Planting Season

Spring has arrived in force here at Paradise on the Severn. There should be a picture of today in the illustrated dictionary next to the entry for "ludicrously beautiful day". 75 degrees and perfectly clear sky can only mean one thing: Planting Season has begun.

The Wife went to the local purveyor of botanical bounty whilst The Kid tried to take her morning nap, to return with a metric butt-load* of mulch and some stuff to put in the ground so as to beautify and aromafy our little slice of heaven. I donned my work duds to make sure I was properly protected from the elements both floral and meteorological, and we began.

The two of us did some grunt work in the front of the house and then moved to the back in order to get some more pre-planting prep work done.

I got to use one of my super powers** to clean up the woods in the back, but with great power comes great responsibility. Once my task was complete, I was as untouchable as Rogue until I cleaned myself up.

Once The Kid joined us, the planting was enjoined in earnest. We planted an assortment of flowers, along with herbs for to cook with. Fresh is always better when it comes to such things, and it's even better when you have to work for it. Despite her not-so-advanced age, The Kid was most helpful. She helped dig holes for Mommy and had a ball with the mulch spreading. The three of us were quite a team indeed.



The day was not without injuries, as yours truly suffered literally hundreds of small wounds from the several holly bushes in the front of the house. Despite the long sleeves, I was rather beat up once I was done.



Don't worry, tho. I'm trained to withstand this kind of pain. Your tax dollars at work and all.

I know what you're thinking; where are the pictures of this beautiful work you did? Well, plants are not really into the whole gotta-have-it-now thing. It will take some time before we can enjoy the basil, parsley, tarragon. All in good thyme. Get it?!?

*Unit of measurement. Take an imperial butt-load, double it, and add 32.
** I'm not allergic to Poison Ivy. That and $3.50 will get me a latte.

Weapons Release is Authorized

Those who know me know that I'm a bit of an aviation buff. Never flown anything, but I have read just about everything written about both military and civilian aviation.

From everything I've read, there is a special point in the career of a military combat pilot. Namely, the first time a pilot gets to release actual, no-kidding, live ordinance onto a target.

A pull of the trigger and there's a THUNK, WHOOSH, or BRAAAAAP, depending on what you're trying to do. Weaponeering can be amazingly tedious, so I won't bore you with that.

Anyway, it is not a simulation, but a real actual weapon homing in and (hopefully) hitting the target with the desired effect. Assuming you've taken all of the variables into account. There's a lot to do to get to that point.

You: Ahem. I don't come here to read this type of thing. That's what Lex is for.

Me: I know. I'm getting to it.

Last night I was playing with The Kid and she (being almost 2) did something she knew was wrong and had been warned about previously.

Master Arm; on. The pickle is hot.

"OK. That's it. Go to your room." Bombs away!

Sounded just like a Dad.

For the record, she was not happy about the my decision. She spent the next few minutes telling The Wife and me that she was "In trouble [with] Daddy."

BDA is tonight to see if she does the same thing again. I'm hoping a re-strike won't be necessary. I want to do that as little as possible while still achieving all our strategic (and tactical) objectives.

How much is enough?

For those of you expecting an essay on corporate greed, the merits of executive compensation and bonuses funded by you, the taxpayer, I regret to inform you that this will not be the place.

Hurts my brain to think about such things.

I'm-a gonna talk about fish. The raw kind. You know, sushi.

6 people for dinner. How much to get?


All of it, apparently. For those of you thinking that you might want to go fishing this weekend, we sincerely apologize for eating all of the fish in the Atlantic Ocean.

A good time was had by all. A rousing game of Cranium followed dinner, along with an impromptu discussion of non-Keplarian motion facilitaed by yours truly. That in turn led to a debate on the economic merits and pitfalls of fusion power. Free electricity? Maybe.

Gotta run, the Spinach and Gruyere strata is ready to come out of the oven. Mmmmmm.

Cornering the Market

Funny things happen when you have kids. You tend to get a bit scatterbrained on occasion.

Things you should probably remember are quickly forgotten.

Specifically, why are we attempting to corner the market on Seasoned Salt?

Is this the beginning of some James Bond arch villain plot to hold the cooking world for ransom?

All these containers are more than 3/4 full, and currently reside in our spice cabinet.

Step 1: Get Seasoned Salt

Step 2:

Step 3: Profit

A Few Pics

Sorry for the light posting, but been busy with life and all.

Here are some pics from the trip to the UK.



First up is a shot of yours truly with a shipmate I have known and served with for 10 years. This was our first time we have had the opportunity to go on AT together.



Next is the obligatory shot proving that I was actually in England, not just some bar somewhere. This is one of the few known photos of me in the UK where I am not holding a beer in one hand.



Another pub, another pint.



