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Basically, keep it in mind when you sign-up for jet lag that Europe’s a spider’s web of death traps for Americans. Flat out simple, if you do survive being squashed alive in your seat or poisoned by the-this is not food- on your plane, London is waiting for you. There you’ll encounter a million cars ready to run you over as you step off the curb and look left for on-coming traffic as you might in America*…..Thing is, somehow, someway, the English still insist on driving on the wrong side of the road. It all makes sense if you accept that this wrong-side-of-the-road custom dates back to the 1700’s and therefore should be continued. It seems horsemen busy dueling for any reason they might conjure up were mostly right-handed so they needed to pass their foe with swords drawn and their enemies on the right side of their horse for better body piercing.  Today, the English continue to charge ahead the wrong way.

Another warm greeting awaiting you in London is the plethora of pelting rain drops that will anoint your sun-searching eyes should you look up from the puddled streets.

In truth, it doesn’t rain everyday in England once, but many, many times per day. But don’t worry if you leave your umbrella in that last cab you took-you’ll find someone else’s umbrella in about the exact same location on the back seat of the next cab you get.

Be forewarned: those four dollar umbrellas offered for sale in London last about as long as it takes to buy them…

Moving on, bypassing the flood gates of England, you may find yourself swilling in Ireland, Dublin, to be exact. This country has a completely different slant on how to undo the American. It’s called Guinness. You may have tried what you thought was Guinness here in the States and that would be all wrong. No, in Dublin where Guinness has submerged an entire country it’d be wrong to think of the drink as anything but a prelude to another and then ten more. Not that I had so many-I don’t think, maybe.

Typical roadside stop in Ireland**.

So, you missed Ireland completely but for unloading a bunch of money between random trips to the loo. Now it’s on to France with low expectations of seeing lots of underpants. The Follies were not showing during my visit and it was Fall so the sexy part of France was underwhelming- a minimalist’s expose’ of very little, a slip-up with regard to this undertaking. And if you’re hoping to make friends in any of these countries or amends for two hundred years of American warfare forget it. The fact is most people I almost saw as we passed one another along the street had their faces glued to whatever electronic device they held in hand. Those sparkling eyes of all those I’d hoped to meet in foreign countries had converted to bent down heads…

France, or what I imagined to be the land of lingerie, turns out to have its own angle on killing Americans that doesn’t involve deploying undergarments. Yep, it’s the French in Paris with the baguettes-mystery solved. You can’t imagine unless you’ve been, but there’s a quality to French pastries, breads, heck even hamburger buns that will drive even the most savvy American palate crazy. Figure on gaining weight and ordering a larger coffin as you decide what desert to devour next while in France.

I’d once heard the Eiffel tower was erected to reflect the state of most men while in Paris, and that it was fittingly a temporary construction to boot. Now, I don’t know.

History records that the Mongols invaded Paris and ate the baguettes which caused them to run to Ireland and jump off the Cliffs of Moher.*** Those Cliffs are renowned to this day for this reason-I heard this while in Ireland but only truly understood the history once I’d eaten various breads in Paris. I didn’t even care about the missing underwear after that.

Random idea:

The Cliffs of Moher have very little in common with the sunflower fields of Tuscany

Mind you, I loved Ireland so much there’s at least an entire glob coming on that country-and London and Paris and Germany as well.

It’s time to move on to Germany but first I have to end this glob….see you next time through a vat of beer and what about those Oktoberfest outfits!?!?!? New Orleans’s Mardi  Gras has nothing on German’s celebration– honest.

I found the size of the Oktoberfest beers distracting.

cheers

Franque23

  • Sadly, this has happened.
  • A cab driver explained that ten was the magic number of Guinness-just enough to make you forget the night before as you awake the next morning so you have to investigate Guinness all over again the following night. See? It’s the circle of life.
  • This matter is still debated in pubs.
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My friend and first reader, Barbara, sent me this a few days ago. This week with so many extremely bad things happening around the globe I think it’s best to step back and see who’s on second, or what might have come next if Abbott and Costello were alive today!

You have to be old enough to remember Abbott and Costello, and too old to REALLY understand computers, to fully appreciate this. For those of us who sometimes get flustered by our computers, please read on…

If Bud Abbott and Lou Costello were alive today, their infamous sketch, ‘Who’s on First?’ might have turned out something like this:

COSTELLO CALLS TO BUY A COMPUTER FROM ABBOTT
ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

COSTELLO: Thanks I’m setting up an office in my den and I’m thinking about buying a computer.

ABBOTT: Mac?

COSTELLO: No, the name’s Lou.

ABBOTT: Your computer?

COSTELLO: I don’t own a computer. I want to buy one.

ABBOTT: Mac?

COSTELLO: I told you, my name’s Lou.

ABBOTT: What about Windows?

COSTELLO: Why? Will it get stuffy in here?

ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows?

COSTELLO: I don’t know.. What will I see when I look at the windows?

ABBOTT: Wallpaper.

COSTELLO: Never mind the windows. I need a computer and software.

ABBOTT: Software for Windows?

COSTELLO: No. On the computer! I need something I can use to write proposals, track expenses and run my business. What do you have?

