​True or false, the AR in AR 15 is for Assault Rifle?
 
False. It stands for Armalite Rifle. The company that invented the basic platform of the firearm.
 
True or false, the AR 15 is a weapon that causes massive fatal wounds in humans?
 
True?, well, no. Okay, it depends.
 
Clear as mud, right? Despite the preaching of the media and the lies of those Democrats running for office, there is no definitive one size fits all answer to the question, though they preach a one size fits all none criminals solution
 
First, the AR-15 is not some magical civilian version of a weapon of war. The AR 15 cannot select fire, that is, it cannot fire full auto or in 3 round bursts. The AR 15 is limited to one shot per pull of the trigger. The faster you pull the trigger the faster it fires, and the faster you start missing targets.
 
Second, the AR 15 comes in a variety of different calibers, from the lowly .22 Long Rifle Rimfire, to the massive .50 Beowulf. The most popular caliber is the 5.56NATO/223 Rem. Which is a supped up .22 caliber bullet. The 7.62NATO, another popular caliber for the platform is also known as the .308 Winchester, a popular big game hunting round. 
 
Third, while caliber gives some indication of effectiveness, there is more to it than how big it is. Is the bullet full military jacketed? These rounds tend to go through the target with little damage. Unless it hits the heart or major artery, you’ll live. A soft point will expand when it hits, but how much depends on what tissue it contacts. The weight of the bullet plays a part in this too. Using hollow points with handgun rounds can cause massive wounds, but in rifle rounds not so much. A lot of hollow point rifle rounds are not recommended for hunting. Seems odd, right? There are reasons for this and large sections of books on ballistics have been dedicated to explaining those reasons. 
 
I have of course, oversimplified this. Those same books discuss in mathematical detail the pros and cons of caliber, velocity, weight, boat tail vs non-boat tail. Spire point vs full jacket. Lead core vs a hosts of non lead core types. Crimp bonded core vs no crimp. What primer is best, what case is best and why one combination works in the S&W AR 15 but not so well the DPMS AR 15. The last will end in a discussion of why one maker has a 10 inch twist and another a 9 inch, which will start an argument about what load combination is better for what twist. 
 
One more thing about twist. The original story about the 5.56NATO and the first M-16 still makes the news. The original specification called for a slow twist, as in 12 inches or more. This twist caused the long 55 grain 5.56 boat tail round to wobble in flight. This wobble caused it at times to tumble in the body which resulted in massive damage. The problem was the wobble caused a lot missed shots. Like throwing a knuckle ball from center field to home plate.  To correct this huge problem, the twist was changed to 9 inches. The bullet stopped wobbling resulting in not tumbling and no massive wound track. But the story continues to be told as if it were still true today.
 
So, when you hear some vote whore telling you the AR 15 is a weapon of war that kills anything that moves, keep in mind this person has no idea what he or she is talking about. And if you get the chance to ask them specifics, be ready to be shouted down. 
 
Know this too. They say AR 15 now, but if you listen, they really want all your guns.  Note that in the attached link, the candidate didn’t correct his supporter when the supporter shouted out the lady should have her Glock.
 
https://www.facebook.com/NationalRifleAssociation/videos/999279233736919/UzpfSTY2NTM0NTQ4MzQ4MzQ4NjozMzExODE3NzkyMTY5NTYy/?comment_id=3311832655501409

