On a trip recently to a big city hospital I had a very brief conversation with an obviously intelligent and attractivesurgery nurse. Somehow or other the question arose about our President, Obama’s, citizenship. This lady said to me over and over again that she has facts that prove that he isnot a citizen and furthermore he is a Muslim. Yes, without
a single doubt I almost became ill and almost threw up on her. How can anyone of just minimal intelligence be so stupid!

I do have a special sensitivity to reasons as to why there are so many United States citizens who are carrying on the way that they are trying to prove that President Obama is not a citizen. Conclusion: It is absolute prejudice because of Obama’s race, or at
least because he is claiming that he is black, negro, when in face his father was a black man from Africa and his mother was white caucasion making him as much white as black. And, it is because to many he looks different than white early European Americans.

When I was growing up in the South I was taught racism prejudice against Blacks and Jews, as well as, anti-white and black northerners an foreigners. When I was growing up and having to relate to the world around me I can not deny that my total being was influenced by such frequent statements by my father and each of my three brothers: “Get your black ass out on the porch; aint no Nigger going to eat at my table!” Hang the blackson-of-abitch!” “He is a Goddamn Jew!” “Go ahead and Jew him down!” “He is a Goddamn Northerner or a foreigner!” “Teacher, teacher don’t whoop me, whoop that nigger behind the tree!” “He lives in nigger town!”

It was through my own soul search and my mother’s love that caused me to intellectually overcome such teachings. Having done so, I am convinced that I have a sensitivity that allows me to talk to a person for just a short time and learn just a small amount about their lives to determine if I believe that they harbor a deep seated prejudice against the President based on his race. Yes, I could be wrong at times, but I am confident about one person’s prejudices. The famous Donald Trump does not believe for one iota millisecond that President Obama is not a citizen and is a Muslim. He is just being a political smart ass and is being so public about running for President to feed his own selfish motives and ego to try and be in the good graces of the next political power in Washington. He very well knows that Obama will have a great deal of influence in that next political power in Washington in his second term. Just watch and see what he does next.

And, P.S., I think that Michelle, President Obama’s wife, is an exceptionally intelligent and beautiful woman.

WELL THERE YOU ARE THEN!

There is one way that I could hold my nose and vote for Trump. If I were ever a
Republican again, GOD FORBID, there were only two presidential nominees, Trump
and Huckabee!

Well, who in the world would have ever THUNKIT…A PUB,
just across the street from ROSE’S FIVE AND TEN! Not
really, what at one time was ROSE’S is now a flea market, FLEA
MARKETEERS.

As I sat at HAPPY DAYZ munching on my all the way hot dog,
just like the ones I used to make over 50 years ago at Robert’s
Bar-B-Q, I simply could not help remember when I worked at
as a stock clerk or as some might say “stock boy.”

I remember very well an older lady, Mrs. Craven, who was the
mistress/seamstress of the stockroom and who kept an eagle eye
on me, and especially another handsome lad who worked ever
so often, as we moved merchandise up and down from the stock
room to the retail counters where all of the pretty girls worked.

BRAVO ASHEBORO! I shall return to HAPPY DAYZ to
have a pleasant memory or two as I munch my hot dog, and
perhaps a beer if I do not have to drive home.

Earl C. Trotter, AHS Class of 1953 earl.trotter73@gmail.com

LETTER TO THE EDITIOR

In this season of politics I remember seeing the Republican
Headquarters next door to the Happy Dayz pub when I was
last in Asheboro. And, does it ever bring back a memory from
a long time ago.

I am sure that there are some folks still around who might
possibly remember the Pub (Beer Joint) at Five Points, at
the intersection of Albemarle Road, Cooper Street and
Park Street. As I recall the Pub was just referred to as Five
Points.

It was in the late thirties or early forties that my father used
to frequent the Beer Joint and often times as a “wee lad” I
would accompany him. When he decided that it was time
to leave he would pick me up and stand me on the end of a
very long bar/counter. He would step back a bit and say in
a loud somewhat inebriated voice while pointing at me,
BOY, WHAT ARE YOU? I had been trained to say in my childlike
speech impediment form, “I AM A ‘PUB-EE- KIN (A member of
the Republican Party)!”

Yes, I was conditioned to be a Republican and in fact my
first vote was for IKE and the Republican Party. Well, since
that time I have evolved into an independent thinking citizen
with no party affiliation.

DON’T FORGET TO VOTE!
IT IS OUR CITIZENRY RESPONSIBILITY!

LETTER TO THE EDITIOR

Yep, it is me again, an old Asheboro country boy who
graduated from AHS in 1953! Since it is so close to
Halloween I am remembering a couple of events that
took place on Halloween eve when I was in my 15th year

The first is that I remember that the last block of Sunset
Avenue before it dead ends into Fayetteville Street was
cordoned off for a gigantic Halloween block party. For a
couple to three hours on Halloween eve folks from the
Asheboro area were invited to this cordoned off block
for a real and festive make believe event. The smaller
children had the most fun, I think, accosting everyone
with “trick or treat” just to receive candies and lollypops
of all types, likely purchased at Rose’s 5 and 10 located
in the block. There were noise makers and costumes of
all types.

Now, recalling my second Halloween remembrance, just before
attending my last Halloween block party I was at home preparing
to depart our house for the trip up town Asheboro. My older
brother had come down to our houseto take my mother, my sister
and me to the Halloween event. As we were almost ready to leave
I said out loud so my father who was sitting across the room could
hear. “I am going to stay downtown and come home with friends
later.” My father suddenly spoke up and said, “Boy, youcome back
home with your mother and sister.” Then with a bit of a quiver in
my voice I said, “NO, I am going to stay downtown!”

