Tagged: creative writing

Knowledge Is Irresistible; It Defies Rebellion

Come close, ya stiff-necked supercargo. This one is important. This is a story about laundry. It is a story about power. It is the story of knowledge.

It may come as a surprise that pilots, especially military pilots or their veteran counterparts like me, spend many nights of each year in sleeping bags. As an Eagle Scout who knows the true value of a quality sleeping bag, I remember being very proud when I heard that our deployed commander used one instead of sheets while in Iraq. You see, I was no longer alone. To this day, I spend about 1/4 of the year’s nights in a sleeping bag—not including camping trips.

Naturally, this level of commitment leads to the need to wash a sleeping bag, and wash it with more regularity than your own sleeping bag laundering habits have ever included. In fact, you’re likely thinking this very moment, “Where is my sleeping bag?”

Washing a sleeping bag is an adventure of its own. Not just the washing, but the drying as well. For any ground-pounding, civilian pukes who never have spent a night under the stars (let’s not forget the boldly illiterate hippie camping community), there is a tag right on the bag that says, “Only dry in commercial dryers” or some similar wording that forbids the pilot from his perfect dream of living as an island.

(I have laundered my sleeping bag(s) many times at home and never had a problem. This post is not about rule-following.)

So the other day, despite both cars revealing mechanical issues almost simultaneously, I learned at night that the dryer stopped heating. (LORD? You watchin’?) It made the same noises and tumbled as surely as any other day—even longer when on the “automatic” setting; but the clothes wouldn’t dry. I tracked down that they weren’t getting warm either.

Enter YouTube.

There were two probable issues. One was that a thermal fuse on the heating element had tripped/blown. The other was the heating element itself had broken.

I tracked down an appliance parts guru in town who loved to chat on the phone and he assured me it was the fuse. But I forced him to concede it was worth ordering both just in case his foresight proved dim. During this back-and-forth, he said something like, “It’s all about airflow. The air has to blow the heat from the heating element into the dryer and then that air has to find its way past the clothes, past the lint trap, and through the vent all the way to the outside world. If any part of that path is blocked, the heat will remain and eventually blow the fuse. You may never know why the path got blocked. Could be stray article of clothes got caught in the wrong spot or maybe someone washed too big a comforter. But it’s all about the air.”

Fasten your seatbelts.

“Only dry in a commercial dryer,” the tag reads. Any warm-blooded human says, “Huh?” And we proceed to rebel and possibly damage the dryer.

But…

“It’s all about airflow. If the sleeping bag blocks the incoming heat, the fuse will blow—which is annoying. If the fuse doesn’t blow, the heating element could potentially overheat and cause a fire—lots of variables in that one,” the facts are. And any warm-blooded human says, “Okay.” And then assesses the risks and gets on with their decision.

The passive, uninformed warning fosters rebellion, and well it should. Instinct informs us to demand respect! “Don’t boss me! You have my attention. Now treat me like a man!”

But the knowledge is irresistible and fosters sound judgment and good decision making. “Hmm. Good to know. I’ve dried many things of similar size in this machine and so I’ll risk it.” Or whatever.

What is knowledge? Knowledge is irresistible. It defies rebellion.

Go get some.

PS – It was the heating element. And Speed Queen dryers are super easy to work on—should they not live up to their name.

PPS – Yes, I have gone back to the original name of my blog. I do want to use the fact that I stare down death for a living to get your attention. Whether I can keep it is the thrill.

My Not-Unanticipated Gloat Text To My Family

I haven’t shared too much directly personal content of late, but for the bigger point, here is the text I fired off to my immediate family (my folks and my siblings and their spouses, only one couple being Harris supporters). I do not believe anyone but my mom or dad will have read it. And I generally only experience glee when picturing my brother-in-law smiling as he reads what he would never say.

After the text I have addd here some much needed commentary—as no one but me seems to enjoy taking writing at face value and thinking about what it means and doesn’t mean.

****

I’ll keep this absolutely predictable text short:

S-. H-.

Gotcha!!

Like you, I feel like the biggest “soul interrogation” just ended and you two failed. Racism (BIPOC are not better), sexism (women are not better), and communism (theft is not better) are evil. And you both have to live with the fact that you voted according to them (and, in spite of at least superficially agreeing with me and being surrounded by people who also agree).

