Tag: #stories

Lost in Translation

Lost in Translation

Our second favorite restaurant in Rheindürkheim, Germany in the late ‘80s was Pfeffermühle (The Peppermill). Das Letzte Essen (The Last Meal) didn’t occur there, but that is where the story started.

Recently, Cath and I were thinking about Pfeffermühle. I’d made Cathy a special meal one night for dinner, Steak au Poirve (Steak with Pepper Sauce). As we were eating dinner, she said “Do you remember the couple we met at…”, before she could go on, I finished her thought “…at Pfeffermühle? The ones who came to dinner?” “That’s them!”, she answered. “Do you remember her saying “Dies ist das letzte Essen?”” (This is the last meal). We both started laughing…

Cathy and I About the Time of “The Last Meal”

Pfeffermühle was located just outside of Rheindürkheim, on Sommerdamm Strasse, the main road to Worms. It opened after we had already lived there for a year or so. Bruno, the owner, was from Italy and moved to Germany after spending several years in California. Although the restaurant was nondescript on the outside, once inside, the white tablecloths and napkins caught your attention.

The food made an even bigger impression. They served both pizzas and traditional Italian fare. Two great food memories that stay with me even today were their lasagna, and how good their pizzas were. One of the pizzas came with an over-easy egg in the center of it. Yea, I know it sounds strange, but it was really tasty. I’m not sure about now, but at the time, you always ate pizza with a knife and fork in Europe, so the egg was no problem.

Bruno worked the front of the restaurant, while his wife was the chef in the back. He was quite the host and spoke fluent Italian, English and German. He made everyone feel welcome when they arrived, and Pfeffermühle soon became popular. If you were there on a Friday or Saturday night, the place was always jammed.

We became regulars, and as is often the case, over time, would recognize other regulars. There weren’t really any Americans, but Germans came from several nearby towns, and we became friendly with a few couples we ran into regularly.

One evening it was turning late and only a few tables were still occupied. We recognized a couple sitting at a table near ours, and started talking with them. They invited us to their table for a nightcap, and that’s how we first met Gerhard and Hannah. We shared a drink or two, and everyone agreed we needed to get together some time in the future. With that, we all said good night and didn’t think any more about it.

Except…

We ran into them the next week, and then again two weeks later. That night, I bought the drinks. As the evening was ending, Gerhard invited us to dinner at their home in Osthofen a week later. We readily accepted.

The following Saturday, we drove the three kilometers to Osthofen, where we ate a wonderful meal. I don’t remember what we had, but I do remember he served French red wine with the meal. At the time, we didn’t know any Germans who did that, and it made an impression. The Germans make wonderful white wines, but their reds? There weren’t too many of them, and they weren’t that good at the time. Usually, you drank white wine or beer with dinner, no matter the meal.

Of course we wanted to return the favor, and invited them for dinner a couple of weeks later.

Cath and I stressed a bit about what to cook, as we wanted a nice meal. I don’t remember what we did for an appetizer, but we finally agreed the main course would be “Steak au Poirve” from a cookbook a friend had recently given us. It was a bit elegant. It was also the first time we would ever make it. For dessert, we would make a “Champaign Granita”.

Charollais is a Specific Kind of French Beef

The big night finally arrived and Gerhard and Hannah arrived at our home. We served some drinks and were bringing out appetizers when Hannah said “Dies ist das letzte Abendmahl”. What? Did we hear correctly? “This is the Last Supper”?** Was today some German religious holiday we were unaware of?

“Was hast du gesagt?” (“What did you say?”)

“Heute ist das letzte Abendmahl. Das letzte Essen.” (“Today is the Last Supper. The last meal.”)

Oh man, we must have screwed something up. Today must be some important holiday of which we were unaware. Either that, or she was going away somewhere and this was her last real meal. What were we going to do? And then she explained…

…The next day, she was starting a diet. Tonight’s dinner was her last meal before going on the diet…

Cathy and I started laughing, and they gave us a look. We then explained our lost in translation problem with “The Last Supper” and the religious connotations, and they started laughing as well.

The dinner went well, and the “Steak au Poirve” served with potatoes turned out to be a fine last meal before starting a diet. I followed Gerhard’s lead from the previous dinner and we drank some kind of red California Cab I’d bought at the military Class 6 store. The dessert wasn’t perfect, but we served it with Sekt (German sparkling wine) and no one seemed to mind. Over dinner, we all made a couple of jokes about the last supper, and whether this was worthy. Eventually, after coffee and schnapps at the end of the meal, they left and drove home.

Steak au Poirve

We saw them occasionally after that at Pfeffermühle and had a late evening drink with them a time or two. Perhaps six months later, we returned to the States and lost track of them. Pre-Internet, there was of course no exchange of email addresses or cell phone numbers.

This story is really about just a bit of nothing, but we still remembered the evening, and chuckled about The Last Supper, although it’s 44 years later. Even small old memories can be good for the soul, especially when they come out of no where.

Addendum:

** – For those who may not be aware, The Last Supper is the final meal that Jesus shared with his apostles before his crucifixion. It became the basis for the holy communion. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus prays thanks for bread, divides it, and hands the pieces of bread to his disciples, saying “Take, eat, this is my body.” Later in the meal Jesus takes a cup of wine, offers another prayer, and gives it to those present, saying “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” It is immortalized in DaVinci’s famous painting. Our dinner wasn’t anywhere near Easter, but the Germans have A LOT of religious holidays, which is why we thought we may have been unaware of some other holiday.

Pickerell, The Biltmore, and The Whiskey Tasting

Pickerell, The Biltmore, and The Whiskey Tasting

When Rob Grubbs asked if I would help “host” the whiskey tasting for the West Point Class of ‘78 mini-reunion, I took about a nano-second to respond yes. The evening, if possible, turned out even better than I imagined. It was one of those rare occasions of reality exceeding expectations.

Rob sent the original invitations for the April ‘22 West Point Class of ‘78 mini-reunion, in August of ‘21 in the form of a military Warning Order. The reunion would be at The Biltmore Estate in Asheville,NC, and there was an immediate interest. Ultimately, 129 classmates, significant others, and family members made the trip.

The Original “Warning Order” From Rob Grubbs

The five days of the mini reunion were great fun, with a combination of group events and laid back small get-togethers. Dinners, a picnic, wine tastings, tours, just hanging out… it was nice. For me, a highlight was the Whiskey Tasting on the second night. What originally started as an idea for a bourbon and cigar event, morphed into a bourbon whiskey tasting, and then morphed again into the event it became.