ABBOTT: Office.

COSTELLO: Yeah, for my office. Can you recommend anything?

ABBOTT: I just did.

COSTELLO: You just did what?

ABBOTT: Recommend something.

COSTELLO: You recommended something?

ABBOTT: Yes.

COSTELLO: For my office?

ABBOTT: Yes.

COSTELLO: OK, what did you recommend for my office?

ABBOTT: Office.

COSTELLO: Yes, for my office!

ABBOTT: I recommend Office with Windows.

COSTELLO: I already have an office with windows! OK, let’s just say I’m sitting at my computer and I want to type a proposal. What do I need?

ABBOTT: Word.

COSTELLO: What word?

ABBOTT: Word in Office.

COSTELLO: The only word in office is office.

ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.

COSTELLO: Which word in office for windows?

ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue ‘W’.

COSTELLO: I’m going to click your blue ‘w’ if you don’t start with some straight answers. What about financial bookkeeping? You have anything I can track my money with?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: That’s right. What do you have?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: I need money to track my money?

ABBOTT: It comes bundled with your computer.

COSTELLO: What’s bundled with my computer?

ABBOTT: Money.

COSTELLO: Money comes with my computer?

ABBOTT: Yes. No extra charge.

COSTELLO: I get a bundle of money with my computer? How much?

ABBOTT: One copy.

COSTELLO: Isn’t it illegal to copy money?

ABBOTT: Microsoft gave us a license to copy Money.

COSTELLO: They can give you a license to copy money?

ABBOTT: Why not? THEY OWN IT!

(A few days later)

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store. Can I help you?

COSTELLO: How do I turn my computer off?

ABBOTT: Click on ‘START’….. ……..

Thanks again to Barbara for this. laughter can help.

Here’s to all of us.

Franque23


September fourth ends the party of a huge, and odd, festival held in the US of A. It all happens on the Black Rock Desert near Gerlach, Nevada. The Burning Man festival, one where this year a man was truly burned alive as he ran into the flames,  is now a long-standing tradition here in the States.  But, before we get into this, I have to reveal a secret.

About ten years ago I thought I’d heard of the most bizarre festival held anywhere world-wide when my daughter who lived in Japan at the time told me about Japan’s Penis Festival. I admit, I was a bit puffed-up to know of this weirdness personified event; I gleefully went around America secretly thinking, ” Oh yeah? I know something you don’t know.”

I mean really, once per year an entire town marches large Penises down the avenue, wearing penises for noses, or hats. arms, worse for their, well, member. And all of this happens while massive crowds watch from the curb sides and chant something akin to, “We love the penis….” It’s different from Woodstock-see? 

Reality goes a bit wonkie for the day * And, it all makes sense according to the link below **, but I don’t see these pops going mainstream in America. Some of it is hard to handle…

Anyway, yep, I figured I had the corner on the market when it came to knowing about the strangest festival going until today, like right now. I flipped through a feature of many photos from this year’s, Burning Man Festival, and now, well, I’m not sure what this is?

Maybe, it’s a ladies clothing fashion show?

Maybe, the aliens have landed?

Maybe, it’s just super hot out there and people have gone a bit south of normal?

Who has time to build these monuments guided by, err, I guess their imagination?

Whatever this is, it’s fun to scan the photos in this link and glimpse what ‘other’ people than me do with their time. And, the 70 thousand who participated in this years’ showings seem to have had a heck of a time. It’s actually amazing to see…

Cheers-

It’s all a bit wacky in the best sorta way. The Burning Man photos of 2017:

https://designyoutrust.com/2017/08/burning-man-2017-stunning-photos-from-the-worlds-biggest-and-craziest-festival/

 

Franque23

*Extentions from the penis festival….. http://www.news.com.au/travel/travel-ideas/weird-and-wacky/inside-the-festival-of-the-steel-phallus-in-kawasaki-japan/news-story/1e70c04df0268d3184c7baa68dc2c919

** For those who want an in-depth look and reach a better understanding of the cultural forces behind the Penis Festival, this is really good. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HMwASzcdIU

 


(click on the pic for a larger view.)

So it’s not just about growing vegetables. I guess Dale and I grow about everything we can—the birds(we get to know generations of Cardinals), the flowers(this Old Man Beard’s tree is a wonder every spring)*, the grass-why-oh-why?, 17 citrus trees, several orange varieties, two types lemons, figs, and we’ve one pineapple ripening now and four more forming with 32 planted. Of course, our pears only yield as squirrel food.  Oh yes, we grow squirrels, like it or not.

Bunch of lemons last year.

Feeding the Gold Finch who fly through in the Spring.

Right now, late August-early September, it’s time here in Gainesville to plant the fall garden. I’ll be hoping for green beans, potatoes, squashes, lettuce, the yellow squash, dark green zucchinis and tomatoes to come in for Thanksgiving and to freeze to use during the winter months.

The crops of spring or fall vary from year to year. Two years ago I picked 32 pounds of green beans, but this year’s spring garden with the same planting produced about 5 pounds?!?! Ya just never know with gardening.

