Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Guest Appearance
The Kid is making a guest appearance over at the Stutts' place alongside the always adorable Julianna. 'Twas an absolute overload of cute.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Sad News
I was a bit saddened to read this headline today:
Former ABC News reporter McWethy dies in ski accident
I never met John McWethy, but my father did. Back in late 1981, a Soviet Whiskey-class submarine ran aground in Sweden. I'll spare you the details of the incident, since they're available here thanks to the wonder of the intartubes.
While covering the story, ABC News' Nightline producers wanted to do a piece on how the U.S. Navy hunted Russian subs. They called the Pentagon, who promptly dispatched a P-3 to Andrews AFB to pick up McWethy and a camera crew to show them how we did (do) it.
My dad was the pilot of that P-3. The show aired late that night, and we all stayed up late to watch. As an 11 year-old boy, seeing my dad actually fly was one of the coolest things I ever. Sure, I'd been to the base and the hangar where he worked, but never got to see him actually do his job until that point. It's hard to have a "take your kid to work day" when your office is at 200 feet over the North Atlantic.
Former ABC News reporter McWethy dies in ski accident
I never met John McWethy, but my father did. Back in late 1981, a Soviet Whiskey-class submarine ran aground in Sweden. I'll spare you the details of the incident, since they're available here thanks to the wonder of the intartubes.
While covering the story, ABC News' Nightline producers wanted to do a piece on how the U.S. Navy hunted Russian subs. They called the Pentagon, who promptly dispatched a P-3 to Andrews AFB to pick up McWethy and a camera crew to show them how we did (do) it.
My dad was the pilot of that P-3. The show aired late that night, and we all stayed up late to watch. As an 11 year-old boy, seeing my dad actually fly was one of the coolest things I ever. Sure, I'd been to the base and the hangar where he worked, but never got to see him actually do his job until that point. It's hard to have a "take your kid to work day" when your office is at 200 feet over the North Atlantic.
We couldn't record it, since VCRs were running about $1000 a pop back then (about $2500 in today's dollars). A bit more than a luxury when you consider there were only 4 channels' worth or programming to record.
It wasn't until I was looking for a retirement present for my father in 1991 that I thought to order a tape from ABC's archives. Dad is in now the process of converting some old video tapes to digital format, so maybe one day soon I'll post a clip from the show. Funny to think that when that was filmed in 1981, my father was the same age I am now.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Unsung Heros
It's that time again. Time for my "one weekend a month". Doesn't seem like much, but it can be sometimes.
Now, I'm not exactly out there saving the world on weekends like this. I'm not handling deadly weapons, and aside from the drive in, no one is in any danger from any mistake I make.
It does, however, require me to be at least semi-alert, and as an officer, I have to set an example. Punctuality counts in this business. So does attitude.
Punctuality and alertness are sometimes hard when you have a 9 month old in the house. Even harder when she's teething. Especially when she's teething.
Throughout Saturday night, the Kid woke up either twice or thrice. My memory is a tad fuzzy. Knowing that Sunday was another work day for me, my beloved bride got up each time, did that mom voodoo that she does to calm the Kid.
Not once did she (or has she) given me the "you know, you can help too" look. Trust me, I know that look. Been getting it since before the baby, and has always been deserved.
To paraphrase an immortal question:
"Where do we get such women?"
Now, I'm not exactly out there saving the world on weekends like this. I'm not handling deadly weapons, and aside from the drive in, no one is in any danger from any mistake I make.
It does, however, require me to be at least semi-alert, and as an officer, I have to set an example. Punctuality counts in this business. So does attitude.
Punctuality and alertness are sometimes hard when you have a 9 month old in the house. Even harder when she's teething. Especially when she's teething.
Throughout Saturday night, the Kid woke up either twice or thrice. My memory is a tad fuzzy. Knowing that Sunday was another work day for me, my beloved bride got up each time, did that mom voodoo that she does to calm the Kid.
Not once did she (or has she) given me the "you know, you can help too" look. Trust me, I know that look. Been getting it since before the baby, and has always been deserved.
To paraphrase an immortal question:
"Where do we get such women?"
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
First Pizza
The Kid got in touch with her Sicilian heritage on Saturday, by gumming her first little bit of pizza crust. My parents came up to see us this weekend, and a good time was had by all. Having lived in Naples for a bit as a kid, I can still remember the taste of the pizza there. This stuff was pretty close.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
CSI: Annapolis
So, It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry 'bout that. Work has been as more hectic than ever, so between that, the kid, and all of the things that are required to make it through life, something had to give. 
Anyway, on Thursday last, I was minding my own business when my cell phone rang during my afternoon commute. I was getting to a really good part in the book I am reading, so I let it go to voicemail.
I listened to the message as soon as I got off the train, and it went something like this:
"Hi sweetie, it's me. We're in the emergency room..."
Did your heart skip a beat there? Mine did.
"... everything's OK. Mrs. Adeodatus cut her hand pretty good on a champagne bottle, so we're getting it stitched." Apparently, the Wife had a rough day, and Mrs. Adeodatus thought a glass of sparkling wine would make things a bit better. Opening the bottle proved a bit more troublesome than they'd hoped, and the resulting attempt to open it by tapping it lightly on the concrete patio resulted in a rather explosive release of the potable from its container. Since Adeodatus hisself was in class that evening, it was up to the Wife to get her to the ER. Certainly made the day more memorable...
I called her back and confirmed the logistics of picking up the Kid from daycare (the carseat doesn't exactly fit in the MINI), and returned home to the crime scene.