Rob asked Bill Moeller to host and organize the tasting, and they then drafted me to assist Bill. Bill had the brilliant idea of bringing a focus to one of our departed classmates, Dave Pickerell, who later became known as The “Johnny Appleseed” of Craft and Rye Whiskey. The Army, in it’s infinite wisdom, sent Dave to grad school in Chemistry. The rest, as they say, is history.

After a stint teaching back at West Point, Dave later left the Army and eventually went to work for bourbon distiller Makers Mark, where he became the Master Distiller and worked for 14 years. After leaving Makers Mark, he struck out on his own. Almost immediately, he was one of the distillers called to Mount Vernon to recreate George Washington’s original Rye Whiskey. Not only did Dave distill rye whiskey using Washington’s recipe, he would dress in colonial period clothes at Mount Vernon for special whiskey social events. This was around 2005, about the time craft distilleries were beginning. Dave ultimately helped over 50 distilleries get off the ground, and consulted with over 50 others.

Dave in Colonial Attire at the Mount Vernon Still

Dave was particularly known for a couple of events. One was the establishment of WhistlePig, a Vermont distillery dedicated to Rye Whiskey – Some people say they make the best Rye Whiskey in the world. The second event was his collaboration with the band Metallica, when they created their whiskey, Blackened. What makes Blackened unique?

Dave was fascinated with the effects of sound – the way an organ can play a note that shakes an entire building. The thought of what sound could do to whiskey at a molecular level stayed with him. As it happened, Metallica and Dave harnessed the vibrations that make a Metallica concert historic. The convergence of these ideas resulted in a sonic-enhancement method utilizing a variation of the band’s song frequencies to disrupt the whiskey inside the barrel, causing increased wood interaction and increasing the wood-flavor characteristics in the whiskey. Sonic-enhancement does not replace traditional aging methods and Blackened is typically aged an average of 7-8 years. Each batch of Blackened has a unique playlist of Metallica songs used to sonically-enhance the whiskey during finishing.

Picture of Dave Pickerell (Center), and Metallica from a Rolling Stone Article About Blackened

After discussions between Bill, Rob and I, it was decided our tasting would focus on whiskeys connected to Dave, and conclude with a toast to him, and our 71 other departed Classmates.

The list for the tasting was as follows:

  • Makers Mark – where Dave worked so long as the Master Distiller
  • Blackened – His collaboration with Metallica
  • Piggyback – A WhistlePig Rye developed for use in Cocktails. Dave passed away just before the release. As a nod to Dave’s legacy, WhistlePig added the dates 1956-2018 (Dave’s birth and death years) to the neck label of each bottle, The WhistlePig pig logo usually includes a top hat, however for Piggyback, the pig wears a Stetson hat which Dave always wore.
  • WhistlePig 10 year old Rye
  • WhistlePig 15 year old Rye
  • The Boss Hog – WhistlePig’s top whiskey, which included final finishing in Philippine Rum barrels.

On the Monday of the reunion, approximately 100 classmates, spouses and friends gathered at dusk in a glade just below the Biltmore Inn itself. Seventy were there to taste, and another thirty came for the fellowship. As the sun fell, the overhead string lights came on, adding just a touch of magic to the atmosphere.

Dusk was Falling as we Gathered Below The Biltmore

Bill wrote a script for he and I to introduce the whiskies, while also imparting a bit of history about the interaction of whiskey and the United States Army over the course of our Nation’s History. It is perhaps no coincidence that June 14th is Flag Day, the birthdate of the United States Army in 1775, and National Bourbon Day ;-).

Bill and I Sharing a Laugh Just Before the Start of the Whiskey Tasting

A little after 8PM, we started. Bill and I drafted our wives, Cathy and Bridget, as the official whiskey pourers, and several classmates volunteered to deliver the samples to the crowd.

Bridget and Cathy … Whiskey Pourers, Extraordinaire

What followed was a lot of living, learning and laughter, with a bit of drinking and history thrown in. Between tastings, Bill and I talked to the crowd about whiskey rations in the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and WWI. We also shared how whiskey was a part of the history between Lewis and Clark, and Lincoln and Grant. Stories were told of Dave Pickerell’s life and his impact on whiskey. As the night wore on, the crowd grew louder and more rambunctious.

Bond, Brent and Gus Delivering the Whiskey

A little after 9PM we were serving the last of the official tastings, The Boss Hog. The light was gone from the sky now and there were only the overhead lights. As the final glasses were served, we raised them in a toast to Dave, and our 71 other departed classmates. Suddenly, Grant Short led us in an impromptu singing of “The Alma Mater”, with it’s refrain of: “And when our work is done, Our course on earth is run, May it be said, “Well done”, Be thou at peace“. I have to admit to feeling a bit of a shiver as we sang, and it wasn’t from the weather – the words seemed extra special that night. Of course as we finished the song, all responded with a vigorous “BEAT NAVY!”

Seventy two of our classmates are gone. They will never be forgotten.

The formal part of the program was over, but the crowd remained. There was still a fair amount of whiskey left and war stories, both literally and figuratively, to be told. The crowd moved around, circled and shifted. Old friends were given hugs, and as always happens at these reunions, new friends were made. Cigars were lit and more whiskey was shared.

The Proud and Great Class of ‘78 Enjoying Life

Eventually, around 1030PM a soft rain started falling. As the crowd thinned, we packed up the remaining bottles, along with the water and snacks and moved back to the Biltmore. Some folks stayed up for a last drink at the bar, while others drifted off to bed. It was a fine night for the Proud and Great Class of ‘78, and our first group whiskey tasting. I hope it isn’t the last.

….. Feel free to forward this blog …..

Addendum:

– Special thanks to:

  • Rob and Jan Grubbs for organizing the mini reunion overall – what a wonderful event.
  • My wife Cathy and Bill’s wife Bridget who served as pourers for the event. We couldn’t have done it with out them. Also, classmates Brent Holmes, Bond Wells and Gus Hellzen who delivered the whiskey samples (in the dark) to all, without spilling a drop.
  • Rob Grubbs and Marion Seaton who took the photos in this blog.
  • Several classmates donated additional bottles of whiskey for tasting and drinking after the “official” tasting. Hats off to: Rob Grubbs, John Kimmel, Brian Keenan, and Joe Spenneberg among others.

– Huge thanks to Bill Moeller, who provided much of the information for this blog, and provided a wonderful history of the interaction of whiskey and the US Army over the course of history. The event would not have been what it was without him.

– You can read the Rolling Stone article about Dave Pickerell and Metallica here: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/metallica-whiskey-distilling-process-blackened-723508/ . Dave joked that he never made the cover of Rolling Stone, but he did get on the inside… ;-).