Before I got the “downtown” out of my mouth it seemed
like my father levitated and flew across the room on his
Halloween broomstick. He knocked me to the floor and
landed on top of me with his arm and clinched fist drawn
back seemingly ready to give me a new Halloween mask.
As his arm and fist started down he said, “Boy, you had
better listen to me, or I’ll … “ My brother grabbed his arm
and pulled him off of me. As I staggered to my feet and
headed for the door I said in as manly a voice as I could
muster, “OK, I WILL!” And, I did! And, I had fun and
enjoyed that last Halloween block party that I attended.

At this last Halloween block party there was one individual all
decked out in a complete witch’s costume from head to toe (No,
it was not Christine O’Donnell … maybe her grandmother!). And,
yes, she wore the all black cone hat and a complete black mask
covering her face. As I recall it was a fun game to try and guess
who was in the most mysterious costume. So I approached this
witch with a TRICK OR TREAT, but before I could get a response
she disappeared on her broomstick or at the insistence of her
witchie looking boyfriend. I did hear a portion of what she said
before she was whisked away … something like … “I am not…
I’m … you!” It might have been, I am not in love with him, I am
in love with you. Yes, of course, I am a dreamer!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN ASHEBORO!

MISC. ASPECTS

I HAVE FOUND A RUSSIAN SOUL

By:  Darrell  Lee

Many of my relatives, close friends, and acquaintances have

known that for some time I have been searching for the world

famous Great Russian Soul made famous by two very famous

Russian writers, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy and perhaps a few

other Great Russian Authors and comedians.   Is there such an

entity as the Great Russian Soul, well perhaps, somewhere in

the world, at least in the minds  of Russians.

I have traveled far and wide in search of this elusive Russian

Soul. What in fact is a soul?  Where does the soul reside?   Are,

there boy souls and girl souls?  What does a soul look like?  How

does one “commu nicate” with the soul?  Do all  humans have a

soul?   Do the animals on planet earth have souls?

Since I have not been successful in locating any kind of a  Russian

Soul any where I have traveled in the world.   I have decided to

travel from East to West in the USA  in search of  just any kind

of soul.  It was in a small town in one of our  largest Southern

states that the story begins.       Since I was  not able to get

relatives orfriends to define a soul I was in many ways just

stumbling along in the dark.  Along about dusk one evening

I rode my donkey up to a very  large deserted ranch house

near the town of Awlford TX. Out near the barn I recognized

a rancher hauling horseshit (excretions of a horse from the

rear end or a spewing of false and untrue words from the

mouth and mind of a human being.) from the barn out to

an already large pile of horse dung that was covering a large

banner.     On one end of the banner I could make out the

letters MISS-, and on the other end of the banner …ISHED!

(Could this be a large rectangular MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

Banner that was displayed on a American Aircraft Carrier many

years ago.). And, on the arms of the  rancher  I could make out

the tattooed  letters on the right arm, GB, and on the other arm,

AG, as he continued his dumping chore, but never being able to

completely cover the banner.       Just as he finished a load of

manure the rancher swaggered over to the  entrance to the

barn and yelled,  “It is alright for POOTIE POOT  to come out

now, we have a guest.”    So a misty smokie  like cloud of “dark

matter” appeared  and began  moving out of the barn towards

me mumbling “unevo dusha ne na  meste (his soul is not in the

right place)!”.   Since I  had never seen  a  soul  and did  not know

what  a soul looked like I thought to myself could  this  be the

Great Russian  Soul since I did know that the tag of POOTIE

POOT was once given  to a very well known Russian leader by

a well known  rancher who once lived on this ranch.   Just as

that  thought rounded home plate  I began to sense a response

of “yes, I am  a “velikaya russkaya dusha (Great Russian Soul)!”

And,    I   thought  again asking this entity  to  tell me the story

about the Great Russian Soul. Purely via mental telepathy the

following occurred.  He or  she or it began:     Many, many years

ago at the beginning of  Russian History Lev and Boris visited

the Cave of Souls  under the Temple Mount.          There each

received a soul and travelled through- out all of serfdom.  They

shared their souls with the individual Russian serfs and down

through the  historic  generations.   As the leadership of Russia

constantly depressed the entire  Russain population from Czarist

times on up and through the very oppressive Communist era the

only way Russians could safely communicate with each other was

SOUL TO SOUL  and  mostly in the Russian kitchen. This type of

real cultural communications as a post-Enlightenment catch up

led to the inward looking feature of the soul  that produced

the great Russian composers, musicians and artist not to

mention the  great Russian writers and poets that are Great

and so well known  around the world.    So there you are then:

THE  RUSSIAN SOUL. BUT NOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO

POOTIE POOT’S SOUl?  ITHOUGHT!      Just as this thought

raced across my  consciousness the response came clearly in

focus that when  POOTIE POOT’s soul was  supposedly touched

by this rancher it fell away (U nego dusha upala v pyatki .) (his

soul fell into his heels.)  from its occupant saying (Etot razgovor

mnye ne po dushe,) ( I don’t feel like having this  conversation)

and as the Presidential enterage departed the Ranch and before

the soul could recover  there was a bolt of shock and awe that

lighting fast covered it with horseshit and spirited the Soul away

to the horse barn. It has lingered there and felt captive and

tortured  mostly by not being with its host, POOTIE  POOT.