​On our way to our cruise ship, we passed over Portage Creek to Portage Lake, which is glacier fed complete with large chunks of glacier ice floating along the shoreline. 
It is our first close encounter with glacier ice. The blue is light, bright, and beautiful to see. The glacier that feeds Portage Lake is out of sight around an arm of the mountain. A tease of what is to come.
We also met up with the Alaskan Rail Road here, and got in line to travel the tunnel to Whitter. The tunnel is a one lane road that shares the rail road track. You get in line and wait for the green light when it is your turn. The light spaces everyone out. Then you straddle the rail road track and enter the 2 and a half-mile tunnel going under the mountain to Whitter where those leaving Whitter are lined up waiting for their turn. 
After boarding the Island Princesses, we set sail for Yakuiat Bay arriving about 1 pm the following day. Hubbard Glacier is at the end of the bay. The weather there can be a problem, meaning a lot of times it is fogged in. If that happens, there is nothing to see and ship moves on. This time the weather was clear and water calm, and view breathtaking.
  On our way into the bay we pass two large chunks of ice a few miles from the entrance to the bay. By large I mean 30 or 40 feet long and standing 10 feet out of the water. The closer we get the more ice we encounter in the fiord. Soon there is ice everywhere and we are bouncing large chunks off the hull of the ship, not to worry, we have slowed down, and avoid the larger chunks of ice. The water is clouded gray with glacier silt the further in we go.  
Hubbard Glacier is more than 70 miles long and 6 miles wide where it meets the sea, towering as much as 400 feet above the water line. It is a healthy glacier in that is not melting away. At times it surges into the bay. 
Because of the ice under the waterline we can’t get much closer than half a mile, but even at that distance the view is magnificent. We spend 30 minutes portside and another 30 minutes starboard, so everyone gets a good view.
As fantastic as the view is here, it is at our stop at Glacier Bay that you feel and hear the power of the rivers of ice. 
At Glacier Bay we view three  separate glaciers. And what views they are. We take on Park Rangers as we approach the town of Gustavus at Bartlett Cove at the mouth of the bay. 
 The Tlingit tell of a village at the base of the glacier, which the Tlingit called S'e Shuyee or "edge of the glacial silt."
Maps indicate this village was far inland from what is today the Icy Strait. There was land all the way to Icy Strait and all inhabited by the Tlingit people. 
There was just the one glacier then while today there are some 14 glaciers emptying into the bay and no silt edge anywhere.
The glacier which terminated at the “edge of the glacial silt” was The Grand Pacific Glacier.
The Tlingit tell of a maiden that disrespected the glacier which responded by surging foreword, destroying their villages and forcing them to leave. 
Science has backed up the oral history. The glacier started to advance around 1680, by 1750 it had pushed miles into the Icy Strait before retreating almost as fast as it advanced.
The once land bound glacier moved far enough to become a tidal glacier, where the warmer water did its work and carved out the glacial silt under the growing ice. 
The Little Ice Age had ended, and not even the 166 feet of snow they get each year today is enough to advance most of the ice. As the sea undercut the silt it meant there was nothing but water to support the weight of the ice. Today the ice that makes the Margerie Glacier is 250 feet above the waterline and 300 feet below it and moving 6 feet a day. 
In 1966 The Grand Pacific Glacier had retreated into Canada, but today it is miles inside the US once again and almost butts up against the Margerie. But, as the sea beat back the massive glacier the ice gauged out a deep valley that is today’s bay. Now it was known as Sit' Eeti Gheeyi or "the bay in place of the glacier."
We encounter ice miles from Margerie Glacier at the far end of Glacier Bay, in Tarr Inlet. The ice in the water is getting more plentiful and larger the further up the bay we travel. Though we are moving slowly into the bay it is still a bit unnerving hearing it hit the hull of the ship.
The water is cloudy with silt from the glaciers, and the seals take advantage of it. The Killer Whales don’t like silt clouded water and stay away.
On the land part of our adventure we saw clear rivers and gray rivers which told you which was fed by snow melt and which were fed my glacier melt, it works here too. Silt gray sea water means there is at least one glacier emptying into the bay.
The weather is overcast making the blue ice stand out. We are within a few hundred yards of this wall of ice. It is 21 miles long and a mile wide were it juts into the bay. The massive wall of ice is impressive up close, but what gets your attention, something you will never forget, is the sound of the ice, the long rumbling sound of millions of tons of 15,000-year-old ice moving towards you and crack as the ice breaks free and splashes into the sea.
The ice is a living river, growing and dying as it sheds huge chunks for ice before your eyes. You listen, you feel and you see this and wonder at the splendor of the power before you. 
This glacier is heathy, so is The Grand Pacific Glacier  a few hundred feet away and at a right angle next to the Margerie, but you have to look to see the Grand Pacific Glacier is there at all. It appears to be a wall of land at first, second and third glance. There have been landslides above the glacier which hides most of the ice face in black dirt. However, a closer look shows places were the ice is exposed. It is quite a contrast to all the other glaciers within the park.
Should the climate swing back, and someday it will, the bay could be covered in glacial ice in a surprisingly short time. 
On the way back out of the bay we sail past the Lamplugh Glacier. This one is not moving as fast and we don’t come as close. We couldn’t hear the ice, which was a shame. The sound of moving ice moves you too. Like an Elk Bugle once heard can bring you to cry when heard again.
 

