tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370708862024-03-12T15:09:50.016-10:00Race the SunsetExploring the myriad mysteries of life, from beyond the furthest reaches of the universe to the quiet sanctuary of the human heart.Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.comBlogger860125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-20289033859769651122024-02-26T18:01:00.002-10:002024-03-01T17:57:06.290-10:00The Ambush of Memory<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhprhraDgbJi3UwEU97mATjtlmMzXJE4Oo1o6K9F65eVpHe5F2Kwuf7NHn1DxFj79Ig7Y1J3oI2TRbIlyhCrDkZQVHLD3ormV_2Unio0kkCkHcqGC_xJQ8g_h3tVPq7J1pjPgviLeUrAvhyphenhyphenDGWJ219f1SXsdD51XYz2HtaqxlzFo5ZI4g7WffHI/s1963/Award.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="1963" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhprhraDgbJi3UwEU97mATjtlmMzXJE4Oo1o6K9F65eVpHe5F2Kwuf7NHn1DxFj79Ig7Y1J3oI2TRbIlyhCrDkZQVHLD3ormV_2Unio0kkCkHcqGC_xJQ8g_h3tVPq7J1pjPgviLeUrAvhyphenhyphenDGWJ219f1SXsdD51XYz2HtaqxlzFo5ZI4g7WffHI/w394-h287/Award.jpg" width="394" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Feels like it was another lifetime...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2024</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Our lives are our story, unfolding each day, page by page.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>People we meet become characters in our story, as we become characters in theirs.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>It is in these chance encounters that we recognize </b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>that every life is a story waiting to be told."</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>--Ralph F. Couey</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm now nearly five months into my job as a tour guide for the USS Missouri Memorial in Pearl Harbor. While learning the tour presentations presented some challenges for my aging and leaky brain, I've managed to put them in one of the few reliable areas within that mysterious organ. I've found that I really enjoy doing the tours, partially because public speaking has always been easy and enjoyable for me, but mostly because the ship has such an amazing story to tell. My biggest problem seems to be not being able to shut up, as my tours usually last way too long. Working on that...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I underestimated the impact of the innumerable memories that ambush me in every compartment, and down every passageway. Sometimes they drift in and out, much like the clouds that drift over the harbor. Then there are the powerful ones, tied to significant events and relationships from those long-ago years that charge in, hitting my most vulnerable places. As Paul Simon once wrote, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was...</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>A time of innocence, a time of confidences</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Long ago... it must be...</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>I have a photograph</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Preserve your memories</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>They're all that's left you."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span><a name='more'></a></span><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Memories...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We all have them, the good, the bad, and the ugly. They exist in that indefinable space somewhere between the mind and the heart. They lurk there, waiting to spring out of hiding without warning. There are so many things that trigger them, sights, smells, a song, emotions, or even nothing at all. Suddenly, for whatever reason, they are there. For me, it was the familiar smell of a ship which envelops you as soon as you go through a door or hatch. Steel, paint, oil, all the things that make her whole. It hit me the first day back, that in a sense, told me I had come home. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I share those snippets of memory with my colleagues, and they are always willing to listen. While there are other veterans on this crew, I am the only one who actually served aboard Missouri. In some respects, it was a relatively short span, only two years, but when I deal with those recollections, I realize that it was a lifetime after all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But its not just the memories of the ship. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Two weeks ago, several petty officers from the Destroyer McCampbell came aboard. They were Gunners Mates and Fire Controlmen, and I was able to not only do the basic tour, but also to take them up to Combat Engagement Center, a space I wore like a shirt the whole time I was aboard. At some point, we fell into what sailors all do, an activity called "shooting the breeze." Although, as I recall the word "breeze" was always substituted by something...less delicate. Our conversation contained the usual things, ships, liberty ports, other shipmates, officers, aspects of the work we did, and bragging about our ships. There was a lot of shared experience there, despite the decades that separated us. At one point, a man and his young boys entered CEC, and was introduced as the Captain on one of the ships visiting Pearl at the time. We all reacted the same. My sailors snapped to, and said, "Attention on Deck." I added my familiar words, "Captain's in Combat." He, of course waved us off, as he was in civvies, but I think he was secretly pleased, nonetheless. He joined us for a few moments, and suddenly we all became shipmates, sharing something special. We were all talking the same language, and sharing a fleeting comradery. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After he left, the sailors also said they had to go, so I returned them to the Quarterdeck and watched them go ashore. I found myself awash in an emotion that was somewhere between sweet nostalgia and sadness. Slowly, I realized that I missed so much the experience of being a shipmate, a bond that is far deeper than mere friendship. For a short space of time, I was back in the Navy, sharing all those aspects of service and shared challenges, humor and pathos, exasperation and fulfillment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That same day I met a Chief Sonar Tech from another ship. We talked about the fleetwide personnel shortage. He told me he was six sailors short in his division, and OI division (where I had worked) was not only also short sailors, but missing a Chief Petty Officer, a vacancy that was unlikely to be filled anytime soon. From within my heart came a shockingly strong surge of emotion, an imperative that I should go to that ship and volunteer my services as their Chief. They needed leadership, and I was ready to wade in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, that was silly and impractical. I'm 68 years old with a leaky brain, and completely out of place as an analog sailor in a digital Navy. And my wife would absolutely not want me gone for the next six months.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In both instances, I was ambushed by emotions that I had thought had been rendered extinct, rocked by the regret of knowing that those times, those opportunities had irrevocably passed. The most profound discovery was that even after all those years, I was still ready to step up and serve. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thought back to the day I became a Chief Petty Officer, and what one grizzled old Master Chief told us:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Today, you pin on the anchors of a Chief for the first time.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>But you will find out that for the rest of your life,</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>you will never really take them off,</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>because they are also pinned to your heart."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Days and weeks will pass, and there will be many moments ahead when those recollections will rush in like a flood tide, perhaps momentarily washing me off my feet. They are, after all, an important part of me. But I will not turn away. Rather, I will savor them and allow them to rest within and warm my soul. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And there, they will find a home.</div><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-38753354126080195392024-02-15T19:50:00.004-10:002024-03-01T17:56:45.484-10:00Jubilation...Devastation<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguC-ywKi8Gd9JGT-nMZI6U78NjgkkrUHnqsvaJUIJ5zQHL0oXvxtgIviuI9IKYk49gm4qc7CGmwxmOgF27VpKf-iJMLItpdlcQkco0OyH7f6E51YL8fgYidFyprV3hw6-99HbM_iZr2H_1iQCcOjHwKPi-_1TTgJ2zjLcNawDyjTVcg1OisdEV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="1140" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguC-ywKi8Gd9JGT-nMZI6U78NjgkkrUHnqsvaJUIJ5zQHL0oXvxtgIviuI9IKYk49gm4qc7CGmwxmOgF27VpKf-iJMLItpdlcQkco0OyH7f6E51YL8fgYidFyprV3hw6-99HbM_iZr2H_1iQCcOjHwKPi-_1TTgJ2zjLcNawDyjTVcg1OisdEV=w449-h296" width="449" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Union Station, Kansas City, MO</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2024 Kansas City Star</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"You think you're lost, but you're </i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>not lost on your</i></b><b><i> own.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>I will stand by you, I will help you when you've done all you can do</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>If you can't cope, I will dry your eyes</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>I will fight your fight</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>I will hold you tight</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>And I won't let go."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>--Rascal Flatts</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2024</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Written content only</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a day of celebration in Kansas City. The Chiefs had won the Super Bowl yet again and from all over the heartland, people gathered to celebrate. A glorious, warm mid-winter day, a gift this time of year, added a bit of spring joy to the atmosphere. In the over one million fans gathered, it would have been tough to find a care in the world. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A two-mile parade brought the heroes to the place in the city that had seen jubilation before. Two previous Super Bowl celebrations, and an epic World Series party that, while nearly ten years in the past, still resonates in the memory. It had always been a place of joy. It had always been a place of safety. Nobody ever thought twice about crowding onto the lawn between Union Station and the World War I Memorial, nor lining up 7 or 8 deep along the parade route. The players got down off the double-decker buses and came right up to the fans, shaking hands, high-fiving, fist-bumping, even hugs. Jerseys were signed, selfies were taken. Heroes usually worshipped from afar, became close and personal.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This was KC; it was home; everyone there were neighbors and friends, even if only vicariously. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were speeches, fueled by alcohol to be sure, but the kind of thing that gets the heart going and the spirit soaring. We were champions, and nothing would ever change that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In that massive crowd, however were a group of people who were not there to celebrate. They had come to settle a score. With bullets. It mattered not that there were innocents present, especially children. The only thing that mattered was their anger, their hate, their vengeance. In a moment that will forever live in darkness, they pulled out guns and opened fire.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The shots were heard immediately after the player's speeches had concluded, so many thought at first that it was celebratory fireworks. Suddenly, the realization hit. Many saw victims, bleeding from wounds fall to the ground. Everyone began to run. But where was safety? First they ran into Union Station, only to reverse themselves as the violence continued to erupt, this time in front of them. They ran towards the east, only to hear more shots ring out in that direction. People milled about in confused terror, concerned only with getting loved ones to safety. Suddenly an escape route made itself apparent, and everyone moved finally in the one safe direction. Fear though, had descended. Family members were separated. Children, minds blanked by terror, screamed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But not everyone fled immediately. Three of the suspects were chased, tackled, and detained by fans, who went from ordinary to extraordinary with a moment's decision. A group of Dads came across some terrified teenage girls, stopped running, and formed a protective cordon around them. The heroes they had all come to celebrate became heroes for real. Players scooped up children and took them to a safe place. Coach Andy Reid comforted another terrified teen by providing a sanctuary with his Grandfatherly arms and then repeating, "Breathe. Just breathe." Jackson Mahomes, the sometimes troubled brother of Patrick, comforted children as they took refuge on the train platform. Police, firefighters, paramedics, doctors and nurses from the crowd surged forward to aid the wounded. So fast were their reactions, that within ten minutes of the first shot, all the wounded were either at or en route to nearby hospitals. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The stories are still coming out, but it is apparent that in the face of violent tragedy and terror, the spirit of Kansas City--the REAL Kansas City--was asserting itself. In a city that acts more like community, and a community that seems at times like family, their humanity shown like a beacon on what was a very dark day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I grew up in Kansas City, so I know the power of that community. I have seen compassion writ large on a city beset by natural disasters. I have seen the small courtesies people extend to each other all day, every day, for no other reason than "just because." It is a place where people's first response to any misfortune is, "How can I help?" In a place where sports passions scale the highest heights, many are the stories of fans visiting from opposing cities who have been warmly welcomed here. It is a place where warm hospitality and killer barbecue are specialties of the house.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nobody knows as of yet the nature of the dispute, or why the cretins involved chose to settle matters in the middle of a crowd of a million people. And really, does it matter? There's no justification for their actions, nothing that they can say that in any way will ameliorate their culpability. Speaking just for me, whatever punishment the law metes out to them, it will not be enough. Not by a long shot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As is always the case, pundits and activists raced to make political hay out of this, putting guns at the heart of the arguments, either for or against.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But let me be clear. It's not the guns. It's the hate and anger that caused them to be used. If there were no guns, then there are blades. If there are no blades, then there are bats and clubs. If there are no weapons at all, it will be fists and feet, which can still be fatal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We live in a divided nation, that divide fueled by two political parties that intentionally and maliciously lie and mislead with the sole intent to create that hate and division, and then profit by it. So many people have become puppets, dancing on the strings of evil.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These are the voices that drive the violence, the violence that ends in the death of innocents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We need to stop listening to such voices. Instead of looking for reasons to hate, find reasons to be friends. If we reduce the hate, then the violence will recede as well. We don't have to agree on much just to respect each other. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kansas City has been changed. But not in the way you might think. It will be stronger, friendlier, even more caring. The already strong bonds of community have been made unbreakable. We will always have each other's back, now more than ever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a terrible moment, on the heels of jubilation and unity. Kansas City now wears an open wound. Over time, the wound will heal, but the scar will remain, something to be touched and remembered. For now, Kansas City is hurting, not just those who live there, but those of us who left but kept a piece of that remarkable place in our hearts. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, we will hurt together.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then we will heal. Together.</div><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-27468933354754478672024-02-08T20:14:00.001-10:002024-03-01T17:56:19.377-10:00Bug Time<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgCCzWYQkavt2Xh4EUNMw28eSyJyn4JMUgbpxQklobiT2ZYY3i7Tjjs9hA5hHxX0DjACEvtfaZlwRWMWZPNpS7nspP-6gS0zA8Q5Rt-QRHiZYAdUQqbMx9XBmK8PfrQsFSliPoBHHqTnOUq5J1sogNzvGanVolGfZmnnx2elcU3pFu7mCwQLR/s3023/mantis.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3023" data-original-width="1800" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgCCzWYQkavt2Xh4EUNMw28eSyJyn4JMUgbpxQklobiT2ZYY3i7Tjjs9hA5hHxX0DjACEvtfaZlwRWMWZPNpS7nspP-6gS0zA8Q5Rt-QRHiZYAdUQqbMx9XBmK8PfrQsFSliPoBHHqTnOUq5J1sogNzvGanVolGfZmnnx2elcU3pFu7mCwQLR/w254-h426/mantis.jpg" width="254" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think I got his best side...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2024</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We usually take a passing note of things nature, usually because there are things that require our more urgent attention. But sometimes, nature pulls up a chair, sits down, and forces us to pay attention.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was at work earlier this week assigned to the entry line, which is actually down on the pier. There, people show up with their tickets for the Battleship and their tours. My job is to give them a safety brief, which goes something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>"Welcome aboard the Battleship Missouri! Just a few words to the wise... She's still configured as a warship, so please watch out for tripping hazards, things sticking out from the sides around your arms and head. The ladders are steep and narrow, so please use both hands on the rails going up or down. There is no eating, smoking, or vaping. You can drink as long as it is a covered container, like a water bottle. Please obey the posted signage. It is there for your safety. And please hold on to your belongings. If it goes over the side into the harbor, then it belongs to King Neptune now and forever."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We do this to remind folks that the ship hasn't been modified for visitors and there are hazards around. That last bit about King Neptune I throw in to get a few smiles. It's one of the pleasant posts we stand because this is where people first arrive, and we get a chance to give a good impression to start. When it's busy, that little speech is given a lot as people move through the tent. When its not, there's time to strike up some conversations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then there are days, and times during those days when I might not see anyone for 30 or 45 minutes. There is time for contemplation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On this particular day, one of the young ladies from ticketing, gave out a short shriek. When I looked, she was pointing at a trash/recycle receptacle (made from 1,179 recycled milk cartons). I followed her point and found that we had a visitor. Sitting on the side of the container was a preying mantis. I hadn't seen one in quite a long time, and as I came closer, it showed to tendency to flee. With nothing else to to at that moment, I decided to take a closer look. </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like most young boys, I always collected bugs. Grasshoppers, crickets, worms, and other denizens of the grass and soil found their way into a jar for a time until I tired of it and released it back into the wild. Here in Hawai'i, there are bugs aplenty, but now I mostly take that grumpy old man "get off my lawn" attitude. We have to work hard to keep our house from being overrun, so my passion for insects has dimmed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But as I watched, I felt that prodigal 9-year-old return, the one who would stare at a bug for long periods of time, fascinated by what I was seeing. In this case, because the mantis was more or less at eye level, I could comfortably observe without sacrificing my dignity. At least not too much, anyway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm sure my close examination disturbed the mantis. It's articulated neck aligned the triangular head at various angles in my direction. At one point, it was gently rocking back and forth. After a recent visit to Wikipedia, I learned that it was either mimicking a blade of grass in the wind, or altering his viewing angle to get a better look at me. Some visitors showed up and I went away to do my thing for a few minutes. While I was away, a fly zoomed past the mantis, who suddenly lurched towards what looked like a tasty snack, but the fly was too nimble. After awhile, I returned, this time moving in closer. On a whim, I reached out and gently stroked the mantis' back (at least it looked like his back). Instead of flying away, it continued to sit there, claws folded. The only response was to dip down a bit. I guess he didn't like the touch. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was strange. I mean, there I was a full-grown adult hovering over a bug in a public place. But I couldn't stop looking. I noticed that it's triangular head resembled the aliens from the Independence Day movie franchise. The eyes were amazing. In my reading, I later found out that the mantis has actually has stereoscopic vision, and two different parts of the eye, one for detecting movement, and the other for close-up detailed examination of prey. Bifocals. The two...claws? were folded and appeared to have spikes for capturing prey. Looking closer, I could see that the mouth was a kind of mandible at the end of a snout. Occasionally as I watched, the mandibles would move like it was chewing something. But it never made a move to flee. It moved a few inches around the edge of the receptacle, perhaps in trying to put some distance between him and this overly curious human. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had the time to marvel at how wonderfully engineered this bug was. It's entire structure was thin, yet looked very strong. It had wings and long, articulated legs, and it had the ability to rest comfortably on vertical surfaces. Yep. Way cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eventually, my duties beckoned and I was relieved by a colleague. I pointed out the mantis to her who responded as only a female can: "Ugh." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I went back by at the end of the day, but the mantis had moved on. Still, it was an interesting moment to examine closely something amazing from nature.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And to rediscover that eternally curious child that still exists within.</div><br /><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-24970913621931271042024-01-08T09:38:00.003-10:002024-03-01T17:55:52.072-10:00Confluence and Life<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uV-UP-YgSE3Lor6k1LkV0ScOC4xFzAeUpOqGhVlrL7rWO8KiaJ70wmgnHn3ojxVNeTU1Pf1tKox-pVcB9XVy0iRceng9S1sPer0MODBBA7zS_EoYAr_daKJl5a06fBP9I-CmnCPps3Qsh5wk8-QJIbUkeBytPJnhvndalsOj_-J9J3SR0v-6/s4000/Sunrise%20Kailua.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uV-UP-YgSE3Lor6k1LkV0ScOC4xFzAeUpOqGhVlrL7rWO8KiaJ70wmgnHn3ojxVNeTU1Pf1tKox-pVcB9XVy0iRceng9S1sPer0MODBBA7zS_EoYAr_daKJl5a06fBP9I-CmnCPps3Qsh5wk8-QJIbUkeBytPJnhvndalsOj_-J9J3SR0v-6/w267-h414/Sunrise%20Kailua.jpg" width="267" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;">Copyright © 2024</span><br style="text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">by Ralph F. Couey</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">One of the most valuable uses of time for me is watching sunrises and sunsets. Here in Hawai'i, they're nearly always perfect and beautiful. Bright colors decorating the sky -- the pallet and skill of the Great Artist bringing peace and wonder to so many. I've lived in a lot of places, and been to a lot more, but of all those mornings and evenings in far-flung locales, but nowhere are they more stunningly beautiful than here. And twice per day, no less.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In a life where there never seems to be enough hours in the day, those times are when I force myself to slow down; to empty my mind of the mundane. It is the best time to think, reflect, and contemplate, freed of the have-to-dos and gotta-be-theres, for a time at least.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've had little time to write of late and I've missed that. There are moments when I feel thoughts, ideas, and emotions throwing themselves around inside me like a caged animal. It becomes imperative to take up pen and paper, if for no other reason than to set them free. Also, at my age, it's important to act on them immediately because thoughts and ideas suddenly have acquired a shelf life. Just as suddenly as they may blossom, they are likely to fade and vanish leaving behind a miasma of frustration and loss. And sadness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Everyone needs catharsis, and writing has always been mine. Beyond the sheer joy of creativity, expelling those restless thoughts to paper (or computer screen) is an act of healing. That's one of the reasons I began this blog some 18 years ago. Looking now through those nearly 900 essays is a trip back in time. I can see where I was and what I thought about, how events affected me. Ruminations about the future have showed not only that I am anything but omniscient, but how fundamentally unpredictable life truly is. At times, the future seemed tangible, something just out of reach, a trail marker pointing me forward. Other times, life has needed to be lived one day at a time, even minute to minute because the hill immediately before me was too daunting. The way forward from that place is mandated by the requirement to put aside doubts and fears and just climb that hill regardless of how steep or rocky. Only from the top will I be able to grasp a clearer view ahead. I know also that the struggle uphill is the price for clarity. And in the midst of that struggle I know I will grow stronger, and perhaps wiser.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lately my life has become a happier place, for which my job change is mostly responsible. Leaving the state job proved to be a healthier choice. I'm now a tour guide aboard the USS Missouri. There was a significant pay cut involved that is now making itself felt. But gone is the intrigue and drama, as well as the insidious intrusion of partisan politics. In its place is the pure and straightforward task of telling the story of a remarkable ship and her important place in history.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYioibQAZTSWDfg7TaSdyJCuQq2GGfxM1SUBir-5psA_1nJ_X-LEUJnOrh72wPdZlPdhmY1iOO_XO5X5bT2KSJ9tRb_KY-PvUE65nMRV_gxQKLnvSYOKMOaSLk6NIy34fyusWGzXrfi_q3h0RG3rVbZIh1UJzE-Qfdw6p28fV5vyLshlmZLSr2/s4000/tour%20guide.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYioibQAZTSWDfg7TaSdyJCuQq2GGfxM1SUBir-5psA_1nJ_X-LEUJnOrh72wPdZlPdhmY1iOO_XO5X5bT2KSJ9tRb_KY-PvUE65nMRV_gxQKLnvSYOKMOaSLk6NIy34fyusWGzXrfi_q3h0RG3rVbZIh1UJzE-Qfdw6p28fV5vyLshlmZLSr2/w200-h444/tour%20guide.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In this job, I'm constantly face-to-face with the public, and I have discovered how much I missed that interaction. A writer thrives on stories, the most interesting of which come from people. Our visitors come from all over the world, each bringing with them the details of their homes, their jobs, what kinds of things fill their days. What seems boring and mundane to them becomes new and exciting; a new experience for me. There are glimpses and insights into what it is like to live in Germany, France, China (both Chinas), Russia, Korea, Japan, even Wolbach, Nebraska, and dozens of other locales that have only been fuzzily understood, if at all. Best of all are the veterans who come aboard. Knowing that they are with another vet encourages them to unburden those things that they haven't been able to share with anyone else. Sometimes those memories are accompanied by sadness, even tears. But in that moment of confluence, we both find a piece of healing. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Occasionally, there is a part of someone's life that intersects with a part of mine and suddenly there is a moment of sharing between strangers. Perhaps it is a moment when we become more than just strangers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My last two years in the Navy were spent aboard this battleship, so in a sense it was returning home. The first day I came aboard and entered through a water-tight door, I was engulfed by that hauntingly familiar smell of steel, paint, and oil that is the atmosphere of any warship. It was both familiar and comforting. A lot of the ship is still blocked off due to the presence of various toxic materials, particularly asbestos. But I can still explore all the other areas. Around every corner, down every passageway, and in every compartment I find memories waiting to be relived -- experiences, friends, challenges -- all accompanied by the wistful reminder that this was the life of a much younger man.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But to be there, to relive it all puts me in touch with that young man again, to see him once again living a life he loved while at the top of his game. Perhaps even to lean in, touch his shoulder ever so lightly, and whisper, "You did good, shipmate."</div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-1412673289769267782023-12-11T12:12:00.004-10:002024-03-01T17:55:20.288-10:00December 7th and the March of History<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNx3JljRy3bL9wo6OzVPw30SqYBpCdsH8ycXektwpf526chl-cZRKgH0alaEYoWg5iPjZWZn-Y6A6gEngxSorq_cTCXxFd398Bhj7lkbPBSChKWxfSgmFV1fF5rSsghGC65LMmkQZL1jE5rn8-jOf2Xgl1_ROAcdr8v19UTwfccPo-5i3T9iE/s2462/Decatur%20honors.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1644" data-original-width="2462" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNx3JljRy3bL9wo6OzVPw30SqYBpCdsH8ycXektwpf526chl-cZRKgH0alaEYoWg5iPjZWZn-Y6A6gEngxSorq_cTCXxFd398Bhj7lkbPBSChKWxfSgmFV1fF5rSsghGC65LMmkQZL1jE5rn8-jOf2Xgl1_ROAcdr8v19UTwfccPo-5i3T9iE/w436-h292/Decatur%20honors.jpg" width="436" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">USS Decatur renders honors to the USS Arizona</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">December 7th, 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"We in the present are the keepers and custodians of the past.