POOTIE POOT’s Great Russian Soul had  languished in this

barn on  foreign soil ever since, until now. And, as this thought

question was fading away it became clear in this soul  to soul

conversation that this  “Russian Soul” was headed to the RUSS

Sanatorium  in Sochi, Russia to be rehabilitated and returned

to its saddened host, the Great  Russian Leader,  Vladimir Putin.

whose Dacha is  next door, and who will become a great

humanitarian for the Russian people and a great leader in the

world economy.

As a matter of explanation this ranch was deserted and left to

the elements many years ago except for the one ranch hand,

likely due to the near by swine farm stinch or perhaps the swine

flu pandemic.

The swine farm kept growing  and expanding each year.

The swine farm was a campaign  contribution by a group of

concerned  Texans.

Transliterations from an Internet article titled: “In Russia,

the Soul is Key to Self-Expression,” by Robert Coalson



Bailey

A Family Affair

WAITING FOR ACTION

How many 97 year old soccer fans do we have in Charlotte?  Well,

Ella Poulsen is not really a sports fan of any kind.  However, when

her adopted granddaughter, Bailey Brooks,  is playing soccer she

becomes an avid fan, as you can see in her gesture towards the

opposing team  at a  match up of Bailey’s Piedmont Middle School

team against Mint Hill Middle School on Wednesday March  18,

2009.

The final score was Bailey’s team, 0, and Mint Hill, 1, The score

coming in the very last minute of the second half.   Ella witnessed

many saves by Bailey the Piedmont goalie in the first and second

half.   The last team that Mint Hill played against they won 16 to

ZERO.

In addition to caring for Bailey Brooks  daily for the first  almost

two years of her life while Bailey’s parents were at work,  Ella

Poulsen has likely held half of the  population of Charlotte in her

arms as an infant baby nurse.       Ella worked for more than 50

years in the New Born Nursery of a large  hospital complex here

in the citof Charlotte.   

The  Brooks lived next door to Ella  until 2001.  As  Bailey grew

from an infant, from about two years old to five, Bailey grew to

love Ella’s wide variety of Danish cooking.    She especially liked

the ball shaped “Ella pancakes.” 

Ella Poulsen  was born in Aalborg, Denmark.   She lived in New

Jersey with her late  husband Otto prior to moving to Charlotte

where  Otto owned and operated for many  years Providence

Nursery raising mostly azaleas. 

ELLA, MY DANISH/AMERICAN MOTHER-IN-LAW OR ELLAGRAM # 5

ELLA'S FAMILY CA

ELLA AND NAVAL AVIATORS

 

ELLA'S KNITTED HATS

ELLA AND ALENE

ELLA AND MICHAEL JACOB

ELLA AT DANISH HOUSE

As mother in laws go, I’m sure mine is no different than anyone else’s. However, I do know that my mother-in-law, Ella Poulsen, is one unique human being. I know she would’ve preferred that her only child, the late Alice Poulsen, marry a doctor, lawyer, or at least someone a bit better off financially than a UNC graduate and career naval officer. But instead, she got me.

 She has had to live with that fact for all these years while her daughter (now deceased) and grandchildren lived here and there around the United States and Europe. At this stage in her life, age 97, my mother-in-law Ella Poulsen may or may not feel so blessed to have me, her 74-year-old not-so-well-off son-in-law living with her and caring for her every need. However, being a very modest person I can say that she’s definitely blessed for having an outstanding daughter who gave me the deathbed charge to take care of her parents.

 The story goes like this: my Russian wife Tatiana and I left my Peace Corps Volunteer posting in Volgodonsk, Russia as newlyweds in late 1995 to return to Charlotte to live with and assist Ella in taking care of her late husband Otto. We’d planned to live with Otto and Ella while Otto was recovering from a very serious operation. For months Ella had been Otto’s beautiful caregiver with hourly feedings through a tube into Otto’s stomach. As it turned out, Otto died as we were flying back from Russia. Ella decided that she did not want us to come live with her, so she lived alone here in her Charlotte home until my eldest daughter, Anna Christina Trotter, came to live with her in late 1999.

 Ella and Christy (also known as Little Shiva) inspired and rejuvenated each other for seven or so years until Christy’s rather eventful marriage broke up. Christy departed Charlotte to live in Belgium in 2006, leaving Ella with her ex-spouse. She felt confident at the time that her ex had the wherewithal to provide quality care for Ella. This turned out to be a very good arrangement for a while, with me coming to stay with Ella while her caregiver was away for more than two or three days in 2007 and 2008. But things with the caregiver took a turn for the worse – the whole arrangement turned sour, and even dangerous for Ella. In September 2008, Ella made a call to Christy and Christy to me. We both returned to Ella and rescued her from the aftermath of an ill-fated decision to leave her in non-family hands, and I’m now with Ella forever.

 When I arrived in October 2008 we tried to peacefully extricate the caregiver from Ella’s home without having to resort to legal action, but were unsuccessful even after asking for divine intervention. After legal action was initiated, Ella and I needed a place to stay for two months until we’d be able to get back into her home. I wanted to get Ella out to visit her family in California, so I asked her to accompany me on a drive across country, and she agreed.

 We were off and running in my newly acquired 2008 Toyota Prius, and Ella proved to be an outstanding travel companion. She stayed awake and very alert during the driving, every minute of our driving time along Interstate 40. When we arrived in California, Ella’s granddaughter and her entire family treated Ella like the queen she is! In the off time between royal duties, she became a welcome guest in my 55 and older community in Oceanside, CA.     She even agreed to knit small hats for cancer patient children at the San Diego Children’s Hospital. The hats were donated via my next-door neighbor.