​On the afternoon of day two of our Alaskan adventure we departed Fairbanks and headed south for the Princess Denali Lodge outside Denali National Park.
Our trip took us down AK 3 for 122 miles. Most of the trip was over flat ground, that is until we approached Denali National Park. As we got closer snowcapped mountains sprung up around us. 
The views we see is what I think of when I hear the word Alaska, snow and mountains.
We spot Dahl Sheep in the mountain sides by looking for white spots that move among the rocks, otherwise it is just snow.
The lodge is beautiful and sprawling. Our bags are waiting for us in our room. We are on the second floor and our door shows light through the top and bottom of the frame from frost heaving. Nothing to do for it.
There are a lot of gift shops within the property and the prices can be a bit steep if you’re not careful. You can buy Caribou hides there, but we found them cheaper in Ketchikan though we didn’t buy at any location. This where knowing what you want and doing some online research is crucial.
The onsite dining is excellent. I can’t comment on prices as our meals here were included in our tour.
The next morning, we boarded a bus for our drive into Denali National Park. The bus was no a motor coach, but something one sees picking up kids for school, but, who cares with views we saw. A Conestoga Wagon and a team of Clydesdales would have been acceptable.   
 It is a place well named, it is Koyukon of the Athabaskan people for The High One.
Denali was visible from several places, though the summit was shrouded in cloud cover. At more than 20 thousand feet, the massive mountain generates its own weather. Our understanding was that about 70% of the time not even what we could see is visible to most visitors. We counted ourselves part of the 30% Club.
Being early spring in the Park, the vegetation was still in the early stages of its rebirth. In another 4 to 6 weeks the colors are going to be breath taking. Yet, being there early has its own beauty, one you can feel rather than see. The land still sleeps, yet quivers in anticipation of the coming flood of life.
Oh, there is life there, and we saw it everywhere we look, Caribou, Moose, Ptarmigan, Crows, Snowshoe Hare, and Sow Grizzly with cubs, but it was nothing to the life waiting to wake up and show the world its grandeur. There is beauty in the anticipation of what is coming, a faith in what cannot yet be seen for what it will be. We saw, and we felt, and we rejoiced.
What a joy it would be to travel at your own pace. To have the ability to stop and just look, to watch the Caribou eat and laze around in the warming sun. To watch a Grizzly Sow with her cubs, take a causal stroll through the land she rules, fearing nothing but a Grizzly Boar. To sit in one place for a day, a week or even a month, to see, hear and feel in your soul the lessons Denali has to offer those who will attend. 
No one can visit Alaska and not be changed, but here, here in this National Park, your soul sings to the heavens.
Little did we know just how much our souls would sing as we traveled this land.
 
 

