Pirates of the Carribean - Senior Citizen Edition

That appears to be a drink in my hand. Who says alcohol is fattening - I'm still smaller than my boat, aren't I? And, what's the big deal if I've gained a few pounds - I'm not fat, I'm volume enhanced. I can even wear parts of my old military uniform. Well, I'll admit the part I refer to is my name tag and my ribbons.

That being said, I'd rather cruise than snooze. Being on the boat means no robo-calls at the condo from people seeking my opinion prior to a sales pitch, and our cell phones don't work on the water. Millie gets to enjoy Hagan's Pet Resort, and we get to sleep in without the worry of dog walking for middle of the night bladder calls. There is also no meal preparation, therefore no need to make supply runs to Wal-Mart and fight the tourist season traffic. It's nirvana, take my word for it. Food, fun, sun, more food, more fun, too much sun, and Tums for a chaser.

And I've discovered something I really like - the buffet line in the Windjammer on board, then there's also the ice cream machine on the pool deck, and the pizza and burgers at 11:00 PM back in the solarium. To heck with the formal dining room and an 8:30 PM seating, who needs all that formality, and the need to pack the tuxedo. Did that the first time, took a suit the second, carried a blazer the third cruise, and a light jacket from that point forward. I'm retired, and the suits and ties are firmly ensconced in the closet for only church and funerals.

Cruising has become my passion (other than politics), and I've always believed that if you like something, do it often, or as often as you can afford to. In 2009, my dear wife and I embarked on three cruises, visiting Mexico, Grand Cayman, and Bermuda. We saw Mayan temples, rode dune buggies through muddy jungle trails, piloted Zodiac boats, cycled down abandoned railroad rights-of-way, and probably had more fun in our marriage in one year than some prior decades of those "working years" together. In a few weeks, we leave for ten days on the boat, and for the first time have sprung for a balcony cabin. We'll also meet our good friends from the British Isles, and do a lot of catching up on events in the two years since we last were together.

The challenge will be in deciding what to pack, and then how much can we actually fit in the back of our Corvette driving down to Miami. Florida is a great place to live, if you like to cruise. There are four (4) cruise terminals, and we've embarked from them all. Nearby Tampa is very close, and Port Canaveral isn't that far. Port Everglades (Ft. Lauderdale) and Miami are but five or six hours drive. So no airfares, and no $30 per checked bag to contend with, in addition to hurtling through the sky in an aluminum tube with some poorly screened jihadist in the next aisle wearing Fruit of the Boom underwear.

Hey, I'm pumped and looking forward to walking up that gangplank in a fortnight. We'll see how living very close together in that small space for ten days works out, but if successful we just might try 14 days in Europe to celebrate our 40th anniversary in 2011. And of course, if it's not working out.......there's always that balcony.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom. For a gal born back on 2-20-20, you're doing OK, and your children and grandchildren love you a lot.

So, that being the case, why am I going to be in Grand Cayman on your birthday? Well, it's like this.....I wasn't thinking. Hopefully you'll not hold it against me for the next twenty or thirty years, although you remain convinced I turned that piece of furniture from your first house into kindling sometime back in the 60's, so I'm not expecting forgiveness anytime soon. Then there was the time I launched your 64 Buick convertible through a wall at the Big Boy restaurant. That was always my problem, not paying attention to what gear I was in, but boys will be boys. I think the steam coming out of the garage after driving home (what, you expected me to stay and answer questions?) was the giveaway - that and the radiator having intercourse with the fan. Then there were the many nights when I came home after curfew, and you had to call off dear old dad from wanting to relocated my butt somewhere up around my shoulder blades.

So, dear old Mother, try and have a happy birthday without me. Seems to me I missed your 80th as well, but I promise to be there when Willard Scott calls out your name and puts your face on a Smucker's jar label. You certainly don't look 90, and hopefully your genes are my genes as well. If so, I plan to live long and allow MY children forget about my birthday too. I hope your grandson comes by and visits - he has little excuse not to, living there in Indianpolis just five miles away. I know my much younger brother will be there, continuing to drive you to the hairdresser and grocery when needed, and of course there are the folks from church who care for you, and the Butler Alumni Association who cares for your checkbook. So, dear Mother, you are in good hands.

