Semper Fidelis

By December of 1969, Congress was desperate for more cannon fodder to sacrifice on behalf of Nugyen Van Theiu, the President of Viet Nam. So they instituted a draft lottery and I won third place! My lottery number was three. At the time, I was in college studying sororities and my grades were suffering consequently. I was a prime target for the draft. 

In January of 1970, Uncle Sam let me know that my student deferment was revoked and I was reclassified 1-A. I was going to be in the army in the very near future. The only control I had over the circumstances was to deny Uncle Sam his draft and enlist in another branch of service. Because I was enrolled in college, the Air Force would put me in a deferred enlistment program, allowing me to finish my semester of college and report for duty in August 1970.  I signed up.

Near the end of that semester, one of my fraternity brothers, Kent, returned home on leave from the Marines. As it turned out, his sister was getting married the week after he was to supposed to report back for deployment to Viet Nam. During our discussion, he mentioned that the Marines would extend his leave by one week, if he could recruit another person to sign up. I told Kent I would go sign up for him and I did. The recruiter arranged for Kent's extended leave, and I signed up to be a Marine ... on the delayed enlistment program. 

Kent attended his sister's wedding that summer of 1970. By the time the Marines came looking for me, I was already serving in the U.S. Air Force. Like so many people, I lost touch with most of my college friends. My career took me all over the eastern states. Not long ago, I returned to my home town to settle into retirement. I recently ran into a former fraternity brother and we began thinking about a reunion. That's when I found out, 44 years later, that Kent never made it home from Viet Nam. 

Today is Memorial Day, 2014 and I cried thinking about Kent and the other 58,000+ men and women who died in Viet Nam. However, I have never been more proud of outsmarting Uncle Sam in 1970. 

Semper fidelis, Kent. Semper fidelis.

Royal Dun

A 21-Gun Salute to Our Veterans

Today is Memorial Day, 2014. Across the street from my home, there is a community cemetery, and every year, our township hosts a small parade and ceremony to honor those citizens who have fallen while defending our nation. We sometimes forget that our military is mostly comprised of our youngest and strongest citizens. Our nation's young men stand and take their turn to defend our nation as I did when I was their age. 

This year, the band played the anthems of all the branches of military, the local dignitaries gave their speeches, and someone read President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. Finally, a National Guard squad fired off a 21-gun salute. They did not do it properly. 

Very few people, including veterans know how to execute a proper 21-gun salute. We have become accustomed to seven men or women in uniform firing three volleys of seven shots, but a proper 21-gun salute is comprised of four volleys. 

The first volley is a single shot. One rifle firing the first shot of a new nation born in defense of individual freedom. Two volleys of seven shots come next to represent stability and unity of all. The fourth volley of six shots represents the missing man volley in honor of those who gave their lives for us. All together there are 21 shots: 

1 ... 7 ... 7 ... 6

Enjoy your family today. Your freedom to do that has been purchased by many young men and women who will never have the same opportunity.

Royal Dun

Bad News

It happened. I turned 65 years old and went to the doctor for my first Medicare checkup and received some horrible news. I was 10 pounds over the weight limit for my float tube!

Well, I'm working desperately to address that situation, but its going to be very difficult to save enough money for a bigger float tube by opening day.

Royal Dun

Spring's Arrival

Thursday marks the first day of spring, not to  mention my bride and I will celebrate our 43rd anniversary. We have already acquired some spring bulbs and another outdoor wind ornament.

Some years ago, I was told that St. Patrick's day is the time to cut your roses down to 12 inches or so to invigorate them and produce healthy plants. Well, St. Patrick's day was yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I'll dig them out of three feet of snow so I can trim them.

We've been looking for our Crocus' to be popping up, but they're hard to spot under the snowbanks.

May B. Knott ... sitting in for Royal Dun

Brought to You By NAFTA

When the North American Free Trade Agreement was signed in 1993, I never had much opinion about it one way or another. I agreed with its premise of expanding trade between Canada, Mexico, and the United States as I thought it would bring medication prices down, help move labor across borders where it is needed, etc.

Instead, twenty years later, I find it costs me far less for one of my medications if I order it through a Canadian pharmacy (it ships from India). I pay about half the cost (including shipping) for a 90-day supply than it would cost for the generic in my local pharmacy.