​In short, don’t. Not without doing a lot of homework.
After visiting Skagway, Juneau, and Ketchikan, one thing was clear. There are more jewelry stores in each city than in New York City. 
Don’t laugh, besides those catering to nothing but jewelry, most of the tourist themed stores have jewelry counters in them, all larger than one sees in, say, a Kolh’s, and there is always a section devoted to “Alaskan Gold Nuggets.”
 I browsed several stores in each port. With one exception, they all lied right to my face. All, except the one store, told me their nuggets were Alaskan Gold and 24k. Not even nuggets not showing visible quarts or other minerals are 24k gold. Most gold nuggets are 21k, or 87.5% pure. Some can run 95%, but don’t hold your breath.
 I guess they thought I was the average tourist, but, well, I know a thing or six about finding nuggets and knowing their worth. I’ve done my share of prospecting. I even spent time mining in Nome on the GPAA claim. I learned a lot while there and read even more before and after going.
In Juneau, I was shown a 26+ gram nugget. That translates to over 8 tenths of a Troy oz. The tag on the nugget said it was appraised at $7,500. Wait… What? The bail was 14k set with a small diamond, so one could assume the diamond played a part to some extent. But $7,500 worth? 
Google and Bing beg to differ. Say $500, and I’m being generous. And there sure as hell, wasn’t $7,000 in gold there even at 24k purity.
The good news is the store wasn’t asking for the appraised value. Tourist are, well, not that dumb and they know it.
So, what is almost a Troy ounce gold nugget worth? Depends. 
As I said, you have to do your homework. First, you have to know the current spot price of gold. Easy enough, just ask your Smart Phone for the current spot price from KITCO. This gets you into the ball park. The spot price is the starting line for buying gold. What percentage over spot is the race and finishing first is your only goal.
KITCO told me the price was around $1,277 a Toz. Okay next you divide the price by the number of grams in a Troy ounce, 31.104 and get $41 a gram, Okay S41.06 a gram. But nuggets are rare and as individual as snowflakes, so, that adds value. But, how much value? Depends. Size, weight, shape, even where it was found are all factors in accessing value, but not as much as you would think.
That last, where it was found, adds value, but only if the weight is such that the nugget ranks high on the list of large nuggets found in the area and state, and face it, if you are looking in a tourist trap for near record weight, you’re really are the rube they think you are.
The asking price was $4,000 and change, or over $154 a gram. Back when I was in Nome, the spot price worked out about $8 a gram for bullion gold. So, depending on the nugget you would expect to pay about $12 a gram. For a really nice nugget up to $16 a gram. But for a nugget over a troy ounce, $20 a gram was not unreasonable. Doing the math, this nugget was worth up to $82 a gram or just over $2,100. But, was it worth paying at the high end? In my opinion, no. Why? I used the word opinion for a reason. Backing up my opinion is like explaining art.
The seller knew he was not going to get his asking price. He pulled out a calculator and started his spiel, I wasn’t buying, just looking, so I excused myself. 
In Ketchikan things got interesting. Then heated. You see, I was shown the exact same nugget and bail setting. The nugget was the same shape, the same weight, and the same bail with the same diamond setting. Even the same appraised value. At least he didn’t try to say the nugget was 24k. 
I told him the price was much too high for a nugget that was less than a troy ounce, and quoted him a more reasonable value based on the current spot price of gold.  He didn’t argue.
He wasn’t expecting my next statement and it lit him up. I told him even at that price I would not buy a manmade nugget. He took immediate offence, but in a calm voice told me, “Sir, we sell only genuine Alaska mined nuggets, to do anything else would get us sued.”
“I’m not going to sue, I’m just telling you that this nugget is fake, its manmade.” I responded.
“Sir, that’s not possible.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “Look, I know I just got off the ship, but it wasn’t the Stupid Ship. I’m telling you that nugget is manmade and I know this because I saw the exact same nugget and setting in Juneau yesterday at this same named store. Natural identical nuggets are impossible.”
I walked away. Arguing with him was not a good use of my time and it is possible he didn’t know it was manmade. If he did, he couldn’t admit it for legal reasons.  I’d made my point.
One more thing about prices with nuggets under an ounce. Spot plus up to 70% is reasonable. If the nugget really hits you, such as it is shaped like your favorite shape, go to spot plus 100%. 
Again, as I said, do your homework if you are looking for real Alaskan nuggets. I do know the Alaska Mint can be trusted. I have dealt with then before and their reputation is exceptional. Are their prices in violation of what I have spent 900 plus words to explain?Depends. You can buy gold from 10% over spot to $110 a gam for nuggets weighing well over a ounce Troy. Wait, what? $110 a gram? I am talking about over one-ounce weights.  Again, I have done my homework. Their nuggets are mapped out, the miners they deal with are respected.
Keep this bit of information in mind, the current largest surviving nugget, the Hand of Faith, is valued at about $3,000,000 and weighs 27,241.82 grams, or just over $110 a gram. So, why pay more any nugget?

When one signs up to do an Alaskan cruise, there are as many ways to spend your time in ports of call as there are numbers of hours in port. You can’t do them all, there is just not enough time in port, so, you pour over the possibilities and do as much as you can. 

There are also numerous companies on the dock providing ways to spend your time. We opted to go through Collette as we booked our cruise through them. It made it easier to be at the right place at the right time for our stop in Juneau, we scheduled a dog sled adventure, others went whale watching, or up to Mendenhall Glacier, for example.

We arrived in the port of Juneau to severe clear skies and a warm 55 degrees. We hit the weather lotto all through our trip. This day was starting out great.

We met our Collette Cruise Director Kathleen on the Promenade Deck at 8 am, along with Jim and Murnia, who also were scheduled for this event. Kathleen made sure we made it to the proper helicopter service shuttle on time and said goodbye so she could get others to where they belonged.

The kid driving the shuttle was born and raised in Juneau, so he was knowledgeable of the area. He kept his banter up for the entire ride to the airport. The problem was he had no mic and talked too low. The airport was north of the city, which of course meant we docked south of the city. But at least we were docked. Several ships were anchored in the port and had to used their Tenders get to and from the dock. 

Still, Juneau is not that big. The drive was not more than 20 minutes and we saw several Bald Eagles perched on street lights along the main road watching the cars go by. 

The airport is not like any we are used to. Most of the aircraft are Bush or Sea Planes, and range from two seaters on up. They also range from engineless to well maintained.