– Some of the history of whiskey allotments for the Army in past wars includes:

  • During the Revolutionary War, each soldier was issued a gill (4 ounces) of whiskey per day. Washington directed field commanders to reward valor on the battlefield with additional whiskey rations.
  • During the Civil War, whiskey was used by medics to treat patients, steady the nerves of soldiers, and heavily consumed during breaks in the chaos.
  • During WWI, soldiers on the front line were issued an ounce of whiskey, two times a day, 7 days a week. Resting soldiers received half that amount.

Submarine Games

Submarine Games

Crazy Ivan* anyone? Another Submarine story from my buddy, Bob Bishop**… It was mid-September, 1970. Our submarine, the USS Finback, had been commissioned way back in February, but we were still doing a number of exercises and independent operations to get additional sea time under our belt. On this particular exercise, we were to provide “services” to anti-submarine warfare (ASW) configured Navy patrol aircraft, to give them an idea of how to use their ASW gear and try to find a real live nuclear submarine. This exercise was to involve every ASW patrol plane on the US east coast, NATO members in western Europe, and one reserve squadron from Chicago (don’t ask me why there is an ASW squadron in Chicago).

The USS Finback (SSN 670)

In the Atlantic Ocean, that meant a complex organizational challenge for a lot of people. For each exercise, using radar and radio communications, we would vector a Navy Lockheed P-2 Neptune or P-3 Orion aircraft on top of our location so they could mark where we were. We would then submerge and maneuver. If they didn’t find us in 50 minutes (marking our location by dropping a transmitting sonar buoy), we would broach or surface, show them where we were, and they would then clear the area for the next plane to arrive at the top of the hour. We did this for 18-20 hours a day most days, for 4½ weeks.

During the exercise, we also did occasional helo transfers of a CO/XO from an aircraft squadron to our ship, so they could get a sense of what it was like to be on a submarine and how we operated during these exercises. I particularly remember one squadron XO, a Commander (I was a lowly Lieutenant, but was pretty comfortable with what I knew and no longer frightened by a senior officer), who came in the Control Room after midnight one night. I was the Officer of the Deck (OOD) – the officer on duty responsible for driving the ship, responding to emergencies and so on, unless the Commanding Officer came on deck to relieve me. I had the 0000 to 0600 watch and we were in the middle of conducting the ASW exercises.

We talked over a number of things he was curious about, and he watched as I/we went through a couple of the exercise cycles. Chatting after the third one, he observed “I think I understand your plan. You alternate going to port or starboard as soon as you submerge.” I responded, “Well, not actually”, and we walked over to the chart table. A piece of paper was taped on top of the glass top of the chart table. A mechanical device under the glass receives inputs of the ship’s speed and direction and moves a little light accordingly. Every minute the quartermaster puts a pencil dot where the “bug” (the light) was. As a result, you could see where the ship had been.

I quickly explained how “the bug” worked and showed him where we started the last run and where we ended up 50 minutes later. I then explained that the Captain gave the OOD the latitude to do whatever he wanted, so I decided to spell the Helmsman’s (the person actually steering the ship) name in cursive each watch. I think the letter I was on for that particular run was a “b.” The Lt Commander looked at me, aghast. “You mean, you don’t have a pattern, a routine?” “Nope,” I said, “It all depends on when I am on watch and who the Helmsman is. Although sometimes I use the name of the Stern Planesman or the Diving Officer.”

He walked quietly away, mumbling to himself.

During the 4 1/2 weeks of the exercise, not a single plane ever found us, even though they knew where we started each time. A discussion about the capabilities of ASW aircraft is a subject for another day, but I’ll leave it at this – ASW aircraft (including helicopters) vs. a US Navy nuclear submarine? Bet on the submarine, every time.

Bob in 1964, and then about 50 years later

Addendum:

– * Crazy Ivan references a maneuver sometimes performed by Russian submarines, and made famous in the movie. The Hunt For Red October.

⁃ ** My friend Bob Bishop graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1964 and had several tours on Nuclear Submarines during the Cold War. At the time, Admiral Hyman G. Rickover, the founder of the modern nuclear Navy, personally interviewed and approved or denied every prospective officer being considered for a nuclear ship. The selection rate was not very high.

– This story is pretty much all Bob’s. All I did was add some editing assistance and publish it.

⁃ The USS Finback (SSN-670) was a nuclear-powered fast attack submarine. Bob was a “plankowner” – a member of the initial crew. He was the third officer to report on board.

⁃ You can read another of Bob’s submarine adventures here. It’s a compelling Cold War story. The movie, The Hunt for Red October, is child’s play, compared to what these sailors did on a daily basis. …The Comms Officer ran in and handed the CO the decoded message. The CO read the message, took the lanyard from his neck, unlocked the firing key cabinet, and reached in for the firing key. We were about to […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/we-knew-we-were-at-war/

The American Experiment

The American Experiment

I will turn 67 on April 10th. That’s a little more than one quarter of the 246 year American Experiment. In January, 1790, George Washington said, “The establishment of our new government seemed to be the last great experiment for promoting human happiness by a reasonable compact in civil society.“* I’m trying to decide how well Washington’s words have held up.

To me, the Constitution and it’s amendments are still a reasonable compact. After that, things are a bit more dicey. As a country, we don’t act particularly civil, or happy these days.

If you look at history, America and Americans have always been contentious, but we seem well past that these days. Civility has gone by the wayside in government, and often in society. Our Congressmen and Senators routinely insult each other and anyone who disagrees with them. Many also have no problem insulting their constituents if he or she disagrees with them. Hate is a word that often comes to mind.

It carries over to our society as well. If there is disagreement, many folk no longer know how to act civilly, or even worse, choose to act uncivilly. Rather than discuss, or ignore something, the preferred response is often to insult or belittle, often with vulgarity. Anyone attend a school board meeting lately? And it’s not just about politics. We fight about noise pollution, light pollution, how people choose to raise their children, shopping sales and parking spots. Our ultimate “right” appears to be the right to be obnoxious.

Happiness, at a government or society level, is also in short supply. Our politicians at the national level wear a scowl much more often than a smile. How often do we see Ted Cruz or Bernie Sanders smile? As Americans, many of us are pretty much unhappy about everything – immigration, the news, the price of gas, healthcare, our neighbors with different views, Covid, not using Daylight Savings Time all the time, boomers upset with millennials, everyone upset with boomers, sports referees… No issue is too big or small to escape our ire.

What are the odds of smiles under those masks?

Some days, we appear to be Whiny America, forgetting we could be in Ukraine, or any number of troubled spots around the world.

We have had discord and conflict throughout our history, and certainly there were times worse than what we are experiencing today. The Civil War, The Depression, WWII, The McCarthy era, Vietnam and the upheaval of the ‘60s to name a few.