 We drove back across country through many wind farms along the Southern route. When we returned to Charlotte, Ella continued to knit hats. We sent her second batch to my next-door neighbor for her to donate. The third dozen hats that Ella knitted for the children we delivered in person via Las Vegas NV. And that’s another story!

 When I had to visit my orthopedic doctor in Chapel Hill, NC recently, Ella and I stayed at the Carolina Inn on the campus of the University of North Carolina. While in Chapel Hill we learned that Tiffany Alene Lynch, her husband Michael Jacob Lynch and Ella’s great granddaughter, Alene Christina Lynch would be in Las Vegas over the following week to celebrate Alene’s 18th birthday. I just casually asked Ella if she’d like to fly to Las Vegas, then drive on to Oceanside CA to deliver her last batch of hats. She responded with a cheerful yes, so off we flew and we had good service all the way ’round with the airlines, The Mirage in Las Vegas, all the skycaps and Ella’s throne-like wheelchair. As a matter of fact, when the skycap was not there to greet us when we came back into Charlotte, an AA pilot named Captain Pedersen took hold of Ella’s chair and pushed her up the last jet way ramp to the ticket booth where we caught golf cart transport to a waiting bus that took us back to the long term parking and our Prius. We are now back in our normal routine looking forward to spring.

OCEANSIDE CA

PALM TREES

                                                                     BACK HOME AGAIN

Yes, absolutely, it was good to get back home again. This old Hickory Way home seems like a long lost friend, or like John Denver has sung “this old home (farm) seems like a long lost friend!”  After a very frustrating and extremely tiring trip it was great to get back to paradise.    Both of my nearby neighbor were busy entertaining family guest.   My next wall neighbor to the South, Sharon,had her daughter’s family from Kansas.     A few days after I returned my next door neighbor to the North, Florence, returned from Chicago with her older sister, Harriet, and her two children,  Barb and Steve. metthem on a couple occasions when I  took my daily therapy trek to our  community swimming pool. Once in a brief conversation with Barb I had to relate a senior moment or whatever they call it whenone of us more mature folks hears a word or even a syllable that sparks a memory from  forty       to fifty years ago. The word Chicago did it for me.  I remembered my mother telling us children many many times how she learned to pronounce and spell Chicago in her rural one room school in       North Carolina.  Her teacher had given her students a memory   aid, “chicken in the car and the car wont go,       CHICAGO.”  Ok, ok, that’s enough of that!

Barbara and her family were very impressed with our beautiful weather here in Paradise.   The family visited the beach and salty Pacific Ocean water, the San Diego Zoo, Carlsbad, and even Uncle Victor        and his two daughter’s two horses somewhere in the HOT, HOT desert a couple of  hours  away.  

And, speaking of winners,  they took Harriet to one of our “Las Vegas”  like casinos and she won the biggest jackpot and treated everyone to dinner.

The highlight of Florence’s Chicago guest’s visit was the big family shindig  that Florence set up at our community clubhouse.   The featured guests were Florence’s family Charlie, David, Andrew, Blaine, Bonnie, Mark and Glenn and their Families some of whom Barb said that she had not seen in 40 some years.

Now, having all of those human guest is beautiful, however, Sharon and Florence had a n exceptionally beautiful little furry guest, Sassy, for five Days.    I LOVE SASSY, our neighborhood YORKIE,  as well as, Tiffany and  her family’s YORKIE, MAXIE!

 SASSY’S owners, Jerry and Rose, flew away to celebrate the birth of their  first grandchild.

A few weeks ago our Oceana East III community lost our oldest and longest residents, Lucille Lambert.  She had recently celebrated her 101st birthday.

                                                         MY TRIBUTE TO LUICILLE LAMBERT

I really did not know our neighbor Lucille Lambert very well,  but I know that I will always remember her radiant and infectious smile. When I first met Lucille her beautiful smile just inspired me to sing, no, just sort of melodically mouth the words, “You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille, with four hungry children  and a crop out in the field…” Lucille seemed to like such an amusing reference to her name so I repeated it every time we met there after.   It was on the first or second time that I actually  talked with Lucille that she related to me an account of where she was when she learned about the bombing Pearl Harbor that catapulted the United States in to WWII.   Her story inspired me to make a local video with accounts  of  the war for my granddaughter, Alene Lynch, whowas studying WWII in her 8th Class.   Our WWII video veryappropriately starred Lucille and her account of the beginning of the war along with three other neighbors, Henry Seigert, Robert and Elsie Dye recounting each of their unique experiences during WWII.   At Lucille’s memorial service I remembered very vividly her SMILE that I captured with mydigital “brownie every time that I met her at an Oceana East III function.  I learned at the service that Lucille and I had something very special in common.  We both did milked cows,  skimmed milk, and churned butter back on the farm.

Soon after I arrived in Russia this year I learned that we lost another neighbor, Henry Siegert, who died in his sleep.  I remember Henry’s last words as I left him at his entrance gate, “Give Tatiana my love and best wishes!”  

                                                         MY TRIBUTE TO HENRY SIEGERT

HENRY SIEGERT, AN AMERICAN CITIZEN

                                                         MY TRIBUTE TO HENRY SIEGERT

 Henry Siegert was a patriotic American, no matter how much STUFF his “redneck” type son-in-law gave him about not being an American but rather an OLD GERMAN@!  Such was a sore point with Henry, but I guess that all of us have some such in our family’s lives.  C’EST  LE VIE!