The speed limit on the flight line is just as Alaskan as anything else; 19 and ½ miles and hour. No, I didn’t get a picture of the sign, we went by it too fast. Shut up and stop laughing.

We arrived at the helicopter terminal, okay the building they use as a terminal to check in and get weighed. The helicopter must be in balance or things could get too eventful. The weighing was discreet, so everyone’s secret was kept. 

Weighed and fitted with Glacier Boots over our shoes, we sat down for a safety briefing for helicopters. Things like don’t check out the tail rotor, or stand under the main rotor and pump your fists in the air. Based on our individual weight, we were seated and strapped in individually by the ground crew for the flight. It reminded me my youth watching the Astronauts being strapped in for launch. It would make finding our bodies easier of we hit the glacier or mountain.

With seatbelts and headsets in place we started our flight to Herbert Glacier. Leveling off four thousand feet we headed northeast passing the Mendenhall Glacier on our right.

The view got better the further we traveled east into the mountains. More snow and more ice. It was easy to know where the glaciers are, the surface sticking out of the snow cover showed blue ice, and snow-covered ripples, where there are crevasses. 
 
A view, of a perfect rectangle of dots showing the camp merged out of the snow-covered glacier, followed a few minutes later by the dogsled trails in the snow.
 
The helicopter settled on the snow and disembarked in reverse order of our loading. The helicopter was resting on the snow with ease. It belied how soft and deep the snow cover was. Glacier Boots were nice, but snow shoes were what was called for. Take a step, put your weight on your foot and sink to your knees. 
 
The next helicopter arrived. One individual had to be off loaded on to a sled and dragged over to the actual sled we were going to use.  I’ll call him SNHBT, Should Not Have Been There. He was far too immobile to be there. Jim and Mernia were taken to another sled with another couple. With the engine noise and the thump of the rotors it was a waste of time objecting. Now, I wish we had. 
There are two sleds attached to a dog team. One right behind the other. Sandi was placed in the first sled, in the front seat, SNHBT was behind her. I was in the seat on the rear sled and SNHBT’s daughter was standing on the rails were a Musher would be. I understand her wanting to be on the sled rails as Musher because I wanted to be there myself. 
​
The dogs were going nuts, they live to run and being attached to the sled excites them even more. The sleds were staked down, our Musher pulled the knot loose, yelled, “Hike,” the dogs stopped jumping up and down and dug into the snow and we’re were off. 
 
Not a hundred yards later the dogs slowed for a turn, then sped up for the straightaway, the sleds jerked and SNHBT’s daughter came off the sled and rolled. She decided standing in as Musher was not something she wanted to continue doing. So, we switched places. All I had to do was do exactly what I saw the Musher do. Mostly lean to the high side of the sled and break to keep from hitting the front sled when the dogs stopped. 
 
It was easy and fun. Then toward the end of our trail the sleds go high in the turn, Musher put both feet in the high runner as did I. It didn’t help, we both leaned out like someone on a sailboat, I saw Sandi leaning with us. The sleds continued too high in the turn and leaned even more. SNHBT then rolled off the sled, spilling the sled on its side and dumping Sandi and the Musher. SNHBT’s daughter leaped off our sled to check her dad and the front sled ran Sandi and SNHBT over, braking one of the runners on the lead sled.
 
Then it hits me. Oh my God, I’m the Musher. I step on the brake and yell the only command I am sure of “Whoa.” The lead dog stops dead, while the others follow suit. We come to a stop fast, but I keep my feet on the sled. The Musher rolls to his feet, and I check Sandi. She smiles and sings “Sandi got runover by a dogsled.” 
 
Help is there in seconds via a snowmobile. His first question? “Are the dogs alright?” Seriously? But they were, so we right the sled and get Sandi seated. It takes four of us to get SNHBT on his feet and on the snow machine.
 
We were supposed to see the puppies there, but that didn’t happen.
 
Sandi loved the entire experience. It was her favorite activity of the trip. 

​We live in an age where far too many people have no problem in holding views that are opposed to each other. Worse still, the number of people capable of holding and believing opposing views is growing. 
 
LibThink is the ability to hold two sides of an issue equally true or false depending on what point is being defended. 
 
For example.
 
One claims to be in support abortion as the right to choose what can be done to one’s own body. Then argue against the science of DNA which proves the aborted body is not her body. 
 
Part two of the right to choose, is that this person believes you don’t have the right to choose to protect your body from harm with a firearm.
 