We have also fought over issues throughout our history. State’s Rights, Western Expansion, Slavery, Women and the Right to vote, Labor and unions, Civil Rights, Gay Rights, Individual versus societal rights, the place of Religion in America … the list goes on.

I was born in 1955. Fools long for the mirage of the “good old days” in the ‘50s, forgetting that we were fighting in Korea, the prospect of nuclear holocaust was real, Civil Rights hardly existed, and Joe McCarthy was trying to tear apart the country with outrageous lies in the US Senate. People forget Happy Days was a fictitious TV show, not American reality.

What makes today appear worse? Maybe the internet-connected-world shines a brighter light on the American Experiment, allowing us to see all of the dark holes that have always been there, but were previously hidden. Maybe it’s not worse. Maybe it’s just our time and turn to experience the tumult that is the American Experiment. Or, maybe our lives have become so otherwise comfortable, this is just the next level of angst over the American Experiment – my way, or the highway, with no room for alternatives.

Maybe, instead of looking at society, we can start by looking at ourselves first, and find some civility, some happiness and some sanity.

You would think each of us could control whether we are civil or not. We can try and take our hatred down a notch or two and find ways to engage civilly with those who are “different” from us. And if we can’t find a way to engage civilly, perhaps we shouldn’t engage at all, rather than becoming mime worthy caricatures.

And Happiness? Certainly a tougher question and each of us is somewhere different on the continuum between abject sadness and blazing joy. We all have personal issues affecting our state of happiness over time, but happiness is often found in the eye of the beholder. Indeed, some people who have the right to be upset about health issues, are happy because they have one more day upright. I think a lesson is there for all of us.

Maybe part of the question is whether we can find happiness without making someone else unhappy.

For me, as I’m about to enter my 68th year on this planet and in this country, I have two thoughts. One, I’m going to strive to maintain my civility, no matter the situation. As for happiness, while I know I won’t always be happy, I’m going to look for happiness where I can find it, in events both big and small. Whether an upcoming vacation, a negative test result, or a new flower blooming in the garden, I will seek out happiness, and let it infect me.

I have no doubt The American Experiment will continue for the foreseeable future. We are a resourceful nation and people, and our strength and good fortune have brought us to where we are today. Like many families, we Americans fight with each other. Is it too much to ask for a little more civility in our lives and fights? That might even help with our collective happiness.

Addendum:

⁃ * Washington penned these words in a letter to English historian, Catharine Macaulay, on 9 January 1790. The entire quote in that part of the letter reads: “The establishment of our new Government seemed to be the last great experiment, for promoting human happiness, by reasonable compact, in civil Society. It was to be, in the first instance, in a considerable degree, a government of accomodation as well as a government of Laws. Much was to be done by prudence, much by conciliation, much by firmness.” You can find a link to the entire letter here: https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05-04-02-0363 .

⁃ Thanks to my friends Tim Stouffer and Mark Dunavan who both provided thoughts and inputs for this blog.

– As always, thank to my friend Colleen for her editorial assistance. I remain a work in progress.

Lariat Advance

Lariat Advance

The call came at about 3:40AM in late February, 1979. I answered the phone, “LT Hall.” – “Max, this is Captain Ward. A Lariat Advance Alert was called at 3:25AM this morning.” – “Got it sir – on my way.” I called my Platoon Sergeant, Paul Teague to notify him, and kissed Cathy goodbye, with a “See you when I can”. I was out the door for the drive to Hindenburg Kaserne by 3:50AM.

We lived in the little town of Helmstadt, Germany, about 15 minutes from Hindenburg Kaserne (Barracks, or Army Post) in Würzburg. My mind raced on the drive to the barracks.

LT Hall in 1979

This was my first Lariat Advance. I’d joined the 123D Signal Battalion, 3rd Infantry Division in January of ‘79. A Lariat Advance was a US Armed Forces Cold War mobilization alert in Germany. The thing was, you never knew if it was a drill, or in response to a real world situation. If just a practice, it might be called off after a couple of hours. BUT, you could also deploy and link up with the unit you supported (2nd Brigade, 3ID in my case), or even deploy to your General Defense Plan (GDP) location. For my platoon, that was near the village of Hof, and the Hof Gap on the the Czech/East German border. The Hof Gap was considered a major Armor Route for a Russian invasion of West Germany. The pucker factor increased significantly if you deployed there on an alert.

My unit, B Company, 2nd Platoon, was always the first unit scheduled for departure, as we had farther to go. We would depart two hours after the alert was originally called. In this case, we needed to be lined up at the Kaserne Gate and ready to go at 5:25AM.

Main Gate, Hindenburg Kaserne

I arrived at the Kaserne a few minutes after 4:00AM. As I climbed out of the car, I promptly locked my keys in the car. “D@mn!” I stood looking at the car, shaking the door when one of my squad leaders, Sergeant Santos ran by and called out – “Yo, L.T. (Pronounced Ell-Tee), what’s up?” – “I locked my keys in the car.” He stopped, looked at me for a second and then said, “Forget ‘em. We’ll get them later – we gotta go!”

He was right, of course. I left the car and ran to the Company HQ and checked in with the CO. Next, over to the Armorer, where I picked up my .45 pistol, and finally, I ran back outside and over to our Platoon Bay. It was probably about 4:15AM.

Sergeant Teague had also just arrived and he gave me a status report. About 80% of our troops were on the Kaserne, with the others expected shortly. We then looked at our vehicles’ status. Our platoon had around 20 vehicles in all – a combination of jeeps, a 2 1/2 Ton truck (the Deuce) and several Gamma Goats. Gamma Goats were six wheeled vehicles that could, at least in theory, perform off road much like a tank, or other tracked vehicle. We needed to determine which deadlined vehicles could be made readily available, by cannibalizing* other deadlined vehicles. We agreed that of our four deadlined Gamma Goats we could maybe get three ready, and still make the 5:25 departure time.

A Gamma Goat, with Comm Shelter

The next half hour was total chaos. By then, all of our troops but one were on the Kaserne and had picked up their weapons. We continued loading both personal and platoon equipment into our vehicles. Cases of C-rations were loaded into the Deuce, along with other supplies. Two of the deadlined vehicles were fixed, but we were still having problems with the third. Somewhere in there, we received word we would deploy to Kitzingen, and link up with 2nd Brigade’s HQ elements. It was now 4:55AM, a half hour before departure.

Suddenly, a feeling of great calm and clarity settled over me. The world seemingly slowed down. Sergeant Teague and I agreed it was too late to fix the last vehicle and to hell with it, we would roll with what we had. We held a quick meeting with our three section leaders and strip maps to Kitzingen were passed out for each of the vehicles (remember this was all pre cellphones or google maps). We lined up the vehicles in the motor pool and proceeded to the gate, with my Jeep in the lead. Sergeant Teague was in the last Jeep at the end of the convoy. At 5:15, we were at the gate where the Battalion Commander, Colonel Swedish and Command Sergeant Major Johnson greeted us. We spoke briefly and they wished us good luck.