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>It is our responsibility to convey those memories into the future."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>--Ralph Couey</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">December 7th, 1941, a day which President Roosevelt called "a day which will live in infamy" is one of those dates on a calendar which are deeply meaningful. For most of the current generations, September 11th, 2001 is the point that divided "before" from "after" in their lives. Both dates mark a moment when the world changed, and as a result, lives changed as well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">William Gibson once wrote, "Time moves in one direction, memory in another." For people who were alive and aware when a particular event took place, the feelings generated at that time keep remembrances fresh. The emotions, whether ecstatic or devastating, remain fixed in the mind and the heart. For new generations, those events are history, remembered in a colder, passionless manner. The old saw, "You had to be there" applies. If a person did not experience such an event, they will not feel the same impact. And in that transition, the impact and meaning of those life-changing moments is lost.</div><p></p><p>Each generation lives within the bubble that envelops the span of their lives. When great events happen, we experience those moments in a personal way, how it affected us, our family and friends, even the smaller world immediately around us. As I alluded to in my quote above, it is our responsibility to pass those experiences to the next generations. It is not only important that they know that events like 9/11 and December 7th happened, but how it <i style="font-weight: bold;">felt</i> to us. It is those feelings that help to convey the import the meaning of those events into the future, ensuring they will never be forgotten.</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p>The world of 1941 was in transition. The Great Depression, and the Dust Bowl had passed and a measure of prosperity had returned. Just as the moment arrived when Americans could take a breath, the world came hunting for us. Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan were nations with global ambitions. Even though America was still recovering, both governments knew that the road to world domination was blocked by the United States. Americans, however, were slow to that realization. The population was deeply and passionately divided between "America Firsters" and "Interventionists." The memory of the Great War, which we know as World War I, was fresh in their minds, the terrible trap of intertwining alliances. Europe's conflicts were Europe's business, not ours. We were still recovering from the Depression. Jobs were coming back as industry began to accelerate, but the national mood after years of looking inward at our own problems was not prepared to accept the global responsibilities history was about to inflict. This national desire to remain at peace within our own borders likely had a key effect on the ability of the government and the military to anticipate the full capabilities and intent of our enemies.</p><p>I have spent most of my lifetime reading and researching how World War II came about. I've studied both the mainstream accounts and all the revisionists. My conclusion is that there is not a shred of factual proof that the Roosevelt administration conspired to allow Japan to attack us. What is abundantly clear is that everyone was so desperate to hang on to the illusion of peace, that they refused to entertain the worst possibility. After the military leadership issued the War Warning of November 27, 1941, a kind of miasma overtook the whole structure. Common sense would have dictated that Pearl Harbor would be a primary target. But by December 7th, air and sea patrols were restricted to the local areas. The threat was assumed to be local sabotage by the sizeable Japanese-American populace in Hawai'i. This was pure racism, as history has proven that not one person of that group ever committed a treasonous or disloyal act. The ships in the harbor were at their lowest state of readiness. All the aircraft, instead of being kept in bunkers and revetments, were lined up in the open, wingtip to wingtip. Out in the Philippines, which was even more vulnerable, 9 hours after the attack on Pearl had been reported and confirmed, MacArthur's aircraft were still grounded and vulnerable. His troops, rather than deployed to obvious threat points, were in barracks. It was if the entire American political-military structure, and the population as well, had all closed their eyes in fervent illusion while the enemy crept up behind them. </p><p>As the Japanese carrier task force steamed into launch position north of O'ahu, negotiations were still going on, at least that's what we believed. Japan sent a 14-part message to its embassy in Washington to be delivered to the American government that Sunday at 1:00 pm, 7:30 am in Hawai'i. A lot of people have fixated on this message as definitive proof that the attack on Pearl Harbor was imminent. The truth is that the message did not mention military action at all, least of all the location of any attack. The operational paragraph stated:</p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"The Japanese Government regrets to have to notify hereby the American Government</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>that in view of the attitude of the American Government</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>it cannot but consider that it is impossible to reach an agreement </i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>through further negotiations."</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">While dire, this did not amount to a declaration of war, only that unless the American government altered its terms, there would be no further negotiations.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dawn broke that day over the Pacific Fleet as it lay moored and anchored in Pearl Harbor. The oncoming duty sections were beginning to stir in preparation for relieving the watch. Most of the rest of the ship's crews were sleeping off the usual alcohol-fueled Saturday night liberty in Honolulu. At 7:48 am, Japanese carrier aircraft began diving and strafing ships and the shore facilities. The first bomb fell on Ford Island near the seaplane hangers. The sailors, soldiers and Marines there who had experienced only peace discovered the sudden and ugly fear and violence of war. Although the shock and surprise was total, the men sprang to their duty without hesitation. The world-changing message, "Air Raid, Pearl Harbor. This is no drill" was sent out at 7:58 am. After ammunition lockers were broken into and the guns manned, the ships responded with heavy anti-aircraft fire. Japanese pilots were amazed at how quickly those bursts filled the sky. But the attack continued. By just 8:10 am, 20 minutes into the fight, Arizona had blown up, Oklahoma was capsized, and several other battleships had been hit by torpedoes and bombs and were sinking into the mud. I recount these events not to delineate a definitive timeline, but rather how quickly the world had changed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By the end of the attack, 2,403 American servicemen were dead. Thousands more were wounded. But the greater wound was upon the American conscience. Japan's message to the US Government was intended to be delivered before the attack. But delays caused by transmission of the message and production of the formal document delayed the delivery of the message to our government until well after the attack commenced. President Roosevelt in his December 8th address to Congress, called it "a date which will live in infamy." The infamy referred to the fact that there was no formal declaration of war before Japan attacked. The real infamy, however, was that we as a government, a military, and a people were simply not ready, or more accurately, refused to accept the danger of the moment and act on that danger.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pearl Harbor today is still an important operational base. While the number of ships home-ported here has shrunk, its place in Pacific geography is vital to our national defense. Burke-class destroyers lay moored along piers and in the shipyard. Subs are tied alongside piers on their side of the harbor. But from the purview of a visitor, it is a quiet place. As the sun rises, the water is calm, almost glassy. The trade winds will come later, riffling the water with small waves. Military and civilians drive into work, much like anyplace else. The ship's crews are busy, engaged in those necessary tasks before the work day begins. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At 8:00, a bugle sounds across the harbor and everywhere, men and women stop and salute as the American flags are hoisted all over the base while a recording of the National Anthem is played. For me when I wore the uniform, and even now it is a time when I reflect upon why I served; the importance of what we did.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Visitors have arrived by the hundreds, some lining up for the boat ride over to the USS Arizona Memorial. Others have boarded busses, taking them across the Ford Island causeway to visit the Air Museum and the USS Missouri Memorial. They have come to touch a piece of history, to make it personal for them. Veterans, some hobbled by age, come aboard, their eyes revealing the emotion of being aboard. We tell them the story of the ship and her place in history. They are amazed at the ship's size and the power of her considerable armaments. They are happy to be there, and their enthusiasm is apparent. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For me, I've never felt more the responsibility for my part in sharing the story of the ship, that remarkable day the war finally ended, and the very personal story of the Kamikaze pilot who expended his life on the Missouri in 1945. I have embraced my role as a keeper of the past and my mission to pass that story on. It is not just my job to do this.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It is also my honor.</div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-23755864921333844552023-12-03T21:54:00.002-10:002024-03-01T17:54:47.424-10:00Going Home. Again.<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq97TbmE-aFgJwgTlusbZLjbMS-_LBAGQhPU3xBNiqVLnocx55G17V6ACexmJ_jnlN14nTzne5aQCFVNfuUhUBmuJw6WZN2TEHJhe3_YQ2Cb2QQuZgEhZfl3RopplrEY-qoLpUfsKHA2Ia9tPkVg2PUpPUNnKgcoDttmuQ41nVy0iP2r8fNJpm/s5456/DSC05103.