I first met Henry when he came to my door with all of the documentation about the swimming pool and equipment.   Henry took care of the pool for the Oceana III East residents for many years.  I honestly felt sorry for Henry after his wife died and as many Oceana III East residents know I recorded

Henry telling a very interesting story as a United States Army Officer and how he met his wife, Ursula, in Germany at the end of WWII.   At least one of my Neighbors thought that Henry moaned and cried too much about the loss of his wife.  Henry and his wife were extremely close.   Henry frequently  told me about trips that he and his wife made to Germany.  And, yes, from our point of view many of us have experience a similar husband or wife loss and are toughing it out alone.

 Actually, I befriended Henry initially after hearing an unkind comment made about him by a distinguished member of our community.   After our initial meeting Henry and I shared a lunch at the European deli and ever so often to IHOPS for potato pancakes.  And, when he called and ask me to assist him with his television or hearing aids, I promptly responded.

 If you could divert Henry from thinking and talking about his “gourmet food” interest he could very intelligently talk about many different subjects.

I was very interested in the many stories that he told me about his upbringing in Germany and his coming to the United States.  He and his wife Ursula lived for many years in the same Germany city without knowing each other until the end of WWII when the U.S. Army assisted by Henry as a German language interpreter moved Ursula and her parents out of their home to accommodate Allied Troops who were moving from the field fighting into

the area after the defeat of Hitler’s Army.  The role that Henry played in this activity was a very sad moment, as well as, a beautiful one in Henry’s life as witnessed by a 50 plus years of blissful and loving marriage.  As we all know the Russian Army moved into Germany from the North during the same period of time, and it was a sad note for me to learn that Ursula, Henry’s future wife, was raped by a Russian soldier during that period of time.

 I will always remember Henry and his love for KNORR mushroom soup, Danish beer, and the best kind of dark chocolate, as well as, his friendship with our Swiss/American neighbor Leni Davis.

OUR NEW FLAG AT OCEANA EAST 3

                                                                                             …IS THAT ALL THERE…

 On a recent attempt to visit my Russian wife and our Russian family, Sasha, Era and granddaughter, Victoria, and, of course, our dog and three cats, in our adopted Village, Aksai, Russia I met with a C CATCH 22, seven times over.    However, I do not want to dwell on such.     I want to relate to the reader an observation that honestly and sincerely affected me on my flight back from Germany.

 After a few days wait I caught an Air Force flight from Ramstein AFB Germany back to the U.S. Just before we disembarked the bus to board the aircraft the young airman said that there were HRs on this flight and told us not to place  luggage or anything else on the HRs.  I really did not think much about HRs while walking to the aircraft.   As I entered the Aircraft I immediately realized that HRs stood for Human Remains when I saw the two silver caskets draped with the American flag.  The caskets were located in the front part of the cargo area with passenger seats along each side of the cargo.

Since I was the last one in our Space A group I took a canvas seat near the caskets and thought, “Why must we endure wars and terrorist acts, and why should any Nation’s citizens have to travel back home this way?”    “Don’t Peoples and Nations of the World have Souls filled with some level of real humanity that could avoid such?”  “Do we as individuals have Souls?”

 All during the flight I stared at the fallen heroes in their Red White and Blue cocoons.   Some would say these two human remains would morph into an after life entity. Or that their soul, spirit, or “ghost in the machine” would make the transition to an after life filled with all kinds of humanitarian like blessings and live on forever.  The entire time of the flight I tried to make myself receptive to any kind of feelings, sensations or glimmer of spiritual communications with the transitioning souls of these two Afghanistan warriors, especially in light of my search for the popularized and very romanticized Russian Soul, as well as, my life long search for my own soul without any kind of satisfactory results thus far.   Since the death of my late wife, Alice, and my mother, especially, I have on many occasions tried very hardto be receptive to any type of spiritual  contact.

 I only learned the name of one of the fallen soldiers, 1^ST LT Jason Mann. I mention his name here as a personal memorial to the two soldiers and offer my sincere gratitude for their ultimate sacrifice for our Country.

 I could not help but think of the many flag draped coffins that I witnessed during the Vietnam Era and my career in the U.S. Navy.   There was one especially that I remembered.   However, it was not a war death per se but rather a fatal aircraft accident on the Island of Crete, Greece when I was serving on  Admiral “Fox” Turner’s CTF-60 Staff.  I served as a Pall Bearer for a highly respected Commander who died in the tragic COD flight from the aircraft carrier.   While we all sat in front of the flag draped coffin placed on the hanger deck as the carrier steamed for the predetermined location for the burial at sea, the Chaplin spoke his religious praises and the Task Force 60 band and choir played and sang the Navy Hymn. “LORD GUARD AND GUIDE OUR MEN WHO FLY THROUGH THE GREAT SPACES OF THE SKY, BE WITH THEM ALWAYS IN THE AIR…”  I had attended many military funerals before, but this time hearing the music and hearing the words to the Navy Hymn affected me in a more emotional way then at any other time I had heard the hymn in the same kind of circumstance.  I teared up and the strong emotional feelings continue to flow as we came forward and lifted the coffin for burial.   When the carrier had become dead in the water we walked the body in a wooden casket under the flag to the predetermined spot on the hanger deck and then we lifted the specially designed platform up a few degrees so the wooden casket could slide out from under the flag into the sea.   As we lowered the platform I heard the casket slam into the water with a loud and dull and indescribable bland thud.   This was when my highly emotional state abruptly subsided and I thought,  “IS THAT ALL THERE IS?”