The Gardenia is wonderful, and huge—it’s near our front door—but another more unusual planting is directly next to the front door. This indigenous Jasmine is not the kind you so often see growing in clumps around mail boxes or on fence lines. No, this Jasmine grows more like bamboo and even sometimes 12 feet high while dying off to the ground after cold weather. Located in front of our living room  bay window, this plant provides cover from the summer’s sun while letting the winter daylight in. I often use the heavier stalks left leafless after a freeze for tomato stakes the next spring.

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The night blooms fill the yard with a splendid aroma.

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Oh, right, we’re helping grow Grandchildren as well…

There is nothing like a yard ripened Pineapple.

Let’s put two and two together and come with an answer that’s good ‘four’ all of us!

The start of a pineapple garden.(I got the tops from a grocer.)

Life on the planet is truly amazing.

The oldest known Baobab tree in Limpopo Province, South Africa, is thought to be 1700 years old. Catch this link if you have time **

 

And although there’s nothing like seeing works of man, like a magnificent Greek statue, some of them make me lose my appetite.

As with gardens, ya never know what might or might not pop up now-a-days.

Anyway—-back to appetites.

 

I’m hoping everything comes up roses this Fall for all of you who plant anything. There’s nothing like taking time out to work your butt off beneath the sound of the birds, the wind through the trees and with the sweet smells of Life tickling your nose.

Cheers.

Franque23

*

photo 2

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The Old Man’s Beard tree is coming out again.

 

**https://www.bigbaobab.co.za/


(Click the pic for a larger view…)

There’s nothing like untangling fishing line between twelve wrapped together poles. Snaggin’ a finger with treble hooks while organizing the tackle box or sitting on a lure as you get into the boat all make the top ten of fishin’ moments as well. Basically, these memorable times mean one thing: you’re going fishing so what’s not to like?! Maybe, that thunder in the distance isn’t perfect, but it could be Fort Drum?—anything’s possible.

Where, when, how and what to use to catch fish is the question few sane people ask on a daily basis. Me? Yeah, I think about this about non-stop while up at Lake Bonaparte, that and where is the bottle opener. Of course the wind, cloud cover, angle of the sun, water temp and where I put the bottle opener plays big in the exact answers, but that’s all too much for now.

Where to fish: I have to vibe it out.

Anyway, before you go skinny dipping thinking a Northern can bite your butt cause you didn’t catch one that day, it might be better to switch to bass when it comes to this retort. Thing is, kid you not, years ago a fellow* was actually bit on the leg by a bass so large that he had to go to the hospital!??!?! Where? The fishermen ask?…..near the Sherman’s dock in Porter’s bay…daylight hours with the lake temps good for swimming.( That’s the drop on that Bass attack.)

It’s August and maybe the dog days of fishing at Lake Bonaparte.

With nothin’ to do, it’s time to fish.

The water temps go high for bass so most big fish go low. BTW, when I was a kid a century ago, my Dad and Uncle Moe Morgan used to fish high Rocks with three colored lead line to troll deep for Walleye and Northern. I thought, back then, the line ran fifty feet per color but it must have been about 25 feet…Anyway, the color would help them know how much line was out and how deep they were running those ten inch long, wooden lures-much like an un-jointed Rapala.

There’s so much to say about them days……sigh.

Dave Morgan with his parents; me with mine-only one left, now.

Okay, back to task. While it does matter if you’re fishing for numbers, size or with children who need to catch one when it comes to where and when to fish, I’ve a few basic tips to share some may not know.

I’ve fished the Lake for more than 60 years that I can remember.

The early morning is a sight to see; a miraculous glorious sun rise while mist rises above the water as a cloak of rainbows that usher forth the call of the loon.

We got close to beating the light.

It’s super quiet, but for your motor noise most are cursing as they turn in their sleep. A heavy mist veils the sky and might give one the opportunity of nailing a bass near shore—I’d be using a white Texas rigged worm through the grass in the shallow Hotel Weed bed or in the stumps in mud lake. But, tellin’ ya, once the mist lifts(which is always too soon) the deals about done til nine through noon that AM. The first light shoots the fish for cover as birds take flight over head.

This light won’t do you much good; time to go kayaking.

Wanna fish the early morning so you have bass for breakfast? Go the night before.

The night before.

There might be a way to have a good time…

There’s a curious thing about the lake that doesn’t entail the fact that you can drop a spinner bait in the middle of Bull Rush bay for a 14 to 17 inch Northern whenever you like.

You can skip dinner if steaks aren’t on the grill and head out. You might try elephant Island, Hammond’s point, the shoal off Beer Island or cast the bays west of Round Island if you need practice casting. But, catching fish at 6ish to 7:30 PM? Drag those lures through the stumps on the south side of Hotel Weed bed. And, I’m sorry about the big foot print fancy boats that ride high on the water with the convenient foot pedal troller–you might as well be marching a band into the area announcing your arrival.

They call it, “Old School.” But for now, something like this will catch the bigger fish. Cane pole in with your oar. Bring drinking water.

Nope, the noise, boat size and motor all matter. Can and will you catch fish using big boats? Absolutely…but, mostly, not the one you’re after; not on Lake Bonaparte.

not a bad night

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Caught em large

9-21-2009 Bonaparte and fish-1

Larger…..!