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3632" data-original-width="5456" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq97TbmE-aFgJwgTlusbZLjbMS-_LBAGQhPU3xBNiqVLnocx55G17V6ACexmJ_jnlN14nTzne5aQCFVNfuUhUBmuJw6WZN2TEHJhe3_YQ2Cb2QQuZgEhZfl3RopplrEY-qoLpUfsKHA2Ia9tPkVg2PUpPUNnKgcoDttmuQ41nVy0iP2r8fNJpm/w509-h338/DSC05103.JPG" width="509" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My new office</div><p></p><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright ©2023</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;">Photo and written content</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"<b><i>Life is about not knowing, having to change,</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>taking the moment and making the best of it</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>without knowing what's going to happen next."</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>--Gilda Radner</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Change can happen slowly, with careful planning. Or it can happen quickly, coming upon you like an approaching train. My change in jobs this month was one of the latter. I left the Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency and took a position with the USS Missouri Memorial Association as a tour guide aboard that venerable battleship. I served aboard her for the last two years of my Navy career. Like any sailor, I developed a deep affection for that hunk of steel as she took us across thousands of miles of ocean and into some interesting places. I was still relatively young and as I look back, probably at the peak of my abilities. However, my growing family responsibilities had begun to gnaw at me, guilt over my frequent and long absences. I chose them over the Navy, and that's why I left. I've never regretted doing that. I served ten years, giving them the best I had. But that time had ended. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we went back to Hawai'i to visit Cheryl's family, I always took a day to visit the ship. Every time I went aboard, I felt that thrill of returning to what had been a special place.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Why did I leave my job? Good question. The answer is far from simple, or perhaps even comprehensible. I was happy at my last job, working for the public and engaged in work that was important and necessary. I really liked the folks I worked with in the State Warning Point. But for some time, there had been a growing sense of disquiet within me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, although there were plenty of contributing factors which I won't go into here. </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A couple of weeks before Cheryl and I left for our three week visit to Virginia, I had been surfing through some job sites in a kind of languid manner. Amongst all the listings which didn't stir any interest, was one that caught my attention. The USS Missouri was looking for tour guides. Urgently looking, as a matter of fact.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had been down that particular road a few times. At least seven times I had sent applications and resumes trying to get their attention. But I never received a response. This befuddled me, as I served aboard the ship during the last two years of my Navy career, and there wasn't much I didn't know about her. But this time was different. Within two days of posting my information on that website, I received a call from the ship wanting to schedule an interview. The interview went very well, and I was offered the position on the spot. I asked for a day or two in order to discuss this with Cheryl. It did involve a rather significant reduction in pay, and as we are starting a series of renovations with the house, I was concerned. But my wife knows me better than I know myself. She had sensed my growing unease, and enthusiastically encouraged me to take the job. She wanted me to be happy again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I called the tour manager and explained that I had three weeks of approved leave coming up, and that I really couldn't start until mid-November. His response? "No problem." I accepted the offer.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At first, I was cautious about sharing this decision with my colleagues before informing the agency. But it is a small unit, and there are really no secrets safe within there. I spoke, circumspectly at first, about "making a change" and received a lot of support and encouragement. So, now that this was the worst-kept secret perhaps in history, I went to my immediate supervisor and told him that I would be leaving upon my return from leave. My first clue about my value to the organization came in his response. He wished me well in many words. But he never said, "Sorry to see you leave." Perhaps I put too much over-thought into subtle things like that, but I knew then that my decision had been the correct one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After returning to Hawai'i, I took two final days to close things out. There wasn't any party involved on my last day, just some good wishes and a couple of senior staff who hustled down to see me off at the last moment. I turned in my badge, walked out the door, and for the last time drove out of Diamond Head Crater. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had a few days off before I was to start, and I took that time to reflect on a few things. Other times when I had left jobs, there was a certain sadness, even regret about closing that particular door. Not this time. I felt as sure about this as any decision I've ever made, which confirmed in my heart and mind that I had chosen correctly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My first day was a Sunday. I drove across the Ford Island Causeway and parked the car in the designated lot. I gathered a few things and began walking in. I had visited the ship numerous times, and turning the corner and seeing the ship's formidable superstructure had always thrilled me. This time was no different. That first day I spent reading and signing things, and touring the ship. I shadowed some of the experienced guides on their tours, and had a chance to gauge my new colleagues. I've never seen a happier or friendlier bunch of people. They had been told that a former crew member was joining the staff, and they welcomed me with warmth and appreciation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm now finishing my second full week. I am becoming more familiar with the required information in the tour presentation. Days, dates, numbers, places, events have begun to settle themselves more comfortably within my brain. I've conducted a few tours and found that I am thoroughly enjoying myself. The guests are interested and responsive, even excited to be aboard. I get a chance to interact with them, listening to their stories which plucks the writer string in me. While it is a lot to learn, it is a subject with which I am already intimately familiar.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Missouri, through the eyes and the heart of one of her sailors, is a beautiful thing. Her bow raises from the water and the deck flows past the mighty gun turrets and up into the towering superstructure. Although she remains chained to her pier, I can still remember what it was like when she parted the seas and left a boiling wake streaming out behind. Grace, power, symmetry painted a dramatic visage. But Missouri is not just an aging warship. It is also a very valuable piece of history. On her decks, World War II ended, and that still resonates with people. It was an important part of the collective pride we felt serving aboard. For those two years, it was home. And now, it was home again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Being aboard again on a daily basis after some 33 years has brought back a ton of memories. Some of them I don't miss, like the 18-hour workdays and the more than occasional 36-hour marathon. But all who have served know that the importance of what we did, shared by all, and knowing that the sacrifice was a shared one created a singular bond. There's simply no other relationship that compares. We had camaraderie, for sure. But we also shared that pride, pride in ourselves, in each other, and the shared identification with our ship. We were a part of something truly special. That feeling still lies deep within us, and will never fade.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The staff with whom I work also shares that pride, and I've never seen a happier more dedicated group of civilians working together anywhere. Our ship is in the best of hands.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a youth, I was once told by a gruff old man that it wasn't necessary to look for happiness in one's job. A job, he intoned, was there for one reason: to feed the family. A man would stick through the hard times because to leave the job tagged a person as a quitter. Quitters are not men. But I've grown up in a different era. One thing that Boomers have discovered is that it is not only possible, but necessary to find happiness in a career. Fulfillment in one area of life feeds fulfillment in the others.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After all, life is only a few years long. It's far better to spend it in peace.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-26860896585933949002023-11-14T20:07:00.001-10:002024-03-01T17:53:57.538-10:00Celebrating Veterans Day<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our autumn sojourn to Virginia included, naturally, a host of activities with our grandkids as we were looped into their very busy schedules. 2 concerts, 4 football games, 2 soccer matches, a visit to an art class, way too many trips to Sweet Frog, and coming to grips with the reality that the oldest one is not only driving, but off the college after this school year with the others to follow all too soon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Beyond the fun of watching them is just the simple joy of being around them. They grow so fast, and we are aging faster, it seems, so these moments are precious to us and to them. These are memories that we hold onto with all we have, adding to the already special ones already stored away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The youngest, 9-year-old Sophie (although she endlessly insisted she was already 10) took us to an event at her school for Veterans Day. My son and I, both proud vets, attended. When we arrived, we were directed to the library where we gathered with a roomful of other veterans and active duty. I circulated around a bit, meeting folks who had served in Vietnam, Korea, Panama, and all the Gulf wars. The ones still serving were present, wearing the uniform with pride. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After a few minutes, we were all organized by service branch and lined up. We were then marched into the gym, where each veteran was announced by name and rank. The students loudly and enthusiastically cheered each one of us. I have to tell you, it made my skin tingle. We all stood and recited the Pledge of Allegiance (yes, they still do that here) and sang the National Anthem. After we sat down, there were some short speeches by both students and staff and the guest of honor, a Captain from the National Health Service. A video presentation of those who were no longer alive was given, and to see those young faces facing the exciting challenge of service made me sadly nostalgic. But the reception by everyone was not forced or pro forma. Everyone was genuinely happy to be there, and there was a warm, shared joy among everyone who was there.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After the ceremony, we were led on what was called a parade, and we trooped through hallways, lined with cheering, singing kids. The noise was incredible, kind of like being in Arrowhead Stadium. It was amazing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At one point, I slowed and reached out to shake hands and high-five the kids lining the halls. They responded with big smiles and shouts, returning the high-fives with enthusiasm. I didn't realize immediately what such a simple gesture of acknowledgement meant to them. And to me. I would have taken pictures or video, but being a cold morning, I was carrying two sweatshirts and a jacket. My one free hand was busy with a higher purpose, linking with those incredible kids. One youngster saw my USS Missouri ballcap and talked to me in great detail about our sister ship, USS Iowa. He knew all the vital stats, size, displacement, number and caliber of guns, top speed, everything there was to know. I had to move on, but I could have spent some time with this one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because of my reduced pace, I was the last to arrive in the cafeteria where we were served some simple snacks and fresh fruit. As I sat down with my family, I realized how pumped I was. It had been an amazing experience, real joy. Looking around, I could see that my fellow veterans were feeling the same. We had been deeply moved by what had happened. Military service is difficult and dangerous, even under the best of circumstances, something nobody but another vet can fully appreciate. They treated us as heroes. And it was good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll remember that day for a long time. It was deeply satisfying for me to not only see that the kids had remembered, but that their teachers made sure they understood what being a veteran meant, and how that service affected them. The legacy of service to our country is thus preserved and perpetuated.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Amid all my high-fiving, several teachers assured me that those kids would never forget that day, that someone after being thanked so beautifully would take the time to return that thanks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have no pictures to share, alas... But I know that that this memory is etched in my heart.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perhaps that's for the best.</div><br />Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-10564426924909307882023-11-08T09:09:00.002-10:002023-11-08T09:10:14.253-10:00One More Autumnal Blessing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaqulfQprMT5NDEOwdJSKpnlg0nPJSA2fOfoIdie4Dx5Z0S7VUgqbUKwRYMYbucCwUhJ7lAWnv0lyxRCVbm3So3bjodifD8UxYWlhyoi0vzHF7c0rNclGbC4JRexdD_evhns6OKS9lno9-Hi9hR8yjxWtatefaY3LgRbtWTyH0I5CNkf8gcUV/s4000/20231023_162005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaqulfQprMT5NDEOwdJSKpnlg0nPJSA2fOfoIdie4Dx5Z0S7VUgqbUKwRYMYbucCwUhJ7lAWnv0lyxRCVbm3So3bjodifD8UxYWlhyoi0vzHF7c0rNclGbC4JRexdD_evhns6OKS9lno9-Hi9hR8yjxWtatefaY3LgRbtWTyH0I5CNkf8gcUV/w408-h219/20231023_162005.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Fall has always been my favorite season, for a number of reasons. Partially because I'm kind of ambivalent about summer with it's heat and humidity. Fall brings cooler and drier air which is a relief. The sky changes from hazy white to a sparkling vivid blue.<p></p><p>But the best thing is what happens to the trees. Starting in early fall, the verdant green begins to morph into glorious golds and reds. Seen from afar, hills are covered with those vivid colors even more beautiful against the sky.</p><p>To walk through a forest thus transformed is to leave the mundane and be embraced by a world where the artistry of nature is not only seen, but felt. The cool, dry air is filled by the smell of leaves already fallen, upraised by feet shuffling along. The leaves lift for a moment, then return back to their quiet rest. Wildlife is still active, birds singing while they make their preparations for their flights south for the winter. Deer are moving through the forest and occasionally seen sprinting away from these noisy humans. </p><p>In Hawai'i, it's green all year round, and someone like me who grew up amid the cycling of seasons, they are missed. To be back in a place where autumn paints her brilliant canvas, to walk through the forest during this time has brought a quiet thrill to my soul.</p><p>I have hiked some local trails, especially in the afternoons. That's when the sun, lower in the sky sends butter-colored light through the trees, illuminating the changed leaves into colors that seem iridescent. I feel I could stop and sit on a stump for hours and simply absorb the beauty. Fall is an experience of the soul, refreshing, replenishing, restoring peace and tranquility.</p><p>For me, fall is also a reminder. Over just a couple of weeks, the colors fade into winter's drab and somber cloak. The sounds of birdsong fade as well, and the forest lies silent. Time is passing, things are changing and nothing can stop that relentless progression. I must remember to embrace the brilliance and beauty of the Now before it is irretrievably lost forever.</p><p>Tomorrow is promised to no one. We plan to come back next fall, but the year between now and then is fraught with uncertainty.</p><p>But I am thankful that I had one more autumn.</p><p><br /></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-39623463195804214242023-09-22T17:00:00.002-10:002023-09-28T20:52:57.046-10:00What I Did This Summer<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQy7HjWd7DDF689v6ZiHB1tIc7WihtC529UgDzGNeWkNFPkwPwtwlYrvbYp-5KaF9SghYQazMW8lKyFe_1yGhEBA19m45dlBz4VqXB_SfsAMtNCWAxFvPQ3kC4YIA0YRuD7AheL8CCLFThRDruxUUdebNPRpeJbpanGc20shmJk90v0rjfdfV/s4000/Santorini.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2252" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQy7HjWd7DDF689v6ZiHB1tIc7WihtC529UgDzGNeWkNFPkwPwtwlYrvbYp-5KaF9SghYQazMW8lKyFe_1yGhEBA19m45dlBz4VqXB_SfsAMtNCWAxFvPQ3kC4YIA0YRuD7AheL8CCLFThRDruxUUdebNPRpeJbpanGc20shmJk90v0rjfdfV/w533-h300/Santorini.jpg" width="533" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Santorini</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Don't worry - I won't recount the whole trip. There are few things more boring than someone else's vacation. But there were some notable events that I will offer in the spirit of education and preparation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The first part of the summer was spent trying to secure funding for our renovation. Then, in July, we flew to Athens to begin an 8-day Mediterranean cruise, where we joined up with our son's family. Upon arrival in Athens, we found we were <i>sans</i> luggage. This on-going battle with Lufthansa was partially resolved early this morning after I discovered a missed call that had come in about 1 a.m. The voicemail message reported that one of our bags had been "found" in Frankfurt, Germany (apparently never made it to Athens). There are 12 time zones between here and there, so later tonight I will call them back.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since we had no clothes, instead of seeing the sights of Athens, we spent several hours buying clothes and toiletries. Never have I missed more the convenience of a WalMart. We did visit the Acropolis, climbing that steep hill in 102 degree heat. Yes, this was the hottest summer in Europe on record. We had dressed in warm clothes for the flight, so that whole event was pretty uncomfortable. That heat followed us to each port, the coolest day we had was in Barcelona where the temps plunged to an icy 95 degrees.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From there we sailed to the island of Santorini (where it was 103 degrees), then after a day at sea, visited Kotor in Montenegro, Corfu Greece, Messina, Sicily, one more day at sea, then ending the cruise at Barcelona. While the family went to visit the sights, I was sprawled in bed at the hotel, a victim of Flu A, apparently contracted on board. But I considered myself lucky after we were told that there were several cases of COVID running around as well. Throughout the entire cruise, there was smoke in the air, a result of the many wildfires burning in the Greek islands. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because of the schedule, our time in each place was short, which didn't leave much time to see or do things. Still, it was interesting to see. I've been all over the Pacific and Indian Oceans, so this was really my first time to see Europe in detail. I encourage others to do this, but at a cooler time of year. The day we were in Santorini, 28 guests were sent to urgent care aboard ship, mostly heat exhaustion and 2 cases of actual heat stroke. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(A quick suggestion for you, before you check your bags, take pictures of your luggage, front, top, and side, and a picture of the luggage tag after its been attached to the bag. If you like, either store those pics on your phone, or send them to your email. If your bags come up missing, these will be invaluable in your quest to get them back.)</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We got home, still without our original luggage. Cheryl and I were both sick, and while she recovered fairly quickly, I was ill for an additional four weeks. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In late August, several work issues came to a head and I made the difficult decision to change jobs. Starting in Mid-November, I'll be working as a tour guide aboard the USS MISSOURI Memorial in Pearl Harbor as a tour guide. I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say that it was time. I have a deep store of knowledge about the ship and her history, and being back aboard I'm sure will rekindle a host of memories. My time with HI-EMA in the State Warning Point has been an enjoyable challenge with a few exceptions. And that's all I'll say about that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">With change comes loss, and I will miss my colleagues here immensely. They're such good people, and very good at what they do. I've always enjoyed working with professionals, but I will miss them more as friends.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The other loss would be my relationship with the crater cats that we have come to know. There are four, Smoky (named more for her ability to vanish at a moment's notice), Blackie (one of the neediest animals I've ever known), Patches (who took a long time for me to earn her trust), and my favorite, Pumpkin. Pumpkin has had a rough year, suffering a dislocated shoulder, and earlier this year began exhibiting signs of neurological trauma. We think she either got into some kind of toxin, or got kicked by someone. After sundown, they wander in from the crater to take up station on the front porch, I think because they feel safer in the light. There are predators, human and animal around at night. I hope they will be okay. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBh62g-SoO8s7Zt9Nc8_RzeucI3JR_YBohjWK0LUtN7YZYw6ee_KtfRA6bLK27H6mwlyZCbnL5WSSloGcZCZ6M50Zw2fKroaGyJxd97yk1HUeIEfR88pDRtmnmlivs78eyeupCxHHBrtBBKgoZ5sMfFZrH41qo5fdOPew5h39DvsqtTIdfkMO5/s2575/Blackie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2575" data-original-width="2442" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBh62g-SoO8s7Zt9Nc8_RzeucI3JR_YBohjWK0LUtN7YZYw6ee_KtfRA6bLK27H6mwlyZCbnL5WSSloGcZCZ6M50Zw2fKroaGyJxd97yk1HUeIEfR88pDRtmnmlivs78eyeupCxHHBrtBBKgoZ5sMfFZrH41qo5fdOPew5h39DvsqtTIdfkMO5/w126-h134/Blackie.jpg" width="126" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTBOEw4dzvozzyDc67tn3h7oASLptNJ2bLPdKwM4cahTY-xlb8djGkCBUS39X2_ZJ71tHIQJbRMt6dTMuCGLLXKzOO6D7tP91of0YtwYMQBN8xBf9DscLhI34DXYAeCmesbOB_OoT-UT7lXstux_RHlGEqeNKPT-Gi3TZS9E7HgdS_YwnrZrB/s815/Patches%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="812" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTBOEw4dzvozzyDc67tn3h7oASLptNJ2bLPdKwM4cahTY-xlb8djGkCBUS39X2_ZJ71tHIQJbRMt6dTMuCGLLXKzOO6D7tP91of0YtwYMQBN8xBf9DscLhI34DXYAeCmesbOB_OoT-UT7lXstux_RHlGEqeNKPT-Gi3TZS9E7HgdS_YwnrZrB/w134-h135/Patches%202.jpg" width="134" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxM006rcQSI4Eyj4j1VkbLKGdaIrObQLGI4x417e0qkqWDLQ3FiREFiuHwZ5T_BsDswb_Y_U_IcKGUbkiKuNaFJWy98fI_hdJS5P1hgiRyFPY5iThcQZ2ZaX1IiHX_u7tPEUfoVqzqvFbsDxTm7nXMQDJZ5bwq1Jtf5m2CRtiZFwB1S_i8Tw_/s2502/Patches.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2279" data-original-width="2502" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwxM006rcQSI4Eyj4j1VkbLKGdaIrObQLGI4x417e0qkqWDLQ3FiREFiuHwZ5T_BsDswb_Y_U_IcKGUbkiKuNaFJWy98fI_hdJS5P1hgiRyFPY5iThcQZ2ZaX1IiHX_u7tPEUfoVqzqvFbsDxTm7nXMQDJZ5bwq1Jtf5m2CRtiZFwB1S_i8Tw_/w145-h132/Patches.jpg" width="145" /></a></div> Blackie Patches Pumpkin<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Smoky was predictably camera shy</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Everyone knows about the Maui wildfires, and the complete destruction of Lahaina Town, and so our days at work have been long, busy, but very productive. 700 folks from FEMA arrived soon after the disaster, 500 of whom went straight to Maui. I've been so impressed with the volume and quality of their work. None of them are from the islands, but they are universally invested as if they were. If you follow the news, you know how much has been done, and also how much still needs to happen. Most experts think it will be months into years before the community is rebuilt. But it will be even longer for the open wound to heal that this disaster has inflicted on the people, not just on Maui, but statewide. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our phones have been ringing off the hook as people from all over the world have been calling to offer donations as well as logistical and personal assistance. My faith in the fundamental compassion of people has been re-affirmed, and that's a good thing. I wish this could be bottled and doled out for folks to re-apply from time to time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In Mid-October, we will again take flight, this time to Virginia where we will cheer on Ian as he hopefully will win yet another football championship, and listen to Diana's stories as she prepares for college, the first great adventure of life. Sophie will keep us entertained and loved as well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The first couple of days after our arrival, temps will be in the mid-70s. But after that, daily highs will range from the low 60s to the low 50s during the day and correspondingly chilly at night. It will be the first time in a few years, that we're going to feel cold, which I don't mind, but my Polynesian Princess will undoubtedly struggle. In a magnificent piece of timing, the week we arrive is also when the fall foliage will be peaking in eastern and central Virginia. I have so missed fall, with all the wonderful changes I have always loved. Autumn is my favorite season, and this year, I'll be in a place where Autumn actually happens. I confess to be giddy in my anticipation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Autumn officially began today, not that anything changes meteorologically around here. It'll be November before the temperatures noticeably cool. Summer's been better this year in our home with new windows and air conditioners, but being outside, especially as I am still recovering from the flu, has at times not been pleasant. But we make time to drive down to Waikiki or Ala Moana and watch the sun sink into the ocean. Of all His artistry, I still think God does sunsets the best. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ytz8bjBWpkHVgEEGCCVP4mzI-NFgJ9fkqXCysj2wfYNHw4W3oifzed6EB6mvhEA-AShAMYjNFtztx2EVMbT7qP3FK8GkxSlfmvnbzXic6Mm3VWeRv9VreiTqDLDm_EcQpy1tcvksdqe7avswFXL7UvDFWzIF5QkXaHPKIJ097dvq1X0yDoIa/s3092/A%20Sunset%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2252" data-original-width="3092" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ytz8bjBWpkHVgEEGCCVP4mzI-NFgJ9fkqXCysj2wfYNHw4W3oifzed6EB6mvhEA-AShAMYjNFtztx2EVMbT7qP3FK8GkxSlfmvnbzXic6Mm3VWeRv9VreiTqDLDm_EcQpy1tcvksdqe7avswFXL7UvDFWzIF5QkXaHPKIJ097dvq1X0yDoIa/w421-h271/A%20Sunset%203.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-74239805347107908322023-09-18T08:41:00.000-10:002023-09-18T08:41:08.267-10:00A Prayer for Just Today<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaJfbpB1NQbl-BPbR1lH8UCMM7HrAvT-vnjV4ImybKcsp9Wii3qPex5C5c3As73fA1b2QB2vllX2JmT1BO-4ZVgiaiz4n_Kz7lZ3KQLV4O-xefAfEBiK5i1GmaMHZ4DWZRXQ83nUpIM2h3EIO5-zRS_-oWZ8S1LGJpHrP1qPjYTa-rOpZI_rBg/s1632/Va%20Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1632" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaJfbpB1NQbl-BPbR1lH8UCMM7HrAvT-vnjV4ImybKcsp9Wii3qPex5C5c3As73fA1b2QB2vllX2JmT1BO-4ZVgiaiz4n_Kz7lZ3KQLV4O-xefAfEBiK5i1GmaMHZ4DWZRXQ83nUpIM2h3EIO5-zRS_-oWZ8S1LGJpHrP1qPjYTa-rOpZI_rBg/w454-h343/Va%20Beach.jpg" width="454" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Father,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, make me an instrument of your peace.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">In Jesus' name,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-72924727462633215892023-09-11T15:50:00.001-10:002023-09-11T15:50:36.831-10:00A Prayer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyY-hXDafmon8XgZ7uttU8uz4u5k9ZL7FeR5PS17cL-aKMvFz8Li7B68DHfAHF749G5urOxpl-YYovSXlSp6SPf_dS7pfjX00hKw-zthKK490CHbm7tNxHu91sZ5Hr9wINb5EUxw74O2G_8j7tDtZrpgA7zGAZgeUvGHFvjQSVv9RyYRyWs01/s1920/Heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyY-hXDafmon8XgZ7uttU8uz4u5k9ZL7FeR5PS17cL-aKMvFz8Li7B68DHfAHF749G5urOxpl-YYovSXlSp6SPf_dS7pfjX00hKw-zthKK490CHbm7tNxHu91sZ5Hr9wINb5EUxw74O2G_8j7tDtZrpgA7zGAZgeUvGHFvjQSVv9RyYRyWs01/w513-h289/Heart.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright ©2023</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Heavenly Father,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We live in a world fractured by hate and intolerance, where anger has become the default response. In this world, a world of our own making, we have allowed such visceral feelings to not only stand between each other, but also between our hearts and Yours.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In those moments when we are tempted down the dark path of anger, frustration, insult, and outrage, help us to remember that we are <u style="font-weight: bold;">commanded</u> to love without exception; that it is through the expression and acts of that love for each other that we can be recognized as disciples of Your Son.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are neither empowered nor authorized to judge and condemn others in Your name, but to be always mindful our own transgressions and shortcomings. We have been forgiven by you, so must we also forgive all who have wronged us. As Your Son lived in humility, so also must we.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Guide us to not be "followers of the world," but rather leaders, examples, and inspirations who lead with love, live in love, and to be love. For that is the true path of peace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> In your Son's Most Holy Name,</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Amen.</span><br /></span></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-24080241546789360882023-08-25T21:46:00.003-10:002023-09-28T20:53:32.288-10:00Disaster in Paradise<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7mWoYXmv-w6gcwY4jzIHG9w9QJxMgYl7ZbXkmHqXUnsBZC8AgwZWHYaVVmss_R5lwZrSLIBGoR4w90BXnOj8fcUQP4Is2Hl1ojB7Ab0Ty1Q3RT0fOy1bx2Txst6T_aKhigAxhpqQcNrvzZhewPcrPy9UhB7S7_Wlfv8KFkDy-Mp4aVTXwyJ5/s1892/Front%20Street%202.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="1892" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7mWoYXmv-w6gcwY4jzIHG9w9QJxMgYl7ZbXkmHqXUnsBZC8AgwZWHYaVVmss_R5lwZrSLIBGoR4w90BXnOj8fcUQP4Is2Hl1ojB7Ab0Ty1Q3RT0fOy1bx2Txst6T_aKhigAxhpqQcNrvzZhewPcrPy9UhB7S7_Wlfv8KFkDy-Mp4aVTXwyJ5/w449-h171/Front%20Street%202.JPG" width="449" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Before</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOtUbJPfUfK5O-t6xfjl5CJBTKtnlaPW_lbTp163_rUGWtm6yVnwQMFMmScs0bcsXQ5z77RSayxKxHKu9IgPNEsCVGEd2Mco8qfoMbQHkElwcKcMvBkYXAMpFL4lazkbs04FSHEa_xLOwlZHBHykWqxa3zbFxvT-rCrNKNCR0N-VRLtGdC200/s300/Front%20Street.