 Yes, certainly, I keep an open mind about all of life’s meanings. At this moment in time I am thoroughly convinced that there is no spiritual after life after our physical death or that there is any kind of soul that exists in Russia or anywhere else in the world, except as a figment of mankind’s colorful imagination.    Human beings are successfully taught and they learn and believe generation after generation that a variety of souls and an after life exist.

 However,  even in light of my personal cynicism I will continue to search for the Russian Soul made famous by Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky.

        ALENE, Maxie and Sam

Alene is a rising Senior in High School.  She is BEAUTIFUL and a very talented young adult.    She has a very real interest in the theater, especially in song and dance.      However, she is a very clear thinking young lady.    Additionally as a life’s pursuit she is very interested in languages and has sampled French  Spanish, perhaps Italian also and Russian.   She is a talented photographer, and she has been paid for some of her photography work and  she is convinced that photography could be a very viable back up career.  

I recently had a very enjoyable visit to visit with Alene, Maxie the Yorkie, and Sam the Cat.  When we were in a video Internet call with Alene’s parents, Tiffany and Michael, on their vacation back in Key West she impishly used some of her Apple software to  contorted and caricatured the faces of  her parents.  She saw and spoke with her namesake Aunt Anna Christina Trotter (Tillier) in Belgium via Internet video.     While I was visiting in her home she was off to school everyday, two days of which were exam days,while I was the Grandpa pet sitter for Maxie and Sam. Speaking of exams, she aced both of them and has been recommended for a calculus course next  year.   Who is Alene Christina Lynch, you say? 

 I am EXCEPTIONALLY  PROUD to say that Alene Christina Lynch is my BEAUTIFUL granddaughter!   Michael and Tiffany Lynch, her parents, have excelled far beyond my ability to express my love and gratitude to them with mere words!    So on a spiritual note I dedicate this posting to Alene’s maternal Grandmother, the late Alice Poulsen whose 96 years young mother, Alene’s great grandmother, Ella Poulsen, a 96 years young Danish American lady  lives in Charlotte, North Carolina.       (ANGELS TRUMPETS BELOW!)

 During my week with Maxie who slept with me every night, and whom I cared for as if he were my own.   As a matter of fact Maxie lived with my wife, Tatiana, and me for a number of years  before Tiffany, Alene and Michael adopted him.    Perhaps Michael Jacob, Alene’s brother, was a part of the decision also before he went off to the University.   I love Maxie and jump at every opportunity to stay with him when his family is away.   I honestly believe that Maxie did thoroughly enjoy his bath and grooming session,especially after it was over.    

    Now Sam is another matter.  For the many years that I have fed and cared for Sam I had never seen Sam.  Most of the time immediately when I entered the home I only got a glimpse of a orange/redish streak from some location in the lower and upper levels of the condo to Sam’s favorite hiding place.   For some unknown reason Sam just could not tolerate anyone outside of his loving family.  This behavior is likely due to some type of trauma as a kitten.  Well, I want you to know that this trip and stay as pet sitter was very different.   I was doing something one day in the kitchen with my back to the first landing up to the second floor of the condo when I suddenly turned and saw Sam, all of Sam, at his food bowl.   Sam looked at me very intently and I stared back at Sam while opening the pantry door very slowly and taking Sam’s dry food bag out.   I took a hand full of  dry food and very slowly placed it in Sam’s bowl with only slight indications that Sam was about to bolt back up stairs and under the bed to hide away for the next ten years.  After a couple of days of such feeding activity I offered Sam some dry food from my hand and NOW SAM IS EATING OUT  OF MY HAND.  He even now allows me to stroke his back and scratch around his ears and face  area.   It is simply amazing what a realistic recognition of a food source and the passage of time can do.

 I AM EXCEPTIONALLY PROUD OF MY TOTAL FAMILY!

An ALENE, Maxie, and Sam VIDEO

alenemaxie-and-sam

      CLICK ON THE PIANO KEYS TO THE RIGHT FOR MUSIC WHILE YOU READ

              PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

 Having traveled many many miles on public transportation in Russia  I decided to try our system here in California.   Early one morning I drove my Toyoto PRIUS from my home at 3737Hickory Way down to our new SPRINTER station at Rancho Del Oro.   As I walked from my car to the station I realized that there was a train arriving at the station.    Thinking I could pay on board the train I ran over and boarded, however, I was told that I must have a ticked, so I turned to depart the train when the Enter/Exit door closed.   The conductor understood that my problem was that of a first timer, as well as an old timer,  so I got a free ride to the newand main Oceanside station.

 As I approached the ticket machines I asked a lady standing by the machine about purchasing a ticket.  She assisted me in the very simple touch screen procedure to purchase a Day Pass for a senior.  She was an American of French roots near Normandy with an engineer husband and three boys and was on her way to San Diego to take her real estate salesperson exam.    Since she was traveling to San Diego I followed her down and under the rails of the COASTER to board and up to the upper deck with seats and tables.  Upon becoming seated she pulled out her laptop and began her last minute studies for the exam.  I was very impressed with the COASTER, the seats upper and lower, the cleanliness of the cars and management.   All the way to San Diego I took pictures of the areas nearest to the train.