And small(that’s me on the right with Joe Morgan.)

44970015

Me catching a first fish with big Joe Morgan

Give up the zillion dollar boats and get a flat-bottomed John Boat or V-hulled 10  to 14 footer, two sturdy oars and cut the engine at least twenty yards out. Use your oars to get closer and cane pole with one of them as you get inside the stumps. I usually stay seated unless one is on. If you make a wake you’re moving too fast. The key is watch the water, the drift, the pads and for the movement of fins. Good luck. Use a Texas rig for everything big that hits, they inhale the lure, but for plenty of action use a double hook, most like a Herring set-up, on your single worm.

This best pictures the idea-but I use a plastic worm not live bait. Pre-tie on several sets so if you get snagged you have another double-hook set to use.

This way you catch the tail nibblers, but unhooking small fish or snags can be a pain.

Used to be after 7:30 PM you could back out of the weed bed and head to Hammond’s shoal between Porter’s Bay and Bull Rush Bay to plug around the southeastern shoreline until night fall and catch the limit-not anymore.

44960017

Hammond’s Point east side of Potter’s Bay

Thing is, David Morgan’s friend from the west shore line dumped years(like 20 of them) of bass off at these locations in a catch and release as a favor for David. Dave’s been dead for thirteen years now, and the fish drop off ended years ago. Small mouth still frequent the shoal, but mostly the large ones are gone.**

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“A friend’s been dropping fish off at the point for years.” Dave Morgan 2000.

Nope, if it’s near eight PM you might head out to Mud Lake and know you’ll have the best luck in the last rays of daylight, up tight by the shore.***  The split Rapala can’t rake the lily pads but you won’t miss seven out of ten hits, either. It’s a choice: action or a high percentage of catches per strike. I like the plastic worms unless I know their hitting and the light-of-day is about gone.

There’s more to write from experience and from the histories I’ve heard. Can’t wait to share that, and Lake Bonaparte Fishin’-3 is coming soon.  See ya on the water, at the counters while snagged by those lure sales or at the docs getting hooks removed!

Cheers

Franque23

*Ask Joey Heukrath about this…..or, Mary Sherman may know.

**If you slide around Hammond’s point and cast the shore on down to the huge rock by a camp, you might get action. Lately, I mostly caught the over-hanging cedars here. Paul Doherty and a friend got a big one off the point a few years back, but I swear it was the same fish I’d released from my dock a few months earlier.

***They say a dark worm in light and a light worm for the dark. Mostly, I don’t think so unless you’re fishin’ that nifty shoal off Birch Island.

OH, one more thing,,,, the newer heavy-headed plastic worms imitate the Carolina rigged plastic worms and work best over the open shoals…..


 

(Some of the pics enlarge with a click.)

Two hundred feet. That’s all that separated my dad’s life from death…

Never were three children so happy over two hundred feet!My brother, Ed, sister, Sharon and my thirteen year-old self owe the distance our lives, too.

Thing is, as miraculous as this story from 1928 truly is, I may have never told my Morgan cousins and extended family the tale?!?!

 come gather around  the Indian and listen up!**

It was long before mom and dad were living on base.

. 

Long before dad was stationed and posed with friends in uniform.

This is the tale I first heard in my house on Pinetree Lane, South Park, as the snow fell and mounted outside. (Yikes! Did I help shovel that?)

 

*****

The Tailspin Story
A True Story by Max R. Franquemont*

Background: ( As my sister, Sharon Franquemont writes:)

One year after Charles Lindberg’s first flight across the Atlantic, my 17 year-old Dad, Colonel Max R. Franquemont, took flying lessons from Sept. 11, 1928 to Oct. 19, 1928. He still had the receipts when he died the fall of 2001 at a little over 90 years old. His 1928 lessons cost $8.75 per 30 minutes. Later, he flew for the US Post Office between Des Moines, IA and Moline, IL. We discovered this story and other young man philosophical and romantic musings in a bottom drawer the night he died. It felt to all of us as if his spirit was reaching back to us as if to say, “Take a risk. Life is an adventure.”

Story: (As my dad recorded it…circa 1928)

We were spiraling in wide curves already above the first layer of clouds with the nose of our speedy scout pointed every upward. The powerful Wasp was running smoothly and evenly, and outwardly everything seemed just the same as it did on any of my many flights the last three months. Inwardly though, my mind was a seething maelstrom. Stunts! Today I was to stunt. At last the day had come that I was longing for and yet feared most. I was to maneuver the plane into the deadly tailspin and out again…if possible! Wing-overs and Immelmans (a flying term) I had mastered before, but now…

I came back to reality with a shock. The motor was laboring and I felt my instructor, fearless fellow, wobble the “Stick.: We were almost in a stalled position, so I edged the stick forward and instantly the motor resumed the reverberating motion which brings victory to an intrepid airplane. My instructor’s voice came through the tube calm, encouraging, “Take it easy! This won’t be so bad.”

Dad’s plane-of any color- would have looked like this one.