I have asked your grand-daughter to drive from St. Louis and visit as my emissary and give you a surrogate hug. I will promise to send you a postcard from Haiti, Columbia, Panama, Costa Rica and Grand Cayman, and each night raise a glass in your honor. It's the least I could do.

Happy 90th birthday, Katie - you've earned it many times over.

Love,

John David

As Fast as a Ferrari

Sure, we'd all love to own a Ferrari 430 - after all, it's a true work of art.

But, can you find a place to work on it for less money than giving up your first born son? I say no - although my first born son might have a great future as a Ferrari mechanic down here in Florida. You see a lot of them on the roads from Naples to Tampa, exercising their 483 horses and wishing the FHP would let them wind out to 196 MPH. All this for a sticker of between 170,000 to 230,000, depending on options.

Well, I'm on my third Corvette, and every one of them had a prior owner and each and every one of them was reasonably priced. That 2008 in the picture had a brand new sticker price of under 50,000 and when something goes wrong, I need only look for a Chevrolet dealer. So I ask you, Ferrari V-8 or Chevrolet LS-3 engined Corvette. It's a "no brainer" and you can carry more luggage as well. Luggage in my case often includes my dog.

Now, these cars (and I must assume the case for the F430) are not forgiving if you stop paying attention. I personally ground-looped an 04 Coupe going south on I-57 at 80 MPH in the rain.
The dog was my only passenger, and for over a year she never told on me. Matter of fact, she never woke up, it happened so fast. I had just traded in my 01 Convertible at the dealer, and the newer car did need new tires on the rear in order to pass inspection. Foolish me should have insisted on new tires all around, but I wasn't thinking (some would argue I haven't been thinking since the first Corvette) and headed south with Millie with good rubber on the back, and "less good" on the front. I hit rain at 80, and the rear end and front end thought it a great idea to swap positions, several times I suspect. So, Millie and I got a panoramic view of the pavement before getting the opportunity to enjoy a similar view of the grassy median. Fortunately, no barriers on that stretch and a wide median.

Almost immediately I recognized there was little I could do but hold on. I flashed back to an off-camber road in France where in 1969 or 1970 I "pranged" a BMW 2002 into a cement light pole. It was that same feeling of helplessness, and all you can do is await the inevitable. I am convinced there are no atheists in foxholes, but I also suspect that applies to Ferrari's and Corvettes as well. I vividly recall thinking, perhaps even saying aloud "well Lord, I am now very much in your hands". God looks out for small dogs and fool drivers, and we ultimately were slowed by the mud and tall grass and ended up alongside (but not crossing) the northbound lane - headed back where I came from but about 200 feet further south than where the flat spin began. I got out, walked around the car and aside from a few paint chips around the wheel wells, no damage. The dog got out, looking happy to be in the grass, and immediately peed. No comment on the content of her daddy's drawers.

We drove back to the next exit to the north, pulled into a rest area and checked out the undercarriage of the car, and there was certainly a lot of grass and small sticks. I fear I had not replaced my divots after than short drive down the fairway. But, life must go on, and so must the trip. I can say that when I got to Florida, an early visit to my favorite Corvette mechanic resulted in putting on FOUR new Nitto tires, Z-06 anti-sway bars, and Edelbrock premium shocks. And from that day on, I've been a little bit gun shy of driving 80 in the rain.

In 2009 I found an 08 coming off a lease with only 5,000 on the odo - so we traded up from the LS-2 (346 hp) to the new LS-3 (430 hp) engined coupe. People keep asking "what's next" but I think I've learned that faster is not always better. So, Ferrari - eat your heart out, my courage nor my wallet are destined to put you in my garage. Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet forever.