Argue for better forms of ID to travel by air, then argue requiring Voter ID is racist because minorities won’t know how to apply for the ID.  
 
Argue we need to give felons the right to vote, while claiming far too many people of color are criminals in jail which hurts the voting power of minorities. 
 
Argue to lower the voting age to 16, then argue to rise the age to drive a car with a passenger to 18 and to buy tobacco products and firearms to 21.
 
Argue we can’t hold the children of illegals responsible for the acts of their parents. Then argue we must pay reparations to Blacks because their long dead ancestors were brought here as slaves and owned by long White dead people.
 
We must hold Trump accountable for sex crimes because he said he “…could grab…”  But then defend voting for Teddy “Because he voted my way.”
 
Demand more laws to deal with __________(fill in the blank) then say enforcing current law is limited thinking. 
 
Your body you decide. Mandatory healthcare for all. 
 
Democrats preaching the Electoral College is the Constitutionally mandated way we elect our President then argue to eliminate when they don’t win. 
 
Thomas Jefferson was great man who understood the Constitution. His separation of Church and State proves he is a genius. You can’t believe Thomas Jefferson on the Second Amendment, he was an evil man who owned slaves.
 
We need to investigate and trust the investigator… As long we get the results we demand.
 
All Americans need to be included.  The say some Americans are in the “Basket of deplorables.”
 
Argue for more government control of everyday life, then argue massive government conspiracies, from JFK to 9/11.
 
But my absolute favorite LibThink is when I am called a racist for disagreeing with Obama’s policies based on the color of his skin.  I’ve voted since 1972 and voted GOP every time. I voted Nixon, because he was doing a good job to that point. I voted for Reagan because I disagreed with Carter. I voted for both Bushs because I disagreed with the Dems running. But for some reason, a reason I just cannot grasp nor can anyone logically explain to me or anyone else, the only reason I didn’t vote for Obama is because I’m racist. 
 
 
 
 

  ​ 
    Growing up, I was born in 1954, I was around firearms all my life.  Gun safety was drilled into my head from as far back as I can remember. 
The thing is, as I said, I grew up around firearms, most people my age did and we never saw a school shooting. Never saw church shootings, or, well, mass shooting anywhere.
    My generation was the last generation to get their asses beat if we got out of line. We feared the police. We feared the Judges, and we feared going to jail even if was just juvenile detention. 
   Sometime around 1968 or so, things changed. The new motto was “If it feels good do it,” and “The Devil made me do it.” The police were not as fearsome and the thought of arrest and jail was no longer feared. Teenaged girls were no longer shipped off to other relatives to hide the fact they were pregnant. We had entered the world of “…love the one you’re with.” 
The adults shrugged their shoulders and passed it off as kids being kids. 
     When AIDS showed up, it was the first deadly disease with legal protection even when people were spreading the virus and dying right in front of us.
Robert Heinlein said the invention of the automobile kicked off the sexual revolution as it meant a couple could get far enough away from the town, the risk of being seen and identified was slim. Before he died in 1988 he said the next major breakthrough in the sexual revolution had already been invented, but it was too early to tell what the invention was yet. 
   Robert was right, but, he should have said there were two. One is an old technology, cable and cable’s spinoffs. The other is the personal computer and later Smart Phones and tablets. On either one you can find an assortment of sexual perversions from the now mundane nudes, to whatever you are looking for. Kids are sexting without a care, and few legislators want to tackle the issue. Far too many adults argue sexting is free speech. 
   The mores of our society have changed, and not for the better. Anything goes.
Our children grow up believing they can do anything, but then find they were not given the tools in school to even balance a checkbook. They think getting to work on time is suggestion, but expect to be paid as though they were early, then get pissed off when they are fired for being late and drunk or high when they do show up. 
     We have elected people to office that are not qualified to be used as shark bait. “Elect me and I’ll give you free (fill in the desire of the day)” When asked how is the free stuff going to be paid for, the response is we just do it and worry about the money later. 
No, the problem is we have been told and now have come to believe that we are not responsible for our actions.
     In California, it is legal for a motorcyclist to drive between the first and second lanes on multi-lane highways. I used to ride my bike from Simi Valley to El Segundo, a distance of almost 50 miles, 45 of which was interstate. Most people don’t know the 405 and 118 in California is a one huge porno set. And don’t drive down Sepulveda Blvd with your kids.
   The tragedy is no one seems to care.
   Today when a kid is rejected by a girl, instead of accepting he is not Adonis, or talking it over with his friends, a counselor, or pastor, he takes his daddy’s gun and shoots her and anyone who gets in the way. When you make any point other than more laws, you are shouted down and told your thinking is limited.
   Every school year there are a host of news reports of 13-year-olds fathering their teacher’s child, and coaches molesting females on their team. We as a society now take such news with little outrage. The comments on social media about such cases should scare us. Far, far too many comments are along the lines of “Where were these teachers when I was in school?” Worse yet, far too many of those comments are no joke.
   We are three generations into “If it feels good, do it,” and “Love the one you’re with,” and we cannot see the disaster we are reaping. No, our response is twofold and diametrically opposed to each other. We call for more laws, while ignoring the laws we already have on the books, and we then say to those that feel free to act out in violence that it is not their fault, that they are special and deserving and it was wrong for society not to see just how mistreated they are for not seeing how special and deserving of  his heart’s desire. 
   No wonder our kids are messed up, anti-social, and violent. 
When we take an honest look at ourselves, can see the problem is not guns or any other tool, it is we, us, our, society. 
   Do we have courage to grab our kids by the neck and being down hell fire on them, or do we continue to coddle them and tell they can kill as it is not really their fault? 
 