I leveled the ship off, gave her a little right rudder, and decided to look about a bit. My eyes sought the distant horizon where etched against the sky I could pick out the spires and water tower of a distant town. I relaxed and watched the ground. Twelve towns were within my vision as my eyes moved from the horizon. I could see a train moving like a caterpillar slowly across the ground; a white ribbon stretching endlessly, crowded with hundreds of black dots, automobiles; and a silver streak, winding between the green and black checkerboard farm land, which I knew to be a mighty river. At last, ten thousand feet below me, appeared the airport dotted with planes looking like dragonflies at rest with smaller mite-like specks—men. Then I spoke into the tube, “Are we high enough yet?”

“No,” said Rip, “better go up to fifteen thousand. About 10,000 now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, “just ten thousand,” and marveled at this judgment of height. He had on instruments in the forward cockpit.

I eased the stick back and held a gentle climb. The ship did not climb so fast now because of the rarer atmosphere, but we gained gradually. Try as I would, I could think of nothing, but the coming spin. Why, of why, had I not insisted on a parachute? On the ground my fears seemed silly and I had not the courage to ask for one. No one in the field ever wore one unless testing a plane so there was only one chute available and it would have seemed funny had I asked for one and left my instructor without. I had my first doubts as to my ability to fly through any situation. Heretofore, I had been unafraid, in fact over-daring, but suddenly I found myself afraid. Only last week a man had been killed before my eyes. Would I be the next? I glanced at the altimeter and my heart jumped. Fourteen thousand! Only a few minutes more and…but what had I to fear? A veteran of a thousand tailspins and crises sat in front of me. I wondered what he was thinking about. What if I should freeze on the controls? What could he do? Well, I just wouldn’t freeze on the controls. I certainly wouldn’t get rattled! I’d let go at the slightest touch on the stick or rudder bar. My instructor’s voice brought me back from my reverie. “This’ll do now” I glanced at the meter—14,500 feet!

“Better do a Immelman or so to get the feel of the ship, “ said Rip.

I put the nose down and gathered speed and then pulled the stick back. Up we went in a zoom and just before the stall I kicked over the rudder as she fell over the wing into a steep dive. I quickly revered rudder and shoved the stick forward. The plane leveled off traveling in the opposite direction.

“Fine,” said Rip. “All right, you keep your hand on the stick and your feet lightly on the rudder bar and I’ll take you through a spin. Safety belt fastened?”

“Yes, let’s go!” I replied affecting bravery I was far from feeling.

Forward went the throttle and back came the stick. The nose went almost straight up and then as he kicked over the rudder and closed the throttle, the ground changed places with the sky, and we were falling. I felt a jerk and knew we were spinning. I closed my eyes because looking at the ground made me dizzy. Suddenly, the controls reversed and the mad whirling ceased. The stick went forward and came gradually back as we flattened out. Then Rip gave her the gun and zoomed within a hundred feet of our altitude.

“Now, you try it,” he said, “and let her spin longer than I did.”

“All right!” I shouted.

The ease with which we came out of the spin had bolstered my courage considerably. I gave her the gun and zoomed. As we approached a stall, I cut the throttle and kicked over full right rudder. The ship fell over on the right wing like a crippled bird and plunged downward. Again I felt that huge jerk and knew we were spinning. I tried to keep my eyes open and watch the ground, but I could not see much from there. I looked at the altimeter and watched the needle swing back 13,500—13,400—13,300—13,200—13,200—13,100—13,00 feet. A thousand feet in less than a minute!

“Well, I guess that’s enough,” came through the ear phones.

I was more than ready to pull her out, so I kicked over the rudder and pushed the stick forward. Almost instantly the spinning stopped, but I was anxious to level off so I pulled the stick back too quickly. For an instant everything went black! I had pulled up so sharply that gravity had drained the blood from our heads.

When I regained my senses, the ship seemed to be hanging in the air, and before I could move it whipped madly over on the left-wing and we were plunging downward in a reverse spin! I kicked over the rudder. No result! The whirling continued. I shouted through the tube.

“Hey! You take her.” No answer.

I looked into the cockpit! I could see nothing! Down we went whirling faster and faster! I fought the controls wildly. Why, oh why did I ever do this! What happened to Rip? How could I stop this d… thing anyway I half sobbed to myself. The wind in the wings and struts rose to a weird scream. Going down. Ten thousand feet read the meter and the needle was racing backward. What should I do? I grabbed the stick savagely and jerked it around. I tried the rudder at all angles, but it seemed to be spinning faster.

I glanced down through the wing and saw the airport directly below me. I could almost imagine the spot where we going to hit. Again I looked at the needle. Nine thousand feet! Only seconds to live. I looked back to see if the rudder or elevator was broken. They were working smoothly, but nothing touched that mad spinning. I tore savagely at the stick. It broke!! It was snapped off at the socket. I threw it furiously over the side and then leaned forward, sobbing hysterically. I threw the goggles off and prayed for a tree. What had I done to deserve this? Why hadn’t I known better than to pull the stick back so soon? Here I’d killed us both!! I could see tomorrow’s paper. Student pilot freezes at the controls, but I hadn’t frozen on the controls. No one would know that though. What would mother think? If we crashed at this speed there would nothing left of me to bury. I looked at the instrument board—only three thousand feet to live. Was I to die this way so soon? Would I never see my folks again? I leaned forward against the dashboard and sobbed, heartbroken.