 Back on the SPRINTER I took a couple of photos of two very excited young boys who whose grandpa was taking them out to the Oceanside pier for lunch.   On the COASTER there were tourist,  along with many others who had laptops and were engrossed the entire trip with some type of activity obviously related to their workday.  Yes, there were many others who were reading newspapers and books.  And, this being my first trip I just could not get into reading my latest book, WHY THEY HATE, by Brigitte Gabrial.   Every time I would see out of the corner of my eye,  beautiful and colorful flowering plants out the window; some type of commotion nearby or when an attractive lady walked by my attention would be immediately be diverted from my reading.    This fault of mine does not by any means detract from the quality of the writing or the story that Brigitte tells in her book. Everyone should read the book.

 Upon my arrival at the Sante Fe Station in San Diego I walked over and purchased a ticket on the Coronado Ferry.   And, for me it was a very “Somewhere in Time” moment.   In 1965 before the long BeautifuI  BLUE RIBBON like bridge spanning the bay I took my first ferry ride to Coronado in my car with my family, my late wife, Alice,  oldest daughter Anna Christina, our big dog, a great Dane named Bashi,  and a Siamese cat named Saigon. And, as the foot ferry circled around the aircraft carrier museum,  The USS MIDWAY,  I noticed on the flight deck an E2 Hawkeye aircraft,  one of which I had many flights in as a Naval Flight Officer during my career in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam era.    Many good bad and in between  somewhere in time, events flooded over me and it was no less nostalgic as I turn and looked towards North Island where two of our largest aircraft carriers were moored.

 I walked from the ferry landing in Coronado down Orange Avenue to the new Bistro CHANCE across from STRETCH’s Café that at one time was ALICE KITCHEN.   Again, as I sat on a bench in front of STRETCH’s  Café I remembered the  many hours that I personally had spent with my family working in ALICE’S KITCHEN. 

 A few minutes after I moved to the other side of the street I was suddenly sort of shocked to see this dog come from under my bench that looked a lot like Maxie.  IT WAS MAXIE!  My dauther, Tiffany Alene Lynch, had arrived with Maxie to meet me for lunch. 

 Tiffany and I had a good visit while I had an exceptionally good lunch of sautéed mushrooms and a piece or two of bread topped off with a double expresso.   Wow, did Maxie ever make a hit. An elderly couple stopped by to pet him, the restaurateur gave him a real doggie dish of water and the next door wine store proprietor gave him a big milk bone.   

 After I assisted Tiffany with her Maxie and Sam the cat supplies from PETCO across the street from CHANCE she drove me back to the ferry landing and I was on my way very soon across the bay and back to the COASTER going North. 

 My Day Pass was good on the SPRINTER to get me back to my PRIUS.   But I missed my station from becoming engrossed with a Mr. Cooper  about the high price of gasoline and a bit about politics.  Mr. Cooper said that his father was an oilman in Texas and he made a flat out statement that his father told him that we would be still using oil for our cars 40 years from now.  NOW this got me a bit agitated so I pointed up to the sun brilliantly shinning threw the SPRINTER window; mentioned wind and hydrogen power, and so I made Mr. Cooper a bet that we would find a good alternative to oil long before then.   Of course we are both are so old that neither of us will likely be around to collect on the  bet.     As we parted I said I will meet you here on the SPRINTER in twenty years from now to collect my bet.  FUEL CELL CARS ARE COMING!

 I was very surprised to see so many San Diego County Sheriff’s Deputies on the SPRINTER.   It turns out that they are there to prevent citizens from gaming the system and riding free.

 All in all it was a fantastic trip for me.  I made the complete roundtrip for only TWO AND ONE HALF GALLONS and did not have to fight the I-5 traffic.   Perhaps these exceptionally high prices for gasoline will convince many citizens that public transportation AINT SO BAD AFTER ALL!

SPACE AVAILABLE FLYING WITH THE U.S. MILITARY AND MY VISIT WITH ELLA

As everyone knows, the U.S. Military has all kinds of aircraft flying to and from all parts of the world and especially all around these United States. There are opportunities for military personnel to travel space available on these aircraft on a priority basis as follows; all active duty military on emergency leave, active duty military and dependents on annual leave, and all of us military retirees. We may fly on these aircraft depending on the mission and the following: if there are reasonable spaces available for passengers on a given flight, if taking on passengers does not interfere with the mission and finally at the discretion of the Officer in charge of the flight, the Aircraft Commander. We may place our names on a first come first serve list in each Space A category. When there is Space Available we must be physically available immediately for an opportunity to fly.

I recently traveled from NAS North Island, Coronado CA to Pope AFB at Fort Bragg in NC. I signed up for my flight just a few hours before seeing my granddaughter, Alene Christina Lynch, star in a musical per- formance at her Coronado California High School on a Friday evening. The next morning I made myself available for a flight and within twenty-four hours I boarded a VR-32 C-9 flight for the first leg of my journey the following Sunday morning. Upon our arrival at the Willow Grove PA NAS Navy VR-3 hos-pitality was extended to me and three other Space A passengers with a ride to the BOQ/BEQ. After con-firming the next morning flight from Willow Grove to Andrews AFB, Washington DC, I turned in for four or five hours of sleep before a wake up call and a five minute walk to the Passenger Terminal. And, in the early morning misty rain I did get a little cold not having prepared properly for the East Coast weather.

When I was able to get inside the terminal I was very impressed with the professional way that Airman Boardman and Petty Officer Lan Chantin maintained constant communications with the Operations Office of VR-32 to insure that I was able to get to my next C-9 flight without delaying the crew and mission.

