I ran into a Navy Master Chief, who I worked with when he was a third class hull tech (before the Special Operator Rate was created) the other day in Ace Hardware. It lasted about five hours as we brought each other up to speed. It’s as if the years roll away and you palaver on. It also made me feel a bit old. Master Chief retired, and the second x took his dog, his truck, a piece of his pension, and what equity there was in the house. Sounds grim but since the only easy day was yesterday, he didn’t ring the bell and he pushed through it. About a year and a half ago, he met a widow with a zillion dollars in the bank, they married and he’s driving a new Dodge 350 with a turbo diesel. She’d been looking for love in all the wrong places and when she found him he had to knock some heads to fix things. Now he’s doing well with his new dog and his manse, living in a vineyard in La Cresta (nice area, inland from Camp Pendleton) that the ball and chain (a former Miss something about 40 years old) owns and he is happy as a hog in a wallow.
One thing led to another and I followed him over to his place, which is not that far from my temporary housing in CA while the WWM is completed. We have a range day planned for next week before I haul off to Great Britain.
His last command was Naval Special Warfare Unit Three (NSWU-3) in Bahrain (core of the Naval Special Warfare Task Unit in the Persian Gulf). NSWU-3 employed the largest number of SEALs and SWCC in history during OP: Iraqi Freedom. We’re both XXL size guys and he threw me a new t-shirt from a stack three or four. He also threw me one from a recent BUDS class.
His chef (wife doesn’t cook – doesn’t need to) threw some ribeyes on the grill and the caulking-off continued. We talked about different people, some of whom are on the map, some of whom are off the grid, some are dead. He’s about eight years younger than I am, and had wondered if I’d shuffled off that mortal coil. When I left the Navy, I vanished into the black ether.
There was some sort of reunion back East at Little Creek a few weeks ago. Neither of us do that sort of thing. It’s mostly retired guys living in Virginia or people networking for a retirement job who attend.
His trophy wife showed up before the steaks were finished and she was far more humble and beautiful than I’d counted on. He has a keeper.
I share this story because I like to see a happy ending. It may not mean much to y’all, but sometimes, when times get nasty, you just have to push through the trouble to the other side because the pendulum swings in two directions. And that’s the sermonette.
Sermonette Thought of the Day
This one comes from Ted Nugget:
“Liberals keep talking about a civil war. One side has 8 trillion bullets. The other doesn’t know which bathroom to use.”
Enough said about that.
The Problem with Detroit is Identified (by way of sermon)
David Manning a pastor in Harlem, describes why things won’t work no matter how much money you throw at the city. Manning shares his opinion of Barack Obama. And this ends your sermonette.
I like stories with happy endings.
Surprising Pastor Manning is still alive given the subjects he tackles and the truths he speaks to.
I was at the point of saying TMI (too much information) about your fried when I read to your point. You are right, life hands out all kinds of tasks that we either overcome or fail. vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Sorry, that was my cat. I think she may agree.
Pastor Manning has a large congregation in Harlem. My sense is that most people up-town in The Big Apple take his point even if they don't want to look into the mirror.
(a) What is your cat's name?
(b) The fear of failure grips many people's hearts like a block of ice. And you push through it — or you don't.
There ya go again, LL – having more fun than the rest of us rolled up into a tidy little ball.
We're "suffering" through a heat wave (as much as you can when you have a hard working cute portable air conditioner that is blowing it's little heart out and keeping us from expiring), and surrounded by fires (eastern WA, Canada, and Montana) making our air quality pretty hazy.
However, I've also started to harvest my little baby eggplants that are so cute I almost hate to eat them. They're about an inch long and absolutely wonderful roasted in the oven.
The tomatoes are starting to roll in after having to net (thank you Amazon) all the plants to keep the greedy little quail from eating them. Their punishment? I bought them a water heater pan (thanks again Amazon) for a watering hole that I put under one of the cherry trees.