 
  

​On Oct 12thI got word that a childhood friend fell gravely ill. We have been friends since grade school, but until two short years ago we were out of contact. For all the problems Face Book can present, it was via Face Book that we re-contacted with each other. 
On Saturday the 13th I was not on Face Book until late evening. Well, in truth, I was shutting off my phone for the day and decided to check Face Book. I wish I hadn’t. 
Look, I know if I hadn’t seen the new message, it would not have changed the news it brought, but, there is something in the human psyche which says otherwise. We know it doesn’t work that way, but, still…
The news was our dear friend was not going home. Modern medicine has done all it can for my friend. All that can be done now is to make him and his family as comfortable as possible until The Lord comes to take him Home. 
It brings back hard memories. A pain I wish my friend and his family didn’t have to endure. But, I know also that these last days are filled with love and knowing he is loved and knowing his love fills those he leaves for now, is a comfort beyond price.
The news hit me harder than I expected. Then I realized with the exception of just 4 people, I am now part of the oldest living generation of our family and I’ll bet all my childhood friends are too. This is the hardest part of getting old. 
The upside is our friends of our youth, the people we grew up with are people that understand us and love us anyway. Our childhood friends know us better than even our own kids, not because our kids don’t care, but, because they weren’t there with us sweating the same math test, or worrying about the upcoming dance, and who was going to make it on the team. 
Our friends saw us at our worst and at our best and everything in-between. We shared secrets and told secrets, we forgave and were forgiven, we were bullies one minute and best friends the next. 
Bruce, my old and longtime friend, you are loved now and forever. We will meet again and such joy there will be then for all of us. Never again will friends part.
To all my friends, know you are in my thoughts and prayers every day, and I will make more of an effort to let you all know. I will not wait, tomorrow is but a wish we may not be granted. 
 

​

My creative juices have been taking a vacation of late, so, I have been doing some reading in the hope that it kicks starts things for me.

I am going to do the equivalent of hitting a Hornet’s nest with an M-80 firecracker from 3 feet away while naked.

Yep, that second line is a bit of overkill. But, hey, I did it without the use of a single word ending in ly. More on that later.

First, let me say I am a Harry Potter fan. I love the story, the attention to detail and how something that seems minor in one book comes to have a major impact on the story later.

The movies were well done, but, as with all movies to books, much was lost because the director(s) put their mark on the story too. The one I hated the most was Harry breaking the Elder Wand in the last movie. There is no way Harry would destroy Dumbledore’s wand. The act of destroying the wand would be seen by Harry as the equivalent of joining Voldemort.

I have read the books through before. This is my third reading and I am starting The Prisoner of Azkaban now. J.K tells a good story, but, her writing needs work. There, I did it, I lit the fuse, tossed the bomb on the Hornet’s nest and let it explode.

J.K is in love with adverbs. Now, adverbs are part of speech and writing, but when you stack them together, it is jarring to the reader. I find myself rewriting some sentences in my head as I read her work. There is no reason to see two, three and four, adverbs in a five sentence paragraph. 

Awkwardly, thoughtfully, suddenly, are used in a section containing thirty-six words. A bit of an overkill if I do say so myself.

“… the visit stood out horribly vividly in his mind.”  Reading the sentence is like fingernails on a blackboard. “The horrid visit, though years ago, is still vivid in his mind.” The second doesn’t use a single adverb, yet shows the reader the impact of the visit while keeping the story flowing.