5:25AM came, and we rolled. The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur. Google maps says the drive from Würzburg to Kitzingen takes a half hour, but at convoy speed, it probably took us about an hour. We arrived and I reported in to the 2nd Brigade Operations Officer (S3). Then, as is often true in the Army, we sat and waited. And waited. I stayed in touch with the Brigade S3, and also with my Company Commander via FM radio. After a couple of hours passed, we received word it was a drill, and perhaps another two hours later, we were released and returned to Hindenburg Kaserne.

The drive back took another hour. Once back at Hindenburg, we offloaded all of our equipment, washed our vehicles, and then topped all of them off with fuel, so they were ready to go. Cannibalized parts were returned to their original vehicles. A weapons count was done by the armorer, and it was verified all weapons were turned in and accounted for.

I reported to Company Headquarters that all recovery tasks were completed. Once all three platoons were finished, Captain Ward let me know we could dismiss the troops, which I did.

By now, it was late afternoon or early evening, and my keys were still locked in the car. I started thinking about how I was going to get home, when Sergeant Santos came up. “Hey L.T. Let’s get those keys.” – “Sure, how are going to do that?” Ramos just smiled, and then pulled a Slim Jim** out of his jacket. Two minutes later, the door was open, and I had my keys. I thanked him, and decided right then and there, I didn’t need to know why he owned a Slim Jim.

A Slim Jim – Need your car door opened?

With Russia and the Ukraine in the news, I was thinking about that first Lariat Advance. Forty years ago, we were concerned about, and prepping for war with, the USSR. After The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and the Cold War ended, I thought those days were behind us, at least for Europe. With Mr. Putin’s current aggression, that no longer seems the case. I’ve been thinking about an Intelligence flyer that came out, right after The Wall fell, warning us about the long term goals of the Russians:

“We will Smash them with our clenched fist.”

It is no longer Communism against capitalism, but it is still Russia versus the West. Sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’m wishing Godspeed and safety to all of our troops.

Addendum:

• Cannibalize – If a vehicle was determined to have a safety issue, or something major wrong with it during operations or an inspection, it was put on the deadline report and the appropriate parts were ordered. You were not allowed to drive deadlined vehicles, until they were repaired. In the event of an alert, you “Cannibalized” one of the vehicles to remove parts to put in the remaining vehicles. It might be something as simple as a brake signal bulb (safety feature), or something more serious like a transmission problem. Cannibalization was frowned upon, as you could literally reduce one of your vehicles to a pile of parts in order to fix other vehicles. That one vehicle would stay on deadline forever. This is why we were to return cannibalized parts to the original vehicle when we returned to the Kaserne.

• **Slim Jim – For those unaware, a Slim Jim is a slender device used to break into a car by fishing down the side of window and into the door for the locking mechanism.

Talking to the Animals

Talking to the Animals

I’m no Doctor Dolittle, but I do “Talk to the Animals” here at Rohan Farm, and do so on a pretty regular basis. Most mornings, we have conversations, although they tend to be a trifle one sided, at least in a verbal sense. Still, I think we have a pretty good understanding of each other.

It starts when I wake up in the morning. Carmen, our dog, will stir and I’ll ask her if she had a good night sleep. She doesn’t answer, and instead does a couple of “downward dog” yoga stretches while waking up and looking at me. Eventually, we are both awake and go downstairs and out the door.

At the barn, I greet our horses, Katy and Stella, with a good morning, and ask them if they had a restful night, and whether there were any visitors to the barn. They tend to just look at me, and the look says “Where were you? It’s time for our breakfast!” On cold mornings, when there’s some ice in their buckets, I’ll also ask if they were warm enough during the night. Of course they were, but it seems a friendly thing to ask. While getting their food, I keep a bit of chatter going about the beautiful sunrise outside the barn, or the new snow on the ground, and aren’t they going to be surprised when they are turned out. They respond by stomping their hooves, or scraping the bars on the stall doors with their teeth, wanting to know where the hell breakfast is. Eventually, I give it to them, and things quiet down, while they munch away.

Katie and Stella – “Where’s my breakfast!?”

Now, it’s time to feed our cats, Stan and Ollie, and I again greet them with a hello and ask how their night was. Lately, it’s been fairly cold, so we’ve allowed them to sleep in the heated tack room, rather than the barn itself. They purr and wrap around my legs, or rub up against Carmen as they wait for breakfast. I’ll ask them if they heard Momma Cat out in the barn last night. Momma is a cat whose owner moved away, and we have seemingly adopted. Cathy frequently sees her, but she is quite shy around Carmen and me and we rarely do. As I leave the barn, I call out a loud hello to Momma Cat, and noisily put some food in a bowl in the hay area for her. Of course, she is nowhere to be seen.

Carmen and I then return to the house for our own breakfasts. As we enter the mudroom, Carmen immediately sits in front of her dog bowl. She hasn’t barked, or said anything verbally, but she might as well have said “OK – you fed everyone else, now it’s my turn. And don’t even think about making your coffee before feeding me.”

Tail wagging, Carmen’s ready to eat…

After a couple cups of coffee and small breakfast, it’s time to go back to the barn and let everyone out.

The cats go first, and I remind them to come back at dinner time, if they want to sleep in the tack room. Otherwise, they are on their own. I tell Stan to watch out for our other neighbor’s un-neutered male cat that sometimes comes slinking around the barn looking for a handout. Stan and he have a history, so I figure a word of caution can’t hurt. I also remind Stan doing a walk-about for a week or more in winter is probably not a smart thing to do, but he ignores me whenever I tell him this.

Ollie and Stan after breakfast on a recent morning

Finally, it’s time to put the horses out and I take a few flakes of hay to the nearby paddock. While in the hay area, I note that Momma Cat has already eaten most of her food, and disappeared back into the hay. I say hello again, and call “Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” a few times, but get no response

As i put Katy’s grazing muzzle on, I tell her I’m sorry she has to wear it, however, it’s for her own good, and as a pony, we don’t want her developing health issues from overeating. After taking her out, I return for Stella, who has waited patiently. Leading her to the paddock, I usually just tell her to enjoy the day, and remind her not to pick on Katy.

Katie (in the grazing muzzle) and Stella

With that, it’s back to the house, and the rest of my day.