Blood spatter analysis confirmed the story. No foul play. Evidence follows:
After the stitches and a tetanus shot (ow!), all was back where it should be, and the three of us finally got to the drinks we'd been waiting for. Some pasta for dinner accompanied by a gin & tonic was just the thing we needed.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Taking the Waters
That’s what they used to call it back in the day. Urban socialites would pack up and head for the wilderness to soak in the healative mineral waters to be found there.
The Wife and I (along with another couple) packed up and went to the Greenbrier Resort for the weekend. It was a welcome get-away, if even for such a short time.
Where was the Kid, you ask? Need you be concerned? Decidedly not, for my Mother-in-law arrived on Thursday last in order to prepare for a whole weekend of nothing but granddaughter, 24x7. Rarely have I seen either of them quite as happy as they were when we left on Saturday morning.
The drive to West Virginia was a trip back in time for me, as our route there took us past the ivied walls of my alma mater, which I have not visited in nigh-on 15 years. In fact, it was 20 years ago this coming August when I was let loose onto the unsuspecting campus. Hazy memories, those. Befogged by the mists of time along with the effects of the social lubricants that were free-flowing at most of our collegiate events. We were a merry band of fools. So young and so unafraid.
Anywhoo, I quite enjoyed the resort. It is not exactly the “high season”, so it was not particularly crowded. The resort itself was part Dirty Dancing, part Great Gatsby, and part The Shining. With a dash of Titanic. The food was impeccable, and apparently lacking anything else to do, the staff was more attentive than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Dinner was preceded by cocktails at the bar. It being winter, I opted for a drink on the darker side of my usual gin and tonic. A Mint Julep did quite nicely. Dinner was accompanied by a delightfully dry champagne (it being one of our companions’ birthday) as well as a playful red from Australia’s Barossa Valley. Dinner was followed by yet more time at the bar. This time, 12 year old single malt was what the doctor ordered. At least that’s what they would have ordered, had there been one with us. A few frames at the in-house bowling alley followed, along with yet more cocktails. It was a late night, and I am no longer so young a man as to do this sort of thing with any great frequency without physiological penalty.
Day 2 was spa day.
***WARNING – For those of you who prefer to think of military members as Ramboesque types who prefer to cauterize their wounds with gunpowder, stop reading now. It may shatter your illusions.***
An 18 minute soak in the 103 degree sulfur waters followed by another 5 in the steam room was needed in order to sweat out the toxins from the night before. A Scotch Shower was next, along with a strange sort of fire-hose spray-down that I’m sure the Geneva Conventions specifically prohibit. The massage made up for that. Lastly, I treated my near-perfect feet to a pedicure in order to bring them even closer (if that was possible) to a state of flawlessness rarely achieved by those who walk among mere mortals.
The last item on our itinerary was a tour of the famed “Bunker”, secretly built under the resort during the Cold War in order to house Congress in the event the Soviets dropping the “Big One”. Fascinating stuff, but I felt my age when the guide felt the need to explain to us what the “Cold War” was.
We then loaded up the car and pointed northeast, headed for home. The Kid was happy to see us when we arrived. That made me glad beyond words.
The Wife and I (along with another couple) packed up and went to the Greenbrier Resort for the weekend. It was a welcome get-away, if even for such a short time.
Where was the Kid, you ask? Need you be concerned? Decidedly not, for my Mother-in-law arrived on Thursday last in order to prepare for a whole weekend of nothing but granddaughter, 24x7. Rarely have I seen either of them quite as happy as they were when we left on Saturday morning.
The drive to West Virginia was a trip back in time for me, as our route there took us past the ivied walls of my alma mater, which I have not visited in nigh-on 15 years. In fact, it was 20 years ago this coming August when I was let loose onto the unsuspecting campus. Hazy memories, those. Befogged by the mists of time along with the effects of the social lubricants that were free-flowing at most of our collegiate events. We were a merry band of fools. So young and so unafraid.
Anywhoo, I quite enjoyed the resort. It is not exactly the “high season”, so it was not particularly crowded. The resort itself was part Dirty Dancing, part Great Gatsby, and part The Shining. With a dash of Titanic. The food was impeccable, and apparently lacking anything else to do, the staff was more attentive than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Dinner was preceded by cocktails at the bar. It being winter, I opted for a drink on the darker side of my usual gin and tonic. A Mint Julep did quite nicely. Dinner was accompanied by a delightfully dry champagne (it being one of our companions’ birthday) as well as a playful red from Australia’s Barossa Valley. Dinner was followed by yet more time at the bar. This time, 12 year old single malt was what the doctor ordered. At least that’s what they would have ordered, had there been one with us. A few frames at the in-house bowling alley followed, along with yet more cocktails. It was a late night, and I am no longer so young a man as to do this sort of thing with any great frequency without physiological penalty.
Day 2 was spa day.
***WARNING – For those of you who prefer to think of military members as Ramboesque types who prefer to cauterize their wounds with gunpowder, stop reading now. It may shatter your illusions.***
An 18 minute soak in the 103 degree sulfur waters followed by another 5 in the steam room was needed in order to sweat out the toxins from the night before. A Scotch Shower was next, along with a strange sort of fire-hose spray-down that I’m sure the Geneva Conventions specifically prohibit. The massage made up for that. Lastly, I treated my near-perfect feet to a pedicure in order to bring them even closer (if that was possible) to a state of flawlessness rarely achieved by those who walk among mere mortals.
The last item on our itinerary was a tour of the famed “Bunker”, secretly built under the resort during the Cold War in order to house Congress in the event the Soviets dropping the “Big One”. Fascinating stuff, but I felt my age when the guide felt the need to explain to us what the “Cold War” was.
We then loaded up the car and pointed northeast, headed for home. The Kid was happy to see us when we arrived. That made me glad beyond words.
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