It seems like we hear of more cases of contaminated food than before. Although it is difficult to blame it on NAFTA, much of our produce and vegetables are imported, especially during off-seasons.  When I go to the store now, I have to check the expiration date on every single item I buy. On a recent trip to the grocery, I found about 10% of the items sitting on the shelves was expired. One product was outdated by 7 months!

I realize that sub-standard management oversight and training of help, poor attitudes of people stocking the shelves, and labor shortages all contribute to this. Even so, I wonder if NAFTA really means No Aliment Fit To Accept.

Evolution Has a Ways to Go

Prentice N. Largefonte hit 80 last year and we spent several evenings on the river together. He can still out-wade, out-cast, and out-fish me when he's in the mood, but last year was the first time he asked me to tie a fly onto his tippet for him. The light was failing, and his hands were just unsteady enough that his fishing would have been done for the day, had I not been there to help. On another of our evening forays, he commented to me that it is getting difficult for him to cut his toenails. He said "it hurts'. I managed to dodge the topic by mentioning that my hearing was getting worse and worse.

Nature exacts certain tolls for allowing us to age. Things like hair, hearing, flexibility, and sexual prowess diminish and are replaced with bladders and bowels that are more active. We also gain greater awareness of muscle groups that can ache. The other day, as I was getting ready to dress, I realized that I too found the task of trimming toenails more arduous than before. It may have been due to some new muscle group that was announcing its presence or some other muscle group that refused to stretch to accommodate my task.

Nevertheless, I resorted to sitting on the edge of my bed and crossing my leg so that one foot rested on the other knee, in the normal fashion that men sit.
It was then that I noticed a flaw in human evolution. The sole of my foot was facing me and the toenails all faced away from me. In order to trim my nails, I had to twist my foot to an angle I could reach with the clippers. It hurt! It occurred to me that evolution would better serve us if toenails were eliminated from our feet, since we no longer need them as claws. Our species lost that need several millennia ago, so what's the deal? We lost our tails, why not toenails? I suppose its another toll exacted by Nature, just so we remember who's in charge.

Now I'm thinking about camping and fishing with Prentice next summer and I'm wondering what incapacities he will share with me. I'm prepared to tie some more flies on for him but if we're sitting by the campfire and he hauls out a set of nail clippers, my hearing will suffer even more degradation.

Royal Dun

The Life of Wunipaq

Wunipaq was born in the spring, one of many, many generations of the Anibish tribe. As an infant, he marveled at the colorful birds that visited his tribe and sang songs for them. Sometimes, creatures from the forest would enter his village to the delight of all the Anibish children. At night, he could see shiny specs in the sky above him. Some winked at him and some moved quickly across the heavens. He wondered if they were distant Anibish tribes, close enough to see him and wink at him, but so far away that their voices could not be heard.

In his youth, Wunipaq learned that all the creatures of the forest looked up to his tribe. The Anibish were well respected across the region for providing food and shelter for homeless travelers in the forest. Nothing was ever asked of these travelers, even when his tribe suffered from thirst or hunger themselves.

Wunipaq also learned to speak in his youth. His voice, like those of the others in his tribe, was carried in the wind. At times, their voices merged with those from other tribes and the whole forest was awash with the voices of the Anibish.

In his adolescence, Wunipaq learned how to make food along with the other Anibish children. They made their food from nutrients provided by the forest and it was this food called sugar, so freely shared by his tribe, which was food for so many travelers. He was proud of his place in the universe.

As an adult, Wunipaq wore the scars of time. He was not as supple as in his youth and he was unable to produce as much food as he had when he was young. His body seemed stiffer and he noticed some changes in his color.

In the final stage of his life, Wunipaq’s body turned yellow. Not the yellow of illness, but the brilliant hue of life celebrated. He and his tribe lit up the forest as they aged. Wunipaq was sure those distant tribes he saw in the sky as an infant could now see his tribe as they twinkled into the heavens.

One day, Wunipaq learned the true value of his place in the universe. One-by-one, then many-by-many, his tribesmen gave up their positions so younger generations could grow. They gently swooped to the forest floor. His tribe gathered there to wait for the winter. When the snow came, his tribe was covered and sheltered from the winter sun. The Anibish of Wunipaq’s generation slowly released their remains to the soil until they were no more.

In the spring, the snows melted and the water carried the sugars and nutrients down into the soil where his tribe could gather them together. In a few weeks, a new generation of Anibish would be born.

Royal Dun