The thing is, I think Dr Dolittle had it slightly wrong when he said “Oh, if I could talk to the animals, just imagine it …” Talking “to” the Animals is easy. I mean, I do it every morning. It’s talking “with” the animals that is harder. While “Talking to” and “Talking with” are often used interchangeably, they aren’t quite the same, are they? “Talking with” implies a conversation between two or more. “Talking to” can imply a one way, or one sided conversation, or perhaps even a lecture.

I guess it’s not that different from people in that regard. Talking to people is easy. Talking with people is what’s hard, and these days, with the fences everyone puts up, getting harder. We all know people that are great talking to, or at you, but maybe aren’t so good at the listening and understanding part.

Upon further consideration, I think it is easier to communicate with the animals. I may do most of the verbal talking, but the interchange and understanding that goes back and forth is pretty good, at least in comparison to some people I know.

Addendum:

⁃ While I do the morning feeding at the barn, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Cathy does 90% of the animal care on the farm. Afternoon feedings, stall cleanings, horse healthcare and a myriad of other horse and animal maintenance chores are all under Cath’s purview. While I can’t say whether she talks more or less than I do with them, her understanding of their wants and needs is infinitely greater than mine.

⁃ Carmen is the smartest dog we’ve ever had and a GREAT communicator. Here’s a blog she wrote about a year ago: My name is Carmen. I’m about 44 years old now, and in my prime. Some guy named Shakespeare once said every “dog will have his day.” I think every day is my day, and I […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/04/07/whosagooddog-carmen/

Grad School, and Learning to Cook

Grad School, and Learning to Cook

Embarrassment is what started it. Well, embarrassment, a class in Stochastic Communications and Trout Almandine. In 1984, I started learning how to cook, largely after being embarrassed at a friend’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

Last week, I published a blog about cooking a German dish, Erbseneintopf (Split Pea Soup) in 1982, and I received notes from several friends asking if that’s when I started learning to cook. The answer was no, that didn’t really come till later.

It’s true Erbseneintopf was the first recipe I collected, but as to cooking, my skills were limited. Yea, I could do steaks, brats, and burgers on the grill, but not much else. Cathy did the vast majority of cooking for us, and that (from my view point) seemed to work out fine.

Things changed in 1984.

The Army, in it’s infinite wisdom, sent me to Grad School to pursue a master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. I was in the Army Signal Corps and they were looking for engineers to help with the new field of Computer Networks. We all take the Internet and computer networks for granted now, but back then, it was brand new, except for some research networks like The Arpanet, a DoD funded network.

Captain Hall, The Future “Cook”. The Photo was Taken During my Time at Grad School.

As I started my graduate program, something quickly became obvious. My math skills were rusty and needed work. I’d studied calculus, differential equations, linear equations, and probability and statistics at West Point, but that was several years before and I’d forgotten most of it.

In the fall of 1984, I was required to take a class in Stochastic Communications – it was a theory class about how communication systems act in the presence of noise, and was very math heavy. A friend of mine, Gerry, was also taking the class and we often studied together to understand the math.

One Sunday afternoon, Gerry was at my house and we were working through some tough problems. At some point, I said, “Hey, feel like some dinner? How about if I order us a pizza?” Gerry agreed, and I ordered a pizza from the Pizza Hut just down the road. When they delivered the pie, we took a break and had a beer with our dinner. Eventually, we resumed our studies, and then quit an hour or two later.

Nothing Says Fine Dining Like a Pizza from Pizza Hut…

A couple of weeks later on another Sunday afternoon, we were studying at Gerry’s apartment. Eventually, we were getting hungry and Gerry said “How about a break for dinner?”, to which I readily agreed. I expected him to pick up the phone. Instead he said, “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”

We arrived in the kitchen and after opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses, he proceeded to the fridge where he pulled out some trout filets and asparagus. He then brought out some almonds, garlic, and God only knows what else from his cabinets. What? Was he actually going to cook a dinner?

Gerry spent the next half hour or so preparing the meal, while we continued drinking and talking. He toasted the almonds, sautéed some garlic and eventually pan fried the trout, while sautéing the asparagus in another pan. Half an hour later, it all came together on our two plates with the almonds scattered over the trout and the asparagus served on the side.

Trout Almandine with Asparagus on the Side – a Treat from my Friend, Gerry.

Holy Cow! A real meal, and a great one. I believe I was in a bit of shock. Thinking back to the Pizza Hut pizza I’d served two weeks before, I was also a bit embarrassed.

On the way home, I thought to myself, “What the hell is wrong with this picture? A bachelor comes to a married guy’s house and has delivery pizza from a chain restaurant for dinner, while the married guy goes to the bachelor’s house and has a gourmet meal!?!?” Right then and there, I decided I needed to learn how to cook.

And so, my cooking journey began. Cathy still did most of the cooking, but I started cooking some as well, especially on weekends. I’d find different recipes to try and slowly expanded my repertoire. I also started collecting cookbooks, some basic, some focused on specific cuisines. I went through bread and muffin phases, German and French phases, Vegetarian, Stir Fry’s, and eventually Indian curries, among other recipes.

Just a Few of the Couple Dozen Cookbooks I Now Own

I found I enjoyed cooking, and I started to cook decently, but man, was I a messy cook. I knew nothing about “Mise en place” (prepping things ahead of time), or cleaning as you go. While I could turn out a great meal, the kitchen was a disaster. Cathy’s mom said something to Cath about it one time, and Cathy basically told her to be quiet, I was at least cooking some of the meals now. 😉

Eventually I retired from work around 2015, and and over time, started cooking my share of our meals. I also learned about Mise en place and cleaning the kitchen as I cooked. It only took me about 30 years to learn those two basic lessons. Better late than never, I guess.

So, that’s my story. Who knows, If I hadn’t been rusty in math and in need of help, maybe none of this would have happened. You don’t always know what will send you down a different pathway in life. I’m glad I discovered this one.

Addendum:

⁃ Strangely, there is no Trout Almandine recipe in my collection of recipes. I never asked Gerry for it at the time. If I’m making it now, I use a variation of a recipe I found online. C’est la vie…

– Gerry went on to get his PhD in Electrical Engineering – he was a smart guy about many things. Unfortunately, over the years, we lost touch with each other.

Erbseneintopf

Erbseneintopf

The oldest recipe in my recipe collection is for Erbseneintopf – a German Split Pea Soup. It came from The Stars and Stripes newspaper in Germany in ‘82 or ‘83, and is now a bit tattered. The first time I tasted the soup in a Gasthaus, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Getting the recipe was a bonus.

Erbseneintopf. The word and the soup are both a mouthful. Erbseneintopf literally translates to “Pea One-Pot”, and is really closer to a stew. Made properly, it is a thick soup with little chunks of sausage or ham hock in it. I’m not talking the puny American ham hocks, but the big German kind – meaty and smoky. The meat gives the stew a wonderful flavor. It’s a simple, hearty meal.