A Taste of Cambury

This rogues gallery of fine folk are my northern neighbors, and one thing that brings us back to Missouri every summer and the holiday season. We all live in town homes in a condo complex called Cambury, established in 2002. It may never be finished, at least to the extent of the original development plan approved when I was the Mayor....yes, that long ago. So, instead of ninety some homes as originally planned, there are but 30 at present, but condensed in one area which lets you really get to know the folks on the other side of the wall.

So, we thrive on knowing almost everybody in the neighborhood, because with a little effort we can fit them all inside at Christmas time. The photo was shot in our living room December, 2009. We were the last house on the five home "tour" and ended up with way too many extra small cheesecakes (but over the next week, I solved that problem). Every year, we pick several homes and allocate 30 minutes at each, starting at either 6:00 or 6:30 PM. Each house serves different kinds of finger foods and drinks. By the time they got to our place, everybody was feeling the spirit (or the spirits) of the season.

This same group gets together at multiple occasions, and we're generally there to celebrate Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and Labor Day. Any excuse for a party.

P.S. - that tree in the corner came with the house - it is too big and heavy to move. One more cheesecake and I'll be like the tree.

What did you do in the war, Daddy?

I'm going through old photos to jog my memory about topics that might be interesting to my children and friends. I came across this one, which reveals a shopworn tear at the bottom from the days WAY before digital photography. This might have been taken by Matthew Brady (oops, wrong war), but it captures the "Wild Child" at work - yes, the clock does read 03:15:24 and I was live on the radio in Ubon, Thailand. So, the war wasn't civil at all, but it was my war and the only one available in my generation.

The show was called "the Night Owl" and I didn't name it, I inherited it from somebody anxious to work more traditional hours. I came on the air at midnight, stayed "live" until 0400 hours - which is Four Freakin' A.M. in the morning for the non-veterans in this reading audience. It was the middle of the night, but well after those much older and higher in rank had collapsed, sober or spirit enhanced, into bed and were sleeping soundly. My audience was young men, fueling F-4 Phantom II's, or up-loading ordinance (bombs, rockets, etc.). Most requested song of that era was Eric Burden & The Animals singing "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place". Most amusing story of that year - the censors who decided which records we were to be sent never sent us a number one song, which topped the charts for weeks. It was from the movie "The Graduate", and you'll remember it - Simon & Bullwinkle's "Mrs. Robinson". There was this lyric in there that went "Jesus loves you more than you will know".........they weren't sure if that was pro or anti religious so they punted. Well, most of us had friends back in "the World" and soon pirated copies - indeed albums from Simon & Garfunkel provided us a copy to play.

Military radio was sorta like real radio - that's a real (actually reel to reel) tape recorder in the picture. Good stuff too, AMPEX, and those are real turntables (another to my left, but not seen in the picture), and we had cart machines (an early 8 track, if you are old enough to know what an 8 track looked like) too. My work day (or night, should you wish to be accurate) was arrival at the station around 10:30 PM, with a couple of hours to drink coffee and pick records from the quite expansive library, and arrange all the "spots" (think commercials) that featured Command Information announcements. We were there to entertain, but also to inform. Remember, this was well before cell phones, texting, the Internet, Twitter and Facebook. We actually had a monopoly on the audience, and each station in Thailand (we had six bases that were not made public at the time) had it's own station, and we radiated a signal clearly enough to be heard across the base, and into the nearby town. Unless, of course you knew how to turn up the power on the transmitter after midnight, and THEN you could be receiving requests from fire bases in the Republic of Vietnam. Like I said, most of the authority figures were sound asleep while I was working with my enlisted peers, saving the world for democracy by playing decadent rock and roll. At four in the morning, everybody apparently was deemed to have had enough rock and roll, as the fighters were fueled and loaded, and the pilots were awakening to start their day over Hanoi and Haiphong Harbor, in a nasty little neighborhood called Route Pack Six. So at 04:00:00 I ended my live show, and went to the Network news on the hour. At five after, a transcribed disk (canned program) started, with another to follow at 5:00 AM. At 6:00 AM, another live show started, with the morning man Buffalo Bob Palmer. Bob lived in town, and rode to work on his motorcycle, so sometimes he'd get caught in traffic and I got to start his show with a record of MY choosing. Sorry, Buffalo

To learn more about those years, I would direct you to www.bobwertzcm.tripod.com where you'll find the home page of the American Forces Thailand Network. If that doesn't work for you, just Google AFTN Radio, you'll find it. You'll even find a picture of me and Buffalo Bob 35 years later, taken in Florida. Lots of other good stuff in there, so click on Ubon, the base in the SE corner of the country.