Fear not! It’s beautiful, in a way. That is, it is truly a powerful (think sunrise 🌅 , not democrat machine’s gun-to-head) moment, if you approach this “lived experience” from the twin Biblical perspectives of divine patience and grace, as offered by the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

The maker and sustainer of the universe has given you more time to repent. Be happy. Consider it.

I, for my part, thank the LORD and will think of you before all others whenever I see a rainbow or cloth representation of a rainbow’s colors going forward and am inescapably reminded of patience.

****

Notice I didn’t say anything about Trump. Do you see? Not one thing was about Trump. This is for many reasons, all equally as noble as the true thrust of the text.

Firstly, I didn’t vote for him, so “my guy” didn’t win. My problem with dems has never been that they didn’t support “my guy” or “Trump.” My problem with dems is their support of evil.

Secondly, and more importantly, nobody voted for Trump because he is a man, or because he is white, or because he is old. Naturally this is hyperbole—I cannot know for certain that those DEI features were ignored by all his voters. But I can say that anyone who did cast such a shamefully-reasoned vote would never admit it. This is also hyperbole. But not hyperbole is the following: any racist, sexist, and ageist voters for Trump had no influence on the contest. And more specifically, I know my Trump-voting family members voted for him for his policies or humor or record or simple hope that his MAGA slogan is his earnest hope and plan.

Lastly, Kamala Harris is so empty, so devoid of reason, so obviously puppeteered that it is impossible for me to be wrong that her voters were voting with evil intent. Besides the manifest logical truth of this claim (you can’t reasonably vote for someone who isn’t for at least one thing), the Harris voters’ own silence on any non-DEI (evil) reasons for their vote is impossible to ignore. 66,000,000+ citizens voted with race, sex, age, theft, and lies as their motivation. 71,000,000+ voted with, at their core, hope as their motivation.

They hoped he wants America to be great again. They hoped he knew he was fibbing all the time he lies. They hoped he wouldn’t put himself before America.

Now we wait.

Sleep, Sleeper

If I could change one aspect of modernity, it would be to un-invent the clock. I know, I know, it wouldn’t work. Modernity needs the clock like fish need water. But living by a clock has always felt unnatural to me. Most unnatural is the idea of waking up because of “what time” it is. Sleep, I say.

Running right alongside my fantasy is that I hate waking people up, no matter what time the clock says it is. I feel that I have done my small part in increasing happiness for my fellow man if I help keep people asleep. Specifically, I do everything in my power to keep babies, toddlers, and children asleep. This sleep benevolence of mine extends also to spouses and family members and house guests in general. If I am at work and someone is sleeping, I tip-toe away and do whatever is in my power to not wake them.

I cannot recall the last time I caused or allowed (or let pass without strong rebuke, for that matter) a sharp noise to be sounded while someone was sleeping.

I do confess there are moments where my posture towards sleep is more difficult, perhaps impossible, to maintain. When H- was small, we went to the symphony together and she would fall asleep despite the racket. At the end, I couldn’t just close the place down as she slept. So I woke her.

On Sundays, the black baptists run long as a rule. J- often finds the padded pew similar enough to a bed. I cannot just allow him to sleep as they come to the conclusion of the whole matter. Life must go on.

But I ask you, dear reader, what about when I show up to H-’s orchestra concert only to be carefully ignored by her? What if H- plans a trip to visit my parents and siblings (her grandparents and aunts and uncles) and is sure to confirm that I do not have a coordinated surprise visit in mind before boarding?

What then? Should I let H- sleep? Should my family let H- sleep?

H- is told the worst kind of lies by her mom, her mom’s parents, her step-dad, and his parents, and my parents, my siblings, and—unless I miss my mark—the entire fucking population of this great country have decided to let her sleep.

H- is living a lie.

She doesn’t know it, but she has been kidnapped.

She doesn’t know it, but her dad is robbed monthly and has been for 12+ years.

She doesn’t know it, but she would not have a roof over her head, food in her belly, or a pot to piss in, if it wasn’t for me.

She doesn’t know it, because she sleeps.

Should I wake her?