For the next leg of my journey I especially want to compliment and thank the crew of VR-52 Flight JT676,: PS-1 Kisiel, AO-1 Klein, ATCS Ochtera, LCDR Walker, CDR Lavletta. GO NAVY! According to the C-130 MEDIVAC Aircraft Commander, CAPT. Tim John, I almost missed my flight from Andrews AFB,WASHDCto Pope AFB at Fort Bragg NC . As I understand it there was a MEDIVAC mission delay, however, this did not obviate the fact that the Air Force Passenger Terminal personnel who were “laughing and scratching” behind the passenger processing counter were requested more than once to the get the only Space A passenger, me, out to the aircraft. Thank you, CAPT John, for your extra callsto the Passenger Terminal urging a response, the first of which was that they would have me to the aircraft in 10 minutes.

IF YOU HAVE MORE TIME THAN MONEY, PATIENCES, LUCK AND A GOOD PEOPLE UNDERSTANDING OF THE PRIVILEGE SPACE AVAILABLE MILITARY TRAVEL IS NOT A BAD WAY TO GO!

MY REASON FOR THIS TRIP

Just as in February, I returned to Charlotte, North Carolina to stay with my late wife’s 96-year-old yet very youthful mother, Ella Poulsen, while her caregiver, Jenn Jacobsen, was on a trip back to California to settle the estate of her mother, Marty, who had passed on in February.

Well, I want you to know that Ella Poulsen is a VERY SPECIAL woman. Ella and her late husband Otto came to the U.S. from Denmark in the late 20s early 30s. They met in an old folks home in New Jersey near Nyack NY where my late wife Alice was born. Otto was a nurseryman working for someone else in New Jersey and for a while in Derita after moving down South to Charlotte NC. Later he owned his own Azalea Nursery business, Providence Nursery, until he retired. Ella work as an infant/baby nurse for all of her working career.

Ella, goes to bed early and is up at exactly 5:00 A.M. and after a piece of toast and coffee she is outside on her large lot of oak trees pulling, scratching and hoeing up tufts of grass and roots where the sun shines in between the large oak tree branches and allows the grass to grow. And, she knows me at my young age of 74 that I tend to be a little lazy when it comes to manual labor especially outside in the garden. A lot of her going and doing like the Duracell Bunny is aimed at making me feel guilty, just like as I understand it, some Jewish Mothers do. Yes, I am a little lazy, but very responsible so out I go with my pitchfork to pick up all of the many piles of grass, leaves, and roots. I load my hauling buggy and take it to the far corner of her lot to a giant pile of composting leaves. I hauled 15 loads yesterday and as I recall 20 today, Ella does, however, take snooze or two during the day, and when I catch her napping, I do mine too.

Now, it is not like I hate all types of work in the garden. I do dearly love going to the garden shop and purchasing top soil and flowers to plant. On two or three trips to Lowes, Home Depot, and Wall-Mart we bought all kinds of flowers and gardening stuff, I especially liked creating the new flower bed with the little bird bath. I dubbed it the Otto and Alice flower bed.

Ella normally goes to church on Sunday mornings with a friend nearby. Her church is a rather prominent church in the community of Derita just across the street where Otto had his first nursery job when they first moved South. Ella seems to get some type of social pleasure out of attending this church and that is quite normal under the circumstances. On the first Sunday after I arrived I decided that I would go to the nearby church where Alice and I were married since Ella didn’t seem to want me to attend her church with her, she decided to attend church with me. As we drove out of the driveway I asked Ella if she thought that this particular church in the middle of a community that had over the past years totally made a transition to an all black community. She said that she did not think so and that is why she was a bit taken back when we walked in and found that we were the only white couple in the church. There was no problem for me, and I must say that Ella took it a bit differently. We both marched up to the front of the church and deposited our offering into the brass plate being held by one of the church members. I asked Ella in the middle of the main speaker’s sermon if she wanted to leave. She said that it would be rude and impolite to do so. So there you are then.

Just before the main sermon by Reverend John Wallace we were cordially welcomed with handshakes and hugs. The Rev. John Wallace was speaking on the anniversary of his brother, Dr. Terry L. Wallace, Sr”s twenty years as Pastor of the church. Rev. John Wallace’s theme was that when praises and request to the Lord God go up, bountiful blessings will come down, but be patience. I especially enjoyed the choir in their colorful robes and their choreographed clapping and tapping the tambourines while singing, and making back and forth swinging movements in front of the congregation.

During the sermon I could not help but reflect on something that our next President, or perhaps, Vice President, Barrack Obama, said in response to what the Rev. Jeremiah Wright had said about the Black Church. Obama said that the Rev. Jeremiah Wright did not speak for all of the Black Church. I feel that Dr. Terry Wallace or his brother, the Rev. John Wallace would also have a fruitful response as to who speaks for the Black Church in the U.S.

I must admit that I am not a religious person in the sense of any kind of organization religion. I am more in accord with Sam Harris and his book THE END OF FAITH (www.samharis.com) More on this subject in a later post.

While I was in Charlotte I did lots of house cleaning like vacuuming, and like cleaning the bathroom and kitchen. I also did all of the washing up. I prepared our evening meal each day; grilled pork chops, garlic shrimp, boiled corn, and left over pork with gravy on mashed potatoes, plus. I am a real good HOBO cook.

Yes, I must admit I was very happy to get back to my space available opportunities to travel back to my Prius at NASNI California. But, it did not fit for my return trip. I was very pleased with a fare that I found with Southwest Airlines.