Suddenly the rudder bar moved magically beneath my feet. Was I dreaming? No! There was Rip’s head! Suddenly the motor broke into a deep roar. We hurtled down fast and faster, but gradually the spinning ceased. The ground came up. Would we make it? Now the plane was in a screaming nose dive, but gradually it flattened out, and at least we leveled off with a scant two hundred feet to spare. I collapsed weakly in the seat and, while I was still trying to comprehend the miracle, Rip spoke weakly into the tube, “You take her now!”

“I can’t!” I gasped. “My stick is broken.”

“All right, “ he replied, “I’ll do the best I can. I bumped my head against the cockpit and it knocked me out. I’m still dizzy.”

We were in a long glide now heading into the field and, as I watched the ground gradually come up to meet us, I wondered if anyone on the field knew that anything was amiss. I thanked God that Rip had not allowed me to stop at ten thousand feet as I had wanted to do. Now we were over the field in a shallow glide. The wheels hit, we bounced, and then settled gently to the earth and rolled roughly over the field until we stopped. Rip climbed out and smiled at me. He face was white and there was a bump the size of an egg over his left temple.

He said, “Why all the tears on your cheeks?”

I hastily wiped my cheeks, and said, “Nothing, only the wind in my eyes since I threw away my goggles.”

Rip shook his head wisely, and turned to the excited crowd coming across the field.

Now, with my dad long gone and me an older man, I still recall dad telling me how he followed the road ways below as he flew from town to town delivering mail as a young man of seventeen. One time, as he told it, he hit a storm that left him back where he’d started from an hour earlier that day! His cockpit was open-we’ve all seen those pictures-and his guts were on display!

Cheers! I’m so glad dad’s plane leveled off and rose.

This camellia is for you, dad.

Dad singing, Sweet Ivory Soap, for about his last time, some 74 years after his fateful flight.

Dad, you are my co-pilot.

Franque23

*Max Franquemont, July 18th, 1911-October 31st, 2001.

**This is the old Morgan store in Natural Bridge, New York. My uncle Mo owned this and the Natural Bridge caverns that were located right next store. We all so loved that Indian!

 

 


Lately, when I read people who write, F*ck Fox News, I think about that and of all the things I might catch if I did, so I don’t. Instead, I imagine having larger ear muffs, a new set of horse-type blinders and some of those stick rattles babies love to get when they’re bored. Then, I feel safe, sorta.

There’s something coming, isn’t there?

Oh, and Ryan, your party picked a weird way to sow your oats. How far against the America grain can you get?

There’s two things I’d like to point out to any and/or all the Tea Party people, the Righties and the remaining mosh-pit of other Republicans, the conservatives and centralists who march to the same tune cast in slightly different beats.(please pass this one to them…)

Number one:(This is a fact accepted by every sphere of America’s political spectrum.)

“Fact: The CIA and FBI have confirmed their belief that Russia sought to meddle in the election and that the country’s interference was aimed at trying to keep Hillary Clinton from winning.”*

The number one question is: Why? Why did Russia do all it could to keep Hillary from winning?

Let’s explore a few options.

Were the Russians convinced that negotiating with Hillary, a woman who killed half  the planet’s population in Benghazi, would defile their sense of self-worth?

Was Russia against Hillary because they were afraid of what she might write in an e-mail?

Hillary kills babies, so maybe Putin was afraid she’d kill him, too?

Wait! Doesn’t Hillary have crazy eyes?! It could be those eyes turned Russia against her campaign?

Or, could it be that Russia felt sure that Hillary would be harder to negotiate against, to trick, to fool and use as a tool or turn into a traitor who lends top secrets to them than Trump has been?

I know this takes some decision-making, but you decide why Russia was all in with Trump and all against Hillary. I’d love to read your view on this.

Wait! I have to decide?!?!?

The number two question is: forgetting Trump’s invitation to the Russian’s to hack Hillary’s e-mails, or his involvement with Russia financially, with their hooker good lookers or his not seen tax returns, what about him asking Sessions and Pence to leave the White House Oval Office before he asked Comey to stop his investigation of Flynn?

Why? Why did Trump send Pence and Session’s out of the room when he attempted to lean on Comey, the FBI director at the time? Gee-that’s a hard one…

It’s just a random guess, but I imagine Trump thought Pence and Sessions needed nappy’s while he ‘talked’—attempted to coerce spelled differently—with Comey.

Another good reason is it all gets too confusing when more than one person is talking while the other takes mental notes.

Trump’s a dental hygiene freak and figured two mouths were less than four?

Or, did Trump send two potential witnesses out of the Oval Office knowing he was about to attempt to obstruct justice in the most gentle sort of way?

Dang, once again this involves some decision-making and it’s a tough call.

Not another decision!!!

Okay, I’ll make it.

Trump knew he was about to break the law by leaning on Comey to stop the investigation of Flynn so he didn’t want any witnesses around when he did.

And let’s remember, the investigation of Flynn’s involvement with the Russians may well lead to Trump-time will tell.