Nahhh. Let her sleep.

Sleep, Sleeper.

Much Ado About Guns, Much Ado About Safety, Much Ado About First Responders

“As a veteran military interrogator…”

“From an ER nurse married to an LEO…”

“As a retired sheriff’s deputy…”

“As a physician…”

“As a retired federal agent…”

Dear Reader, care to make a guess as to the title or content of the YouTube video which had such opening lines to the comments?

****

Last week was a busy week for me.

For a myriad of reasons, we just don’t fly as much at night, so most of my night hitches grow long and I run out of things to do. Sure, I read diligently. You remember I dabble in learning ASL. I exercise. But if you are able to rest all night and then have 12hrs before work, that is a lot of time to fill.

With that in mind, I had resolved a while ago to get my concealed carry permit again (I had one while active duty, but never kept it when I moved). Rather than take up time when home with the kids, I figured, “Why not find some training while away at work?” So I did.

I had the training scheduled for last Fri/Sat. It made for a bit of stress, because Thursday night and Friday night now became “I hope we don’t fly” instead of “Let’s see what the shift brings.” But it was a good plan.

Then the school shooting happened. This go-around, the unique part was that the kid was already known to be uncommon, to put it mildly. For all the talk about guns, this fact was the most depressing to me because it makes one feel the most helpless. We simply are not safe.

Then I had some time at the beginning of a shift to catch up on any company mandated CBT and saw that I had to do the annual “workplace violence” one before October. So I did it.

To summarize the week thus far, I knew I had concealed carry training (implies self-defense on the brain), there was a school shooting (I have two high schoolers), the shooter was known beforehand to law enforcement (we are not safe), and even at work I had to contemplate how to survive, as a first responder, to any violence while responding to a scene of violence.

That was all before Friday and the first part of the concealed carry training.

Sidebar: There is an actual shooting/accuracy test to the training, and I hadn’t shot in over a decade, so I was a bit nervous. I reviewed some videos which seemed to have good authority and called to mind what the Air Force had taught me. Suffice it to say, I will never watch another. Nor will I ever “train” or consider “training” as anything other than live fire. The recoil and overall physicality endured while firing a weapon cannot be replicated by any amount of anything. This is different from flying, for example, and many other activities in which simulation is highly beneficial. I’m writing this more for me than you, but if you don’t shoot much and have fallen prey to YouTube charisma, then feel free to use this confession to motivate you to get off your duff and go to the range.

Back to the main point of this post.

While in the training, we learned about a concept that I had never considered before (or heard of): insurance for the legal aftermath of “self-defense” shootings. It seemed like a reasonable concept/product and I was about to purchase it.

Then today I was introduced to the fine print and dissuaded from ever purchasing such insurance, in favor of hiring an attorney on retainer. (I am not sure if that is the proper language, but you get my point.)

Then while down that rabbit hole, I discovered the rather unique video which garnered the comments above. Without further ado, the video was a recommendation (which I have taken to heart) to always have the police take you to the hospital after a shooting. Reasons given ranged from strategic, to physical, to financial. But what struck me was the overkill of “appeal to expertise” or “ethos” (recall from Aristotle “logos, pathos, ethos”) in the supportive YT comments. First responders and others in similar positions at hospitals etc certainly have a thankless job. What else can be the reason they so nakedly want respect?

In the end, I am a dad, not a warrior, not a gunslinger. America is a safe place to live and work. First responders are as guilty for their attitudes as the thankless public. And I will be happy for a nice break, and some camping in the mountains with the kids in two days.

****

So did you guess correctly? Let me know in the comments.

After Driving for 4 Hours with Them On, Merrell Moab 3 Shoes Are Amazing

I wouldn’t normally judge shoes based on non-use, but I do a lot of sitting as a rule. So why not judge them in their environment?

Truth be told, I inserted my Red Wings $60 insole as soon as I took them out of the box. (What’s another $60 towards Red Wing when spending $250? Wouldn’t want to discover the $250 isn’t comfortable, would ya?)

Anyhow, these Merrell Moab 3’s are amazingly comfortable for driving. Like slippers but an added assurance of stability.

Reaction to Today’s Obituaries

In this version of a recuring theme, I want to call your attention to each person’s “best”.