I believe the first time I had the dish was in a little village near Stuttgart, although I can’t remember the name of the town, or the Gasthaus, for the life of me. At the time, we often went for a walk in the woods on a Sunday afternoon, as many Germans did, and then would stop at a nearby Gasthaus for a late lunch, and a beer or two. We’d usually have some sort of simple meal – a bratwurst, or goulash soup, or some charcuterie and cheese. On one of those trips, it started snowing. Eventually we made it back to the village and the Gasthaus, where Erbseneintopf was on the menu, and despite the green color, I gave it a try. It was delicious. It became one of those dishes that stayed in my mind and I started looking for it on the menu anytime we went to a new Gasthaus – especially in winter.

Cathy, Top and I, probably in ‘82, outside a Gasthaus as it was snowing one Sunday

There were a few other dishes that stuck in my brain back then, and I would stalk them for a while – eating the dish anytime I saw it on a new place’s menu. One of those was Cordon Bleu. I spent a couple of years looking for the perfect Cordon Bleu during our travels across Germany, France and Northern Italy, and dragged visiting friends with me on my quest. Another dish was Käsespätzle, basically a German adult version of Mac ‘n Cheese, with homemade noodles, onions and cheese – It was total comfort food and a bazillion calories.

Cordon Bleu, käsespätzle, schnitzel, wurst, certain kinds of steak, pommes frites (french fries) and a host of other dishes all became a part of our life. We loved German food, but never tried cooking it at home. I’m not sure why. Maybe we knew we couldn’t match what we were eating in the Gasthauses.

Then one day, the world changed. Around 1982, our local military newspaper, The Stars and Stripes*, started a monthly feature with recipes for different German dishes. Some were simple, some more complicated. I’d read the recipes, but didn’t really think much about them, and then one day, they published several soup recipes – Gulaschsuppe, Linseneintopf (Lentil Soup), Tomatencremesuppe (Tomato Soup), and at the bottom of the page – a recipe for Erbseneintopf! I promptly cut the recipe out of the paper.

A little faded, and tattered, but the recipe works just fine.

This was most excellent. I spoke with a German friend about the recipe and she thought it looked authentic. Her one suggestion was to swap out the boiled ham called for in the recipe and replace it with chopped up ham hock, or some smoky local German sausage. It was a good suggestion.

A week or two later, we made the dish for the first time and lightning struck. We couldn’t believe how much it tasted like the restaurant version. The ham hocks provided the smokiness, while the “Melbutter” (see recipe – a mixture of flour and butter) thickened the soup. This baby was a keeper. At the time it was actually one of the very few dishes I cooked, or could cook. Yea, I did steaks, burgers and brats on the grill, but cooking something in the kitchen? I was out of my league there. This soup was probably just about it.

A bowl of Erbseneintopf. Still delicious, after all these years.

Erbseneintopf has remained a part of my winter repertoire ever since. I’ve only made one change since cooking it that first time. Here in the States, it’s sometimes hard to find good German sausage, or ham hocks with a bit more meat on them. As a result, I often substitute a smoked turkey leg for the ham hocks. It gets the job done.

Looking for a good winter soup on a cold, snowy day? Erbseneintopf might be just what you need. It’s peasant food at it’s best. As with many soups and stews, it’s even better on the second day.

Addendum:

⁃ * The Stars and Stripes newspaper was first published during the Civil war. Later, it was delivered to US forces in France during WWI, and became an overseas fixture during WWII. It continued through Korea and Vietnam, and is still published at overseas military locations to this day, although there were discussions during the Trump presidency of cancelling it (it wasn’t). It operates from inside DoD, but is editorially separate and independent from it. The newspaper has been published continuously in Europe since 1942.

⁃ I also struck pay dirt a month or two later when The Stars and Stripes published recipes for Spätzle and Käsespätzle, and our friends Jim and Res bought us a Spätzlemaker for Christmas. The Spätzlemaker is 40 years old now, and in great shape. We still use it a couple times of year.

⁃ My friend Tim Stouffer reminds me occasionally about my Cordon Bleu quest. He visited Cath and I several times throughout the ‘80s. On at least a couple of those visits, I know I inflicted my obsession with Cordon Bleu on him.

An Honest Man at El Agave

An Honest Man at El Agave

How much is an honest man worth?

I needed to run into town for a couple of errands last week. As I was finishing up, it was about 11:30. I was hungry and suddenly had an urge for Mexican food. I called our favorite place, El Agave, a local family owned restaurant here in Warrenton, Virginia to see if I could pick up a couple of burritos to go, and they said sure, come by in ten minutes.

I finished up at the dry cleaners, and drove over to El Agave. It’s been here in Warrenton for years. If we are looking for “Mexican food”, or a decent margarita, it’s almost always the place we go. You know the kind of place – honest food, nice portions, good service and relatively inexpensive. Since Covid, we haven’t eaten there as much in person, but have done take out many times.

El Agave – Our Kind of Place

As I came into the restaurant, my order was just coming out of the kitchen. The owner/manager and I were making small talk as I paid, and he said, “I’m sorry, we have no plastic forks. They are coming in this afternoon.” I answered back “No problem, I’m taking it home to eat.”

We talked a bit more and then I said “Too bad on the forks, I guess between supply chain issues, and the snow storm last week, your order was backed up, eh?”

He looked at me and smiled, and then said “Or maybe I just forgot to order them on time.”

I laughed and said “Wow! An honest man!” He chuckled and answered back “People are going to believe what they want to anyway.”

I thanked him, left a tip and went outside to my truck. On the drive home, I was still thinking about our exchange, and it occurred to me. If he was this honest about a small mistake he made, it says a lot about how he runs his restaurant overall. He could have easily laughed at my supply chain comment, agreed it was causing him problems, and I wouldn’t have thought anything more about it. One little white lie that, in the big scheme of things, didn’t matter.

Instead, he told the truth.

Maybe I’m making too much of the whole incident, but it continues to echo around in my brain. I’ve always enjoyed El Agave. Now, I like it even more. It’s always great to see honesty and excellence in a local business. Thank you El Agave – I’ll be back soon.

We’ll Be Back Soon!

Addendum:

There are five local El Agave restaurants in or near Fauquier County, Virginia. I’ve only been to two of them – the one in Warrenton, and one half way between Marshall and The Plains. I highly recommend both of them. You can learn more about El Agave here: https://elagavemexrestaurant.com/

Planes, Buses and Automobiles

Planes, Buses and Automobiles

A Day in the Life. (Or, How I spent Fourteen Hours I Will Never Get Back.)