The answers to these two questions should make every American who voted for Trump realize they made the wrong choice. They made Russia’s choice for America’s President happen! And, months before Trump slipped the Russians some of America’s top secrets, he was busy trying to obstruct justice to save a,’friend’ and maybe his own ass.

I’m really here to help everyone and maybe me just a little.

Yep! You Trump voters picked a whiner at best, and a flat-out traitor at worst.

Franque23

*One of a zillion quotes on the subject.


It’s that wink of a second in a slip, the moment just before smacking the ground when it all comes back. Yes, those wrong way turns taken so enthusiastically and the too many times pee laughed into my pants, those drinks poured left on the counter by two beers already opened, those broken romances that fractured the same way with a screw you suck-head let’s be friends and the pets who were out for food or thinking of me as food all come zinging back.

It’s all so simple.

It’s in the shape of a shadow when the montage of my trophies, good grades, degrees, parking citations, accidents, lawyer bills and self-written Dear John letters left in dusty closets merge the past and present to unravel through the unknown as History zooms ahead.

If I’d seen that slip coming I’d have laid down first. Thing is, I’d end up on the ground anyway, right? Good intentions have blown up roads.

How nice that guy who got hit by an apple figured out why his head hurt; deduction is a beautiful thing. But what about why falling down is a snap of a fact while getting up takes about sixteen months in the beginning and then becomes impossible near the end of this zillion-ring circus called life? Thing is, the circle of life may be round but it’s hard to find its fair side. Ask the Syrian refugees about fairness.

They say the good die young.

Can the Earth slip?

When we look up, are we?

How can we feel a sense of alarm when these are in clocks, not heads?

A few years back—the timeline’s history so who cares—some guys decided that Europe and North America were on top of a thing that was round, not flat. Maybe, they figured if we were on the bottom of the ball we’d fall off like nothing else did. That logic, along with a cocktail of mistaken thoughts made in history by names no one can spell is the basis of life as we know it, and maybe why so much has slipped.

Is the point to this traffic jammed up madhouse called life killing? There are 135 events in the Old Testament that attribute men’s deaths to the acts of God. The total estimated dead in the events ranges from 2.5 million to 25 million people. The difference in the figures is keyed around, ‘men’s deaths.’ The larger number includes the estimated women and children killed in the total. No matter, the end result of this deluge of death is a world full of people who rush into buildings to break their knee caps kneeling, or their backs bowing, or bang their heads against walls to experience worship.

I think Sodom and Gomorrah’s fate and human history leads as example here: hate something, then go bomb the piss out of it and wait for the survivors to build you temples. So here’s a concrete point before I hit the pavement writing. Does dropping the ‘mother of all bombs,’ the bigly, the huge, the best and big daddy of bombs(MOAB) mean we can expect Isis, yousis, mesis or any ,’sis,’ to come around and start paying us money and respect with prayer? And the answer is?

This may not be an exact quote.

I read the bigly bomb cost $170,000 to make. We killed like 90 guys. What about using those navy seal fellas that use one hundred-dollar bullets and shoot real targets instead? Well, our soldiers cost about a half a million each to train, deliver and keep overseas. It turns out using nukes is the biggest bang for the buck warfare!

We can only hope and pray to survive, come out ahead, the winners, like soldiers on every side hope. For sure, hitting the proverbial bottom hurts. Life has no trampoline and, dang it, if it doesn’t feel like America is somehow slipping right before my eyes. Do we make sense anymore?

See? I have questions and wonder if what goes around comes around, when’s an age of reason coming back?!?!

Some of this sounds familiar…

Whoops!

Ouch! Yeah—this slip trumps them all.

Franque23


(Warning: this post may cause thinking that could in some cases cause drinking, and then drinking again before drinking more. Peeing on your self is common , though you should go outside, don’t stand, squat or kneel downhill. If symptoms persist for over five minutes, you’re a horse.

THE MOST DANGEROUS SIDE EFFECTS ARE BUT NOT LIMITED TO  seeing repetitive sentences,…

THE MOST DANGEROUS SIDE EFFECTS ARE BUT NOT LIMITED TO  seeing repetitive sentences, an increase in irregular size and depth perception which will soon lead to your head exploding, and it’s irreversible, wholly huge, trust me, a done deal.)

How much is a billion? Well,  it weighs 10 tons if only U.S. 100 dollar bills are used to make the sum. And for those who think the US government can’t do anything right, you’re wrong.  The American Government successfully spends one billion dollars every 2.5 hours.  That’s one heck of a spending spree—continually.

When you wish upon a star be sure not to ask for a billion to fall from the sky-that’d make a dent.

Hey buddy, have you got a billion?* Those empty pockets would need good double stitchin’.

Coming clean is so hard to do

A billion here, a billion there. What’s money got to do with it?

Wait!  It turns out Melania is not into money, only fast planes and guns so don’t go there buddy….

Trump wants to spend a billion of our money(no,no, Mexico will pay for it laughter line here)to erect 62 miles of his soon to be famous fence. Never mind anyone could climb it, build a twenty-dollar ladder to go over it, or simply walk at 5 miles per hour(normal walking pace)for thirteen hours and then step around its end.