I mean that in each obituary there is usually one truth which sneaks past the editor, one ridiculous claim that isn’t about the deceased—but the writer. Some, if we’re lucky, have more than one.

****

“Among his many achievements were a state basketball championship at G- High School and a state football championship at W- High School.”

-unnnnnnfortunately, you can’t take it with you.

“He and his family also spent summers growing gladiola for sale to commercial florists and at farmers markets in (city).”

-must’ve been some flowers for commercial florists to take notice.

“She was the beautiful blonde cheerleader and [her husband, E-], the handsome basketball star.” And, “She studied His Holy Word and lived in His Way always.”

-pretty much everything a little tow head girl could ask for in life, no?

“Beginning in 1982 they lived in homes in (city) that P- spent his time improving, until 1977.”

-wish I knew him!

“He was a voracious reader; reading every book in the public library during his elementary and high school years.”

-middle school must’ve been when he experimented with hard drugs though obviously he ultimately decided against the practice.

“Following an intense loss at the B- Invitational Golf Tournament, he decided against a professional golf career.”

-Oh. Interesting. So that’s why. Hmm. Quitter.

(Same man) “He was open-minded and did not see distinctions of class, education, or wealth.”

-lots of Black friends probably.

“They specialized in high quality and custom hardwood lumber for the local building industry.”

-too bad commercial buyers weren’t interested. That would’ve been something to write about.

“C- strived for morality and enjoyed the unique qualities of everyone she met.”

-is that how pro-lifers are described today?

“J- poured his heart and love of writing into this book which can be found on http://www.amazon.com.”

-slow down. Was that three double-u’s or four?

“In 1972, she graduated valedictorian from S- high school.”

-set. For. Life.

“A beautiful woman of deep faith and exceptional grace, she excelled in many endeavors in her life.”

-what can I say? Rotator cuff injury took me out in 8th grade. Downhill from there.

(Same lady.) “At the time of her selection (three years ahead of her peers) she was one of the youngest officers in the Air Force selected for promotion to full colonel.”

-no comment

(One more from this David-hearted mortal.) “L- lived the life that she wanted to have.”

-lucky!!

“S- was an astute businesswoman who helped build a successful business that still exists today.”

-ahh. Finally. In the only meaningful sense of the word, one lucky dead woman found happiness. Or as Aristotle called it, “Eudaimonia.” Flourishing.

****

As always, reader, please do better. Please take life seriously. Please do not write this crap about your loved ones. If you need help, comment. Or email me. I would be happy to help you tell the truth.

The Level My Grandma and Brother Are Complicit

The level my grandma and brother (her a democrat and he a smarty-pants lefty) are complicit in the attempted assassination is directly related to how they defend President Biden’s response to Mr. Holt.

Headlines across news outlets use the words “Biden”, “Mistake”, and “Bullseye” in close proximity and suggest the president admitted erring. But here is the transcript.

****

Biden: “I didn’t say crosshairs (inaudible) focus on look the truth of the matter was I guess what I was talking about at the time was there’s very little focus on Trump’s agenda-”

Holt: “-Yeah the term was bullseye.”

Biden: “It was a mistake to use the word I didn’t mean I didn’t say crosshairs I meant bullseye I meant focus on him focus on what he is doing…”

****

(That took an inordinate amount of effort to transcribe, btw. You’re welcome.)

The question remains. What do my grandma and my brother do with this?

How they speak of it determines as accurately as any other measure we could develop how complicit they are. The range being

1. NOT competent to stand trial and NOT complicit. This would be the case if they change the subject and unashamedly suggest they had no idea guns existed, let alone would be used on any one of the several billion good-to-the-core fellow men.

2. Competent to stand trial and complicit. They are complicit according to their level of earnestly believing it is not their role to monitor Pennsylvanian young adults’ or elected officials’ integrity. Make no mistake, this option is the more depressed one, at least to those of us happy-go-lucky bible readers and our “Am I my brother’s keeper?” story. This second option would be the case if they actually attempt an on-point answer, but its content indicates they will never concede that Biden did not admit erring.