“…violently purple…” What does this color of purple do, hold people up at gunpoint? Maybe I could go to Lowes and ask for a gallon of paint in violent purple. Why not; “The bus was a color of purple that was bright, even on the dark street.”

Okay, I’ve got to find a way to stop noticing her love affair with adverbs, else I risk suddenly going horridly violently completely vividly insanely nuts.

Now, let’s move on to some of her ridiculous character names…

You know I can, but, let’s not, for now at least.

​Sandi and I took a road trip to Branson, Missouri.
 
We left the house around 3 am, plugged the first address we needed into the GPS, chose the quickest route, and hit go.  In getting to Saint Louis, the GPS said stay to the right. The sign on I-70 said to take the left lane.
I trusted the GPS and found myself crossing the Mississippi River on a bridge that the GPS said was not there.
Did I forget to mention that the GPS in the dash of the car and has not been updated since we bought car 4 years ago? 
The next thing I know we are in downtown St Louis. At this point, the GPS figures out where we are and starts giving accurate directions to get us to US 44 West. 
I am one of those people that just know directions. Everywhere I’ve been, I know where north, east, south and west are. Even in Nome Alaska, my “bump” of direction was not bothered. Okay to be fair, the Bering Sea gave a hint to which direction was south. To know one direction, is to know all.
When I was going through Air Base Ground Defense School at Camp Bullis, outside of San Antonio, TX I drove a Bootstrap Butter Bar nuts on the Compass Course. We spent several days learning how to read a topo map and applying compass readings to get from point A to point B. 
When I attended this school, I was a young E-4, which at the time was the rank of Sargent. Most of the enlisted in this school were fresh out of the Security Police School and ranged from no strips to two. Command was made up of the ranking students. So, I found myself living in the Command Tent with a brand new Commissioned Officers. My Commander was a Bootstrap Butter Bar, who started out Enlisted and as an E-6 completed his degree and earned his Commission with 16 years of service. 
An instructor told a story of a guy getting separated from his hunting friends on a hunting preserve. The guy wondered around and found a ranch house. But he couldn’t tell them the name of the hunting preserve, so the ranch owner had to call the Sheriff.
Buy this time, the lost hunter had been reported missing, and people were looking for him. In getting “lost” he climbed the preserve fence, crossed three roads, a creek, a river, and a set of railroad tracks. 
Okay, this guy should not be allowed to his own house without a guide.
I started to think 2 Lt Harris was lost hunter.
Once we left the classroom and had to find locations out in the woods, things got sticky. 2 Lt Harris could get lost in 20 x 20-foot room with, if we had such in 1976, GPS. Worse yet, the fact I knew where we were and where we needed to go, angered him to no end. In the end a Captain stepped in and read him the riot act, pointing out that my lifetime of hiking this type of terrain, trumped his 16 years of service and rank. 
       Let me state here and now, the area in Texas where Camp Bullis is located is hilly and a lot like the area I grew up in Southern California. I felt at home and compass or no compass, day or night, I always knew where I was and how to get back to Whisky Base.
Not long after Sandi and I got married, we were driving in the Motherload Country of California. In Placerville, due to construction we ended up back on SR-49 but, going back the way we came. It took me less than a quarter mile to know what happened. Sandi thought I was nuts. “How do you know?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing the sun is on the wrong side of the truck,” I replied.
“Wait, the road is all in shade, canopied over. You can’t see sky let alone the sun.”
“I can feel it, and it is on the wrong side.”
The look I got let me know she thought I was ready for the rubber room.”
“Look,” I continued, “there is a sign up there, and it is going to say the next town, is the town we just came from.”
Guess what the sign said? I don’t know how I do it, I just do. And this ability drives people who can’t, nuts.
But what happens if your GPS is out of date or the battery dies, or the entire unit gives up the ghost? Can you find your way home? Keep in mind maps are not as common as they once were, and not as detailed either. 
Today we have an entire generation that has never had to pull out a real physical hold in your hand map, unfold it, find where they are, where they want to go, and work out how to get there.
Okay, backpackers, well, some of us, can map out a hike for as far as needed, but with solar panels as small as Smart Phones, even the backpackers are making the move to GPS and away from real maps.
Basic navigation is becoming a lost skill, even among those of us that learned it as children. I’ll bet at least 95% the readers of this, do not have a physical map in any auto they own. God help you if your GPS dies.