I did this for twelve months, but not always in Ubon - toward the end of my tour of duty I was reassigned down south to a large base at U-Tapao on the Gulf of Thailand, to help open a television station. But military television is fodder for another blog entry, as my TV career then extended into Germany.

The Missouri ROMEO's

If you're of a certain age, you know ROMEO stands for Retired Old Men Eating Out, and in the picture we're all at Denny's. To belong, you don't have to be retired, but it helps - those who have yet to "pull the pin" could retire but they're still supporting children in some cases, or not ready to spend the mornings with the wife.

We don't have a butcher, baker or candlestick maker, but we're still a diverse group. If we had anything in common, it would be love of country and concern for community. Our oldest (middle right) was a Marine in the Pacific during WW II.
He's a great guy who remembers combat and will never ride in a Japanese car. Our youngest is closest to the camera, and teaches high school (for just another two years, he says). The guys in plaid shirts allow me to join them Mondays to Thursday at Jack in the Box, but I have to wear plaid and blue jeans or they send me home to change. They're all retired, some more so than others - with our group it depends on how much you need to earn to help your kids, especially in this economy. That last guy on the right is like me - we can't decide whether we are a Floridian or Missourian, so have homes in both places. He tends to favor boating shirts, with the flap in the back - but he is always working so gets very little time on his boats. I hope to convince him to spend more leisure time, if only because I want a ride in his boat. I'm not naming names here to protect the innocent, but they're all guilty of being friends.

We came together over politics in the Wildwood, Missouri area. Wildwood is geographically huge, with 67 square miles of land, yet only 32,884 population. It is the third or fourth largest city in Missouri, and is home to 11 square miles of state and county parks, with a few city parks thrown in for good measure. The parks are nice, and the large raccoon population enjoys the smorgasbord around the trash containers. We also have a surfeit of deer - before we sold our 1/4 acre subdivision house lot, we had nine (9) of the critters eating the flowers at one time.
Being a suburb, you couldn't hunt deer (except with an SUV), so we learned not to put hosta plants where the deer could turn them into a salad bar.

When the town was formed, out of previously unincorporated County land, a number of folks were not happy with the group leading that charge. They came out from the city, and then tried to create city rules for folks living on this land for generations. I ran for office to oppose this group, and was adopted by the folks in the picture. I said we needed to think about change before rushing into it. After two successful runs for one of 16 council seats, I decided to go for Mayor and oppose the NIMBY crowd that moved in, then wanted to change everything. With the help of the ROMEO's, I prevailed and served as their Mayor from 2000 to 2004, at which time I retired from my full time (paying) job and moved to Florida. I couldn't leave completely, as I had children in the area, so we became gypsies, selling the 4 bedroom home and buying two 2-bedroom condos, one in Missouri and the other in Florida. Each summer and again during the Christmas holidays, we drive back to Missouri. I have fewer activities in Missouri, compared to Florida, but I have many friends whom I cherish and I break bread (or pancakes) each day with them.

Friends are precious, and the guys in the picture are true jewels. They make my current Missouri life a nice change of pace during the three or four months of my visits. May they all live long and prosper.

Should have named her "Hoover"

The other day I was wondering where this blog might take me, in terms of subject matter. As I'm writing it primarily for children and friends, before my memory gets worse, I wanted to pick topics that interest me.

Beagles interest me - I've had many in my life, and I remember them fondly. The current incumbent is Millie, and she's ten years old. My daughter brought her into our home a year after we had lost Lucky, and my children remembered prior dogs named Cassie and Fancy. My first beagle was Schautzie, and she jumped through a car window and into my life back in high school.