And, wait for it ——————————– MY ORCHID IS GOING TO BLOOM!!!!!!!!
Wait – I guess I have fun, too.
Happy for your friend and glad you guys had a good time.
Adrienne, quail are good to eat. The tomatoes can lure them in and you can shoot their heads off with a .22. Thus the luscious red tomatoes can do double duty.
What passes for a "heat wave in North Idaho" – 80 degrees? But I'm with you on fire season…though living in Los Angeles brings that same hazy day obscurity every day. I heard a friend say that they miss LA. I said, put your mouth over the exhaust of my truck and breathe deeply.
It sounds as though you're having tons of fun.
My dearest, Larry. Let me give you a bit of Juliette Sermonette:
The pendulum swings both ways indeed; this is the law of nature. Your friend is now on the upside with his new, young filly and bountiful swag after what was no doubt a lamentable and sorry loss. Once we all know where we fit in, in the grand scheme of things and understand that there is always change (and correct our attitude to vicissitude) is when we truly have the power of now. In fact, all we have is this instant and how we deal with that is all that matters.
Anyway, you’ve got jack s**t to worry about. As the Alice to your Luther, I’ve got you covered if it all goes tits up 😉
This is my August 6th attempt at stoicism.
(a) My cat's name is a state secret that I can't divulge, but I can tell you she is a fan of your blog.
(b) Fear is just a word and so is failure.
Right or Wrong, David Manning is entertaining. I always leave his post with a smile. It is his voice that tickles me.
Also, a thought for the day. If quitters never win, and winners never quit, who came up with, quit while you're ahead? I get so confused…
You're exceptionally stoic today, even without a cowboy church to attend. I can only hope that they are keeping you in line (even there is an ocean and half a continent intervening).
Yes, he's fun to listen to. He doesn't halt or falter in calling a spade a spade. And as WSF wrote above, it's remarkable that he hasn't been killed.
You and me both.
I fear failure. Seriously, I do. And only by my objective standard of "success", which isn't having a nicer this or that than the neighbors.
Your cat may be a member of "the hidden paw" (not unlike the Red hand of Ulster or the Black hand of Italy), but it has impossibly good taste.
Where's my chef, dammit. Must work on more and better staff. Glad your friend's doing well.
You need to scour the barrio at Hillsboro for a commissariat warrant officer to run the officer's mess at the DLC.
"Liberals keep talking about a civil war. One side has 8 trillion bullets. The other doesn't know which bathroom to use."
Please view starting at 2:00, but the preceding 2 minute and the rest of the show are fabulous.
Not sure what to think about that minister. Did a little research on him. He doesn't think much of Trump or Trump's supporters, either.
Nice you got reacquainted with an old friend.
Have a safe trip when you head off to England. God bless.
I fear failure myself.
BTW Re: My cat, the Red hand of Ulster and the Black hand of Italy… they don't have nothing on my cat. K?
The Sermonette Continues —
Mildred, the church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church's morals, kept sticking her nose into other people's business. Several members did not approve of her activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.
She made a mistake, however, when she accused Frank, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town's only bar one afternoon.
She emphatically told Frank, (and several others), that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing!
Frank, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn't explain, defend, or deny. He simply said nothing.
Later that evening, Frank quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred's house, walked home… And left it there all night.
I like Greg Gutfeld's sense of humor. Great find. I may need to record that show.
Reverend Manning doesn't like anyone. Not really. But he does entertain.
Man… I need a range day.
For me, it's tomorrow.
KILL MY QUAIL??? Have you lost your mind? They're like pets. This morning they were swarming all over my front deck.
Actually – it's been mid to upper 90's (close to 100) for two weeks and another week to go. It is seriously hot!
P.S. I've been a Pastor Manning fan ever since he called Odumbo a "long legged mack daddy." Got to love him for that.
So you're ranching them in the event of "hard times"…
If forced I would eat them.
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