Covent Garden. Another pint and the sun glinting off my giant forehead.



This is the ceiling of the RAF Bar at the Eagle Pub in Cambridge. This particular watering hole was frequented by American servicemen (primarily USAAF) during WWII. Some of the crewmembers took it upon themselves to leave their names behind in a rather unique way; by writing their names in smoke using matches and lighters. Although I can't confirm it, word is that this is not the original ceiling, but rather a large-format photograph of the original.

Note: I was probably holding a beer when I took this picture.



Update: Sure enough. Beer in hand. Looks like an Old Abbot or perhaps Old Speckled Hen



This is the parish church in Molesworth. This part of England is dotted with small villages and hamlets, each with a church pretty much exactly like this one. I included this one because a) we drove by it every day, and b) it has a bit of interesting history.

If you look closely at the top of the steeple, you'll notice that the stone changes color near the very top. This church is about a mile away from what was a B-17 base during the war. The story is that a B-17 clipped the steeple when landing in bad weather.

The best part about the trip was the return home.

The Wife and The Kid met me at the airport, which was pretty special. As soon as I walked through the doorway to the arrivals area, The Kid screamed "DADDDDDDIIIIEEEEEE!" at the top of her lungs and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. She ran into me like a linebacker, threw her arms around my neck and hugged me longer than she ever has before. The Wife had the camera with her, but couldn't get it out in time. No matter. The pictures wouldn't do the moment justice anyway. They never do.

February 5th???

Really, February 5th? I gotta get better at updating this.

So, everyone is back to what passes for normal in our house, which is a nice change of pace.

I've been a bit busy with work lately, and prepping for my 2 weeks of active duty which I'm doing now. Those of you who know me on Facebook know where I am, but I kept the rest of you fine folks in the dark. Sorry 'bout that.

Left DC on Saturday last for a fortnight in Jolly Olde, just in time to miss the 9 inches of snow that I'm sure crippled DC. Talk about timing... I'm in the same place I went last year in East Anglia. A bit colder this time of year, but I'm not complaining. I guess I could complain, but it wouldn't seem, you know, proper. The base wi-fi was down for the better part of 2 days, but we all make sacrifices for the sake of the Service.

Of course, it's not all Beer and Skittles over here. Ale and Chips is more like it. I've managed to PT every day, which I fear is hardly putting a dent in the gallon or so of beer that I feel compelled to drink whilst I'm here. General Order #1, never heard of it around here.

Seriously, I miss The Wife and Kid terribly, but the email updates from home are wonderful.

I hope to have some pics up soon. Until then, cheerie-o and all that.

Patient Zero

In epidemiology, the term Patient Zero is sometimes used to refer to the initial patient in an epidemiological investigation. It is more formally known as the Index Case, but whatever the name is, it refers to "the guy that started it all".

We're still trying to piece together who exactly Patient Zero is here at Casa del Jeopardy. Suffice it to say, things are bad. Yours truly had the one-two punch of Influenza followed by rapid onset norovirus, which made for an uncomfortable 2 weeks. And we're not out of the woods yet. Lacking a BSL-4 facility at home complete with space suits and a laminar flow hood, restricting contagion among the nuclear family was all but impossible. The best we could do was to isolate as much as possible and keep our contact with the outside world to a bare minimum. We were going to spend some time with our adopted midshipman (is midshipperson even a word?) last weekend, but the thought of being responsible for infecting the entire Brigade at the Trade School brought forth visions of a very distressed LTjg being court-martialed for violating articles 93, 133, and 134 of the UCMJ. Good times.

The two upsides?
1) There are numerous over-the-counter medications that will take away the symptoms and knock you out for the duration.
2) The Wife was so extraordinarily helpful that she deserves some sort of award from the Public Health Service.

Norovirus is uncomfortable but not very threatening, which is a relief. I'll spare you the details, but I could probably tell you how many 1 inch tiles there are in each of the bathrooms in the house.

The flu just sucks all that and more. It made my skin hurt and made me sleep about 18 hours a day.

Viruses are a fascinating bunch of things. They are both very simple and deceptively complex in their makeup, replication and life cycle. They make for fascinating detective stories, both historical and contemporary. A sort of a whodunit with the smallest of perps. Of course it's not their fault. That's what they're designed to do. You don't blame the dog for being a dog, or something like that.

With most viruses, your immune system builds up an immunity after the first infection (that's why vaccines work and you don't usually get chicken pox more than once), but the good folks at the CDC had this distressing little tidbit about mr. norovirus:

"It appears that immunity may be strain-specific and lasts only a few months; therefore, given the genetic variability of noroviruses, individuals are likely to be repeatedly infected throughout their lifetimes."

So I've got that going for me. Which is nice. I may have to get more magazine subscriptions.