Ever think about the things you do, in order to do the things you want to do? After a wonderful vacation in California over New Years, payback, in the form of a long as hell travel day, happened on the return trip to DC. I freely admit this might be a boring blog, but something compelled me to write it.

The day started around 5:30AM with a wake up alarm. I didn’t fall out of bed, or drag a comb across my head, but I did find my way downstairs and drink a cup (of coffee). I finished packing and then loaded the luggage into Bonnie’s car. I grabbed my day bag and jacket, and climbed in the backseat, leaving the front seat for Cath. By 6:15AM, we were on the road.

Anderson Valley looks a bit different when it’s still pitch black. You don’t see the vineyards, wineries or scenic hills. Instead, all of our eyes were glued to the road ahead, following the twists and turns. There was also a slight fog reducing visibility. The hilly, winding trip out of the Valley to Highway 101 usually takes 45 minutes, but with the darkness and fog, it was 7:15 before we made the highway.

Bonnie had a 9:00AM appointment in Marin County that morning, so she was happy we were along, allowing her to take the HOV lane. In any case, she was a good driver, or we were lucky and traffic was light, or both. We made the Larkspur bus terminal for the Marin AirPorter about 8:35. Hugs and “I love you”s all around, and then Bonnie departed for her appointment. We had the joy of sitting, masked, in a small terminal by ourselves for 40 minutes. In fact, we would be masked for most of the next ten hours.

Masks, masks, everywhere a mask

The AirPorter bus runs directly from Marin County to the San Francisco Airport (SFO). At 9:15AM the bus arrived right on time, and at 9:20 we pulled out. The bus was about 1/3 full, and everyone was masked (required). Traffic remained relatively light, and I’ll be d@mned, we pulled into the United Terminal at SFO right on schedule at 10:30AM. Outside the bus, we took our masks off briefly while collecting our luggage. Then, masks back on, we entered the terminal.

The Marin AirPorter is actually a good way to travel

With Covid going on, United recommends people arrive three hours early at the airport, due to security concerns, longer check in times, and general complications with masking and so on. I figured two hours was enough time, but you never know. Arriving at 10:30, there were two hours and forty five minutes till our flight. Plenty of time. Almost tooooo much time.

Although we already had our electronic boarding passes, we still needed to check one bag. Baggage “self check” was something of a cluster, but 15 minutes later, the bag was gone and we were walking to security.

At security, no one was in line! The checking of tickets and IDs went quickly, but there was a back-up at the final Security screening point. Only one line was open, and it appeared either the gear was malfunctioning, or a new crew was working the line. We just stood in place for several minutes, with no one advancing. Eventually, there was some movement, we were X-rayed, and finally on our way to the gate around 11:15AM. We hadn’t eaten anything yet, and stopped at the first restaurant we came to.

Miraculously, two seats were open at the bar and we grabbed them. A plexiglass divider separated us from the kitchen crew and waitstaff, along with little plexiglass dividers for every couple of barstools. The waitress slid us menus under the plexiglass, we removed our masks and took a look. It was the airport after all, so nothing was cheap, and you knew it wasn’t going to be great. Still, at $17.25 the Yankee Breakfast (bacon and eggs, hash browns, and toast) was a better deal than the bagel and lox at $19.50, so we both became Yankees for the morning. And since it was the last day of vacation, what the hell, we ordered Bloody Marys as well. At $12.50 each, they were practically a bargain. The Bloodies tasted pretty good, and the breakfast itself wasn’t half bad – for an airport, it was actually pretty good. We contemplated a second Bloody Mary, vetoed the idea, and asked for the check. $66, plus $15 tip later, we remasked, and resumed our walk to the gate.

A brief (and expensive) stop at the airport restaurant

It was now about 12:30PM. Fifteen minutes later, they started boarding the plane. For some unknown reason, we had a small bit of luck and had been moved from boarding group 4 to boarding group 2. We boarded early, and settled in for the flight to DC.

Waiting for takeoff…

The plane took off only about fifteen minutes late and the pilot was pretty confident we would make the time up somewhere over the Midwest. I stayed masked for the entire flight, except when sipping on a club soda. Everyone else on the plane stayed masked as well, and no crazies were yelling at the flight attendants about their rights. I did some reading, some writing, but no ‘rithmetic, and then watched Matt Damon in “Stillwater” (which I recommend, if you haven’t seen it). A bit more writing, and we were finally descending. It turns out the pilot was right, and we landed about 8:45PM, 15 minutes early. Amazing!

Let’s all crowd together to get off the plane!

We walked to baggage claim, where a large, crowded mob was waiting for their luggage. All were masked, but there was zero distancing. One guy actually knocked me out of the way, with no “excuse me” or any other words, to retrieve his bag. Then it turned out it wasn’t his bag, and he knocked a couple more people out of the way putting the bag back on the conveyer belt. The serenity prayer* briefly flashed through my brain. Eventually, our bags arrived. We gathered them up, and proceeded to Section A of Parking Garage 1 and our Subaru. Once outside, and in the garage, masks came off.

The drive home was pretty easy, even though a raging snow storm occurred the day before. Major highways were clear, but the local roads, although plowed, still had some snow and slickness to them. We arrived at the Farm at about 10:40PM, approximately fourteen hours after we woke up in Philo that morning. Carmen, our dog, greeted us with a wagging tail, and little yelps of pleasure. We stayed up another hour to relax a bit, and finally went to bed around midnight.

Here’s the thing. It was a looooong day, but it wasn’t a bad day. That is, no bad things happened. The bus arrived on time and didn’t break down on the way to the airport. Our flight wasn’t one of the 20,000 flights that have been cancelled since Christmas Eve. Since we were on a direct flight, we didn’t miss some connection at O’Hare airport in Chicago due to weather. Our flight arrived arrived on Tuesday, January 4th, the day after some people were trapped in their cars for over 26 hours in the DC area, due to a snowstorm. Despite Omicron racing around America, we didn’t catch Covid.

No, it wasn’t a bad day. Still, it was fourteen hours, approximately ten of them masked, we’ll never get back. The trip to California at the start of vacation was of similar duration. It too happened flawlessly. So the price of a wonderful ten day vacation in California? In addition to the dollar cost for the plane and bus tickets, two of those ten days were consumed entirely by travel. In the big scheme of things, a pretty cheap price to see loved ones.

Addendum:

– Yes, Planes, Buses and Automobiles is a play on the John Candy/Steve Martin movie “Planes, Trains and Automobiles”.

– And yes, the opening title, “A Day in the Life” and the line “I didn’t fall out of bed, or drag a comb across my head, but I did find my way downstairs and drink a cup” were inspired by the Beatles song, “A Day in the Life”.

* The Serenity Prayer is a prayer written by theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. It is usually quoted as: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”