Reaction to a Couple Obituaries, to Include the First Ever (for this blog) Mildly Approved Sentiment

“(Person) loved his family and he spent his life in service of their welfare and happiness. Most recently, he found great joy in being a grandfather, investing an enormous amount of time and love doting on his dearest (two named grandsons). He also cared deeply for the larger community around him.”

– What is being hidden here? A “lifetime in service of their welfare and happiness”? That kind of lie can only mean bitter, bitter relationships and it also evinces a total misunderstanding of language. Sorry, it was rough being in his family folks, but a few words in the Sunday paper after he’s dead is not going to “manifest” anything pretty, let alone reach back into the past and fix the issues. And why is it wrong to pick out one or two people (from the billions) to love? Ever since whites learned the power of the phrase “black community”, they feel guilty if they don’t use part or all of it during supposedly momentous occasions. Just stop. We don’t live as members of some group which needs fancy and false descriptors any different than T-Rex or George Washington did.

****

Onto the first ever approved, if mildly, obituary assertion.

“He got a black lab puppy last year in April named Oslo. She was the best thing that had happen to him in quite some time. He never went anywhere without her, and they spent hours every day playing fetch with the tennis ball. He loved telling jokes and always had a smile on his face, despite away being described as grumpy ass sometimes.”

– What makes these sentiments worthy is they are fearless. Do you see? This dude lived a kinda shitty life (if a dog is the best thing to happen to you, then you’re having a “sour go”). I love the use of “tennis” to describe the ball—like anyone really cares what kind of ball it was. So quaint. I could do without the “ass”, and I wonder why no “air quotes” around “grumpy ass”, but the beauty is that whoever wrote this had some respect for the dead. I repeat: whoever wrote this respected this man. And the dead man obviously had threatened, or lived in a way which threatened, haunting whoever lied about him after his death.

So good work. This pairing of deceased and writer can teach us all a thing or two.

America’s Husband 2, Plus Bonus Coverage of Ongoing Kidnapped Daughter Drama

A constant dripping on a day of steady rain And a contentious woman are alike; He who would restrain her restrains the wind, And grasps oil with his right hand. -The Bible

“Sling a paddle with the next and starve as contentedly as Job. Go for’ard when the sloop’s nose was more often under than not, and take in sail like a man. Went prospecting once, up Teslin way, past Surprise Lake and the Little Yellow-Head. Grub gave out, and we ate the dogs. Dogs gave out, and we ate harnesses, moccasins, and furs. Never a whimper; never a pick-me-up-and-carry-me. Before we went she said to look out for grub, but when it happened, never a I-told-you-so.” -Jack London

Holy Writ accounts for the italics para about nagging wives. But what can be said about Jack London’s fantasy blurb from his short “Siwash”? Is it not the Proverb we all believe to be the Word of God simply put in the positive?

In the ongoing arguments with the wife, I throw out, “Why doesn’t scripture warn wives about nagging husbands? Did the LORD forget that? Is it because he is sexist? I think there are more difficult issue within Scripture than what it would mean to suggest that maybe He legitimately forgot. I’d run with that.

In any case, it’s a conundrum to nagging Christian wives.

****

I have mentioned that nearly everything reminds me of my kidnapped daughter. Well, this summer I’m back in Colorado. Trying to get back into regular contact with H- was primary goal, but others include the mountains. As such, I have been doing inventory on the camping gear as A-, J-, and I are going to hit the campgrounds soon. In so doing, I discovered—of all things—toothbrushes and toothpaste from the last time I went camping. And that would’ve been with H- some 6+ years ago. Sad.

Anyhow, the other kids and I are having our own fun in the mountains and I can only hope suicidal social media and general neglect isn’t taking it’s toll on H- as she is taught about how to normalize darkness by her mother. I only know she is alive because she hangs up rather than lets the calls ring through to vm. I probably should be grateful.

Here I just want to capture one undeniable fact: as her dad, I never did, have, or would’ve kept H- from her mother.

I feel shitty on the regular because I know I should’ve never married H-’s mom. It’s not a good feeling. But what to do? Best I can come up with is try to warn others.

Boys: Don’t marry whores. Just don’t do it. Nothing to do with scripture. Not talking true love waits. Just don’t marry whores. Take it from ol’ Pete.