Beagles live long, generally around fifteen years, so over my adult lifetime I've been honored with the presence of five lovely bitches, who've shared my home and mostly slept in their own beds unless it was very cold during those Iowa years. I remarked that our current girl, Millie, might have better been named Hoover, as she always has her nose to the ground and is willing to suck up anything she finds there. It's also been said there's a vacuum between her ears, but that's just unkind talk - she's very smart and has me well trained.

Millie is spoiled, as once might surmise. She is the only dog I know who has her own Corvette, as we traded in our 2001 convertible for a 2004 coupe so that Millie would have a place to sit behind the driver and passenger in the "crew chief" position. She makes four 1100 mile trips each year to and from Missouri, and never has gotten carsick. Her first car trip was to visit our son at college and from those puppy years (first ride at maybe 10 weeks old) she looks forward to travel. Packing a Corvette isn't easy if you have lots to move, but Millie is priority one in terms of comfort. This Christmas I was given a tee-shirt which read "she's not my pet, I'm her human". It pretty much said it all.

From the back of the bus

Today was sort of a bus drivers holiday, where I got to sit in the audience and watch our elected Town Commissioners endure the verbal battle between the Longboat Key Club and the Islandside Property Owners Coalition. Our little slice of heaven island is democracy in action, with a heavy dose of bureaucracy thrown in for good measure. I happen to be one of nine Planning & Zoning Commission members, and we're appointed by the seven member Town Commission. At issue is a proposed $400 million revitalization of a planned development which would feature a 5-star hotel, a health spa, convention center, golf course refurbishment, and two condominium towers to pay for it all. If you wanted to read more about it, I'd suggest the website of our local Longboat Key weekly, at www.yourobserver.com. The battle features lawyers and consultants from here to the horizon, and after eight long days of discussion before MY board, now the entire brigade of high priced talent moves to Act II, playing before the Town Commission. I'm not sure anybody has scored a decisive blow, and our board voted to kick this can down the road to their board on a 5-2 vote. Our Chairperson and yours truly were absent on the final morning, but I am on the record as supporting this infusion of cash into our economy.

Our island is also in the middle of an election cycle, and with the inherent delays expected in making a decision on the Longboat Key Club proposal, it is problematic that up to three of the current sitting members won't even be there for the final vote. So, counting noses and trying to predict the direction of the wind becomes key to the proponents and the opponents. This week we have a primary runoff election in full swing (we do early voting) to determine which two of three candidates will face off later in the month. The Commission, following the concept of a quasi-judicial hearing format, has their hands tied and cannot in any fairness discuss the plan outside of a fully-in-the-sunshine public hearing. I'm pretty good at counting noses, but this one even evades my practiced eye. As there were several "no" votes on my board, I'm sure there will be a couple on the "big" board, and all it takes to torpedo the plan would be four votes. If the plan passes, a lawsuit will surely follow from the losing side. As a student of the process, I find this entertaining, but I suspect very few others do.

Hello:

I'm the guy in the tux, and this was the day of my daughter's wedding. The pretty girl is my wife of 38 years, and we live in two worlds - Missouri and Florida. I call Florida home, but she thinks of Missouri when she says "home". Ultimately, home for me tends to be wherever the Corvette is parked with the dog asleep in a corner. We both carry Florida drivers licenses, where no state income tax makes the pension go furthest.

This blog thing is an experiment, and we'll see how it goes. It could be literary genius, but I suspect not. It might be funny, that that of course is up to the audience. It will generally be true, however occasionally the names may be changed to protect the guilty, should any statute of limitations get in the way. This may also be the only chance to see my dear wife's image, as she objects to being seen on the Internet. In future postings, when I refer to my wife just think of somebody else, like Morgan Fairchild. Yeah, Morgan Fairchild, that's the ticket.

Since I'm also pretty much a computer challenged fellow, it may not always look professional, but bear with me. I promise to get better as we go along. Till then......