip shops and was now going on about Canterbury Castle or something.  I’d had enough of this dribble.  I’d been dutifully passing heading and track information to him, keeping the time for each individual leg and he’d been taking absolutely no notice.  I said to him, “Do you even want this information?”      “Not really, I’m quite enjoying this.  Actually I believe I could go all the way to Detmold without the aid of a map.”      That did it for me; I slid the cockpit window back, wadded up the map, threw it out, and closed the window.      “Let’s see if you can.”      “What?  Did you just throw the map out the window?”      “Yes I did.”      “BLODDY HELL!! Why did you do that?!”      “You said you didn’t need it, and you weren’t paying attention anyway, so let’s see if you don’t.”      He started laughing and said, “So we shall I guess.

Frick was the card palmer and Frak thought he’d perfected a card pass that was undetectable, but was about as subtle as a wet bar rag in the face.  When they cheated the dumb shits didn’t have enough sense to make sure they had the winning hands.  Frick would palm a jack or a couple of queens or Frak would hold back two or three tens.

Roger Valkenburg, leaving 3 thousand feet for 500 feet ‘Special VFR’ underneath and your transmission is still broken.”      I looked over at Jimmy, smiled and shrugged my shoulders.      “Negative Xray Tango you’re not cleared for a descent.”      “Roger Valkenburg, your transmission is very broken to unreadable; we are passing 2 thousand 3 hundred feet for 500 feet.  Keep us advised of traffic.”      I was lying my ass off but what could I do.  It was an old trick, but for the moment it was working.  The approach controller called several more times and finally gave up and started giving us heading information to the airfield.

I could see the flashing lights of a police car, some type of van, and about a half dozen “Bobbies” all running around like the Keystone Cops.  One of the “Bobbies” was dressed in a large padded suit, the type used to train attack dogs.  It wasn’t until I actually got to the square that I realized that the “Keystone Bobbies” were chasing MY DOG!!!  He was doing a great job of eluding them all, and according to one of the onlookers, had been doing so for quite a while.      The British are great dog lovers but a German shepherd for some reason places great fear in their hearts, probably a holdover from the war.  I’d seldom seen that breed of dog here and had never seen one on the loose.  According to the bystander this one had been loose for some time and had been generally panicking people all around the square.      I broke into a run and crossed the street into the square itself and started screaming “LICKY, LICKY, HERE BOY!!!” Licky was on the far side of the square with the “Bobbie” wearing the padded outfit in hot pursuit.  At the sound of my voice he made an instant turn and on the dead run came straight at me.  He skidded to a halt in front of me, obviously terrified and really glad to see me.  I gave him the hand signal and at the same time shouted “Sit,” and he did.

the Col slammed his canopy and immediately started his engine.  Lt Eicher was calling trying to tell him what the DASC had said but he either didn’t hear or wasn’t going to pay attention.  We could hear him doing his engine accels once he taxied onto the runway and in a flash he was rolling down the runway. The fog was low enough now that we couldn’t see the tops of the pine trees.  We heard the “Whoosh” of the nozzles being slammed down and watched the aircraft jump into the air and disappear into the fog.  I think we both waited for the sound of an ejection or crash but all we heard was the aircraft at full power climbing away.      Todd turned to me and said, “That may be the last time we’ll see that man alive.”      Poor Lt Eicher was horrified and looked at Major Eikenberry with this look on his face and said, “What do I do now?

I decided to take a peek, because usually he was up before me doing pushups or some other such nonsense.      I pushed the head door that led into his room open just a few inches and almost burst out laughing.  He was sleeping soundly alright because he was warm for the first time but it wasn’t because he had extra blankets, because he didn’t.      He’d removed the shower curtain and placed it on top of the existing bedding.  Next, he’d taken down the drapes from the windows and piled them on top of the shower curtain.  And lastly, he’d pulled the 6x9 foot area rug off the floor and piled it on top of the bed as well. He was curled up under it all like a hibernating bear.      I walked over to the bed and gave the mound of stuff a good punch.      “Hey Mongrel, reveille, reveille, what the hell are you doing under there?”      “Finally getting some sleep Sir.”      “Why’d you wreck your room?  Why didn’t you get some blankets from the front desk?”      “Didn’t see any when I came in, there was no one around, so I did what you’ve been teaching me to do.”      “What’s that?”      “Improvise and adapt Major, improvise and adapt.”      “Good man Griggs, good man.

Besides the food itself, there was one more thing that made these meals truly unique.  They were served on a set of very fine dinnerware commemorating the coronation of Edward the VIII, which never happened.       In 1936 he had abdicated the Throne of England to marry an American divorcee named Wallis Simpson.  Marguerite and I could not imagine the value of the dinner ware we were using but Joan said the family she worked for had been so disappointed when Edward abdicated; they relegated the dinnerware to “ordinary” use forever.  When Marguerite found out about the dinner ware she was near panicked that Katie would break something.

I was just about to suggest to Barry that we stop for a moment and go rescue Marguerite when I realized it was too late.      Marguerite was carrying a small evening bag, like a clutch purse, and I saw her wind up and throw it down onto the floor.  At the same time I heard her almost scream, “ALL RIGHT YOU SONOFABITCH, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD!!”  It was loud enough that everyone heard her and even the band stopped to see what was going on.      With the index finger of her right hand she began poking this guy in the center of his chest and backing him up at the same time, all the while shouting at the top of her lungs, “If it wasn’t for the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA and the men who fought and died to help keep your country free, YOU would be living on the tiniest GERMAN SPEAKING ISLAND OF THE THIRD REICH!!!  DON’T EVER LET ME HEAR YOU SAY ANYTHING BAD ABOUT MY COUNTRY AGAIN, IN FACT DON’T EVER SAY ANYTHING TO ME AGAIN, NOD IF YOU UNDERSTAND !!!”       She had pushed him back against the bar and he was now leaning over backwards about as far as he could lean and she was still poking him in the chest.  The room was completely silent.  I said to Barry, “Excuse me a moment Barry, I think I need to go rescue one of your countrymen.”      She chuckled and said, “I doubt if anyone will care if you rescue that one.”      I went straight for Marguerite and the terrified LtCdr bent backwards over the bar.  As I approached them I scooped up her purse from the floor and said, “I believe this next dance is mine my dear.” I gave her my arm and we headed for the center of the dance floor and as we did the band started back up.  Everyone else picked right back up where they’d left off.     About twenty minutes later the Commander came up to us.  I had no idea what to expect but he had big smile on his face.      “William, I just wanted to thank you and your good lady for that lovely cocktail party at your quarters this evening and tell you how smart you both look in your ball outfits.  AND Marguerite, I think if we took a vote right now, most everyone in the room would want to award you a medal for setting that ‘Bloody’ man straight.  Well done.