We could make TV car commercials and sell them back to Mexico to raise the money to pay for the wall!.

Forget, too, that over 60% of all illegal immigrants in the US have used planes to get into America, or that Mexican cartels build tunnels large enough for small trains and semi’s to pass through already.

I think these trains usually run on time, too.

Alternative solutions to our illegal immigrant population are not productive when you want to spend one billion on a 62 mile long fence.

Thing is, this post has nothing to do with Trump wanting to build an over priced picket fence—trust me. This is MY bible….( don’t worry, it’s short.)

Chapter 1.Trump did too dismantle Obamacare. ( who knew how easy that would be?)

2. I never said I’d dismantle Obamacare, so there.

3. Mexico will pay for the wall or cover what we are not billed for so cheer up.

4. Illegal immigrants are done for under my illegal bill

5. We will be so tired of winning, we will love losing, more.

6. The pipe line will be built by American steel! ( Secretly, don’t cha  love this? I just can’t imagine how we’ll ship American steel to China and then back again at such a low-cost? Wow. This guy’s a deal broken, wait, er, breaker.)

7. I’ll cut taxes for the middle class as I raise them–it’s a miracle.

8. Don’t call me late for dinner,  I’m out golfing though I’m too busy working for you the American  people to ever do it.

THE Wholey, bigly end.

No, there’s no need to rattle on about Donald’s brain that wouldn’t work as a flea bag, never a sieve but maybe a drain, or as a sobering thought or even a broken lie detector, but make one heck of a dream catcher and loose Bannon, I mean, cannon.  That’s so out there already.

—everyone knows Donald’s adept at accusing everyone under the sun of doing what he is not so secretly doing!

Really, I’ve heard the premise that every thing Donald claims other people are doing wrong are the exact things he’s doing! ‘They bugged me!’ (While a slew of his associates have met with the Russians to rake through the DNC and release info on Hillary!) I like this one, ‘ Obama spends so much on vacation….when I’m President I won’t even leave the White House! I’ll be too busy working….’ (Whaahahha…….Donald’s gone a-golfing thirteen times since taking office, spending 7.5 million per month so far on those outings!!! They must be working vacations, right?)

See, you can tell what Donald’s up to by what he accuses others of doing. Don’t know, but I figure he practices his speech blathering in front of a mirror. It’s gotta be.

It’s all about reality

Still, this post isn’t about Donald lying to us so we can learn what he’s about. No, I promise you, if this glob of a blog hadn’t already gone on and on about Donald this entire post would’ve gone bigly another way. Thing is, I never exactly said anything about making some other point since this is all in writing. NO words here at all.

I have no alternative but to close for now, and make Mexico send me money, maybe.

I trust you

There’s so much to write about Donald each and everyday his side shows are a blogger’s heaven. But I refuse to trump Donald’s Presidency by exposing, writing, even mentioning, suggesting or remotely inferring that he is, in fact, an idiot with serious head problems and, according to Russian prostitutes who claim to have been hired by Donald, a man who was also wrongfully reported as having a very, tiny, tinsy-winsy dick. No one ever denied Donald hired prostitutes, but the size of his dick is still in doubt. Personally, I think  he’s a big one.

Life-like in size and shape. So, maybe I’m wrong?

But this post has nothing to do with Donald, his lies, his agenda’s, the books he never reads and his wife who won’t join him in the White House or Spicer, his mis-spokesman, who seems to be about to explode any day now upon the alternative fact press release podium.  No, what I’m talking about is the beautiful Spring weather we’re having.

Our flowers, the birds, my dog, me, my wife, we love it- Happy  Snappy Spring everyone!

cheers…

Franque23

*Correction, Melania may like jewels:

Or, Melania likes suitcases, hard to tell.


I received this post in an email without a credit. But it all got me thinking—Does what’s up have to come down? If it were a good thing and up to me, it’d always stay up! Maybe, Chicken Little , Henny Penny got me started on this—don’t know. Nevertheless, thanks to whoever did write this, and to reader Barbara for sending it my way.

ashleymbhs6-edublogs-org-disney-chicken-little-sky-falling

Hold up! Take a minute to read about a word that is used so often it is almost like a hicc(up) in our language.

Up as it came to me……

“An amazing 2 letter English word.

A reminder that one word in the English language that can be a noun, verb, adjective, adverb and preposition:

UP

Read until the end …  you’ll laugh.

This two-letter word in English has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that word is ‘UP.’  It is listed in the dictionary as an [adv.], [prep.], [adj.], [n] or [v].

It’s easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP?

At a meeting, why does a topic come UP?  Why do we speak UP, and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?  We call UP our friends, brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver, warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen.  We lock UP the house and fix UP the old car.

At other times, this little word has real special meaning.   People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses.

To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.

And this UP is confusing:  A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP.”

It goes on to ask, What’s the first thing you do when you wake up and last thing you do before going to sleep? U….P…. Whaaahahha……..

So that’s it-of course, you know I’m never gonna shut up.

'Didn't you see the tweet? The sky is falling!'

Anyway, this hat will protect me if what’s up ever does come crashing down!

hangover-dog-mexican-hat

Franque23

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