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmOtUbJPfUfK5O-t6xfjl5CJBTKtnlaPW_lbTp163_rUGWtm6yVnwQMFMmScs0bcsXQ5z77RSayxKxHKu9IgPNEsCVGEd2Mco8qfoMbQHkElwcKcMvBkYXAMpFL4lazkbs04FSHEa_xLOwlZHBHykWqxa3zbFxvT-rCrNKNCR0N-VRLtGdC200/w414-h232/Front%20Street.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Written Content Only<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The following public sources were used in this post:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://www.latimes.com/projects/maps-maui-fire-destroyed-lahaina-satellite/</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/2023/08/19/timeline-look-days-events-that-led-up-devastating-lahaina-wildfire/</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://abcnews.go.com/US/timeline-deadly-wildfires-maui-day-day/story?id=102253075</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://apnews.com/article/hawaii-fires-timeline-maui-lahaina-road-block-c8522222f6de587bd14b2da0020c40e9</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">https://www.staradvertiser.com/2023/08/20/hawaii-news/reports-offer-a-window-into-terrifying-events-of-maui-fire/</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>The catastrophe that overtook Maui, particularly the old port town of Lahaina has been on everybody's news feeds. The images and video of what happened during those seven deadly days has shocked and horrified everyone. The speed at which the fires overtook the area are still incomprehensible. Today, August 26th, 115 people have been confirmed as having died. But despite over 40 teams of searchers, over 388 people still remain unaccounted for.</p><p>The genesis of this terrible occurrence lay in a combination of meteorological conditions. Hurricane Dora crossed the Pacific from its birthplace off the southern coast of Mexico but NOAA and the National Hurricane Center forecasted the track would pass well south of the Hawai'ian Islands. This is hurricane season for the Central Pacific and such things are to be expected. The initial disappointment was that the system was too far away to send some desperately needed rainfall to the state.</p><p>Hawai'i is in drought. No surprise there, as we are manifestly not alone. As a result, during the summer dry season, wildfires are a frequent occurrence around here. The county FD's spend as much or more time suppressing fires in brush country as they do dousing structure blazes in towns. Much of the grasslands in the state now largely consist of non-native invasive grasses. They have overgrown many areas, and yes, they can be mowed, but this is the tropics and even during drought, plants grow rapidly and wildly. Adding to that are the persistent trade winds blowing out of the northeast at double-digit speeds. Fires can be fanned by those winds and spread rapidly. The FD's are vastly experienced, and justifiably proud, at putting these blazes down, but one has to feel sympathy for them hauling heavy hose lines, tools, and other accoutrements up steep terrain while wearing protective gear under the brutal summer sun. </p><p>But this situation was different. As Dora passed to the south, two huge high pressure systems were churning away in the Gulf of Alaska. In the atmosphere, air always moves from high pressure to low pressure, and the relative proximity of these systems created what is called "a steep pressure gradient" over Hawai'i. If you've ever looked at a real weather map, you can see the lines of pressure, called isobars. In the situation in Hawai'i, those lines were very close together. Anytime you see that, you know that the winds will be howling. </p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p><br /></p><p>The NWS warned days before that sustained winds would be around 40 kts (nautical miles per hour) with gusts running 60 to 80 kts. A Red Flag Warning for extreme fire danger was issued statewide. Government officials, emergency managers, and fire departments were all holding their collective breaths.</p><p>Another complication involved the above-ground power poles carrying electrical lines across the islands. There is a creeping suspicion that Hawai'ian Electric (HECO) knew that those poles probably would not withstand the high gusts. </p><p>During the day on August 7th, poles began to fall in many places. Before 11:00 pm, a security camera at the Maui Bird Conservation Center, located in what is called "upcountry Maui," captured a bright flash, which was thought to be a tree falling on a powerline. Power was lost momentarily, but the center's generator kicked on. When the camera went live again, the forest was ablaze. That fire was reported to authorities just after midnight and fire crews responded.</p><p>Around 6:30 am, a three-acre brush fire was reported around Lahainaluna Road near Lahaina. Evacuations were ordered, and Fire crews pounced and despite the high winds, the fire was declared contained by 9:00 am, with the perimeter enclosed by a control line. But by 3:00 pm, the upcountry blaze had grown to 1,000 acres in and around a residential area. Fire crews swarmed the area. Around that time, the initial fire near Lahaina blazed up again, reignited possibly by a downed power line. With the winds now blowing at upwards of 50 kts, that fire exploded in two hours and was moving on Lahaina at speeds estimated at 60 mph.</p><p>In case you've forgotten your highway math, that's one mile every minute.</p><p>The fire was now moving so fast that county officials could not keep up. The winds pushed embers ahead of the fire line and began to set structure fires in Lahaina about 4:30 pm. Witnesses say they heard a gas station explode. Sirens and cell towers had been consumed. Maui Police Chief said in a press conference that many people had been found in their beds, apparently asleep as the fire rushed through.</p><p>Maui PD had closed several roads due to live downed power lines, Residents trying to escape were instead funneled down onto Front Street. A traffic jam ensued, and those vehicles, and their occupants, were overtaken by the fire. Other people, ironically, ignored the road closures and fled around the barricades. It appears that most, if not all of those people escaped successfully. Some people jumped into swimming pools trying to survive.</p><p>Around 5:45 pm, the U.S, Coast Guard began receiving reports about people in the water off Lahaina, where they had gone to escape the flames, there being no other options. The heavy smoke caused breathing difficulties, and the tide began pulling them out to sea. Ships and boats were immediately dispatched. To date, it is unknown how many were saved.</p><p>at 9:45 pm, Maui Mayor Richard Bissel issued an emergency proclamation, advising people that if they weren't in an affected area, to shelter in place. Another fire in the Pulehu/Kihei area broke out during this time.</p><p>The first break occurred at 3:15 am when the NWS cancelled the High Wind Warning. As the wind speeds began to ramp down, the FD crews began to make headway against the fires.</p><p>As August 9th dawned, firefighters continued to battle three large fires, upcountry, Pulehu, and the Lahaina fire, although by then the town had been reduced to ashes.</p><p>That's it. Those are the facts as reported. Predictably, the finger pointing has begun by those who believe they can benefit from media coverage. Investigations and inquiries will go on for months, if not years. One official has already resigned.</p><p>But for the rest of us, we are way beyond caring for anybody's career or who gets the ultimate blame. If there is such a thing. As of today, 8/25, 115 are known to have perished. There are still around 388 unaccounted for. According to experts, temperatures in the fire reached 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit, the same temperature that existed inside the Trade Center Towers on 9/11. At that temperature, everything melts or vaporizes. Wood, aluminum, brick, steel...humans. Maui's Police Chief in a press conference shocked the press corps by talking about finding human remains that turned to dust at the slightest touch. DNA samples are being collected from family members of the missing in hopes that closure can be found. 27 of the 115 have been thus identified but given the scale of destruction there are many doubts that most of the victims can be identified, if even found. </p><p>The fires are still not extinguished. FD crews are still on all three sites chasing hot spots. Given what's happened, they will likely stay there until everything is well and truly finished. </p><p>There are now some 500 specialists from FEMA here, some on Maui, the rest joining us elbow-to-elbow in the State Emergency Operations Center and in another adjacent building. They will likely be here for at least a few months trying to put people's lives back together. I've watched them in action and I am deeply impressed by the sincere concern and sheer hard work they're demonstrated. The federal government comes in for its share of complaints. But there's nothing to be found here. These are good people and I've been proud to share this task with them.</p><p>But we aren't kidding ourselves. This was the biggest disaster to hit the Hawai'ian Islands, and that says a lot for a state with several active volcanoes, and hits by at least three major tsunamis. The town will be rebuilt, as will the thousands of homes. Schools will open, families will resume at least the residue of their normal lives. Eventually, tourists will return and Front Street will once again fill with folks from around the world with nothing more in mind than a fun day. The grass and trees will grow back, the scars will eventually be erased. </p><p>But for the people of Maui, and by extension the people of Hawai'i, this will be an open wound for a long, a very long time. One thing that Mainlanders will never understand is that we are not just residents. We are more than neighbors. The Hawai'ian word is "Ohana." It is translated as "family," but as meanings go, that is simply insufficient. When one feels pain, we all feel pain. When one experiences loss, it is shared by all. Even though most of us never knew the lost, we still grieve. As the people of Maui struggle to put their lives back together, we will be there for them in so many ways, directly and indirectly. </p><p>It's what Ohana does.</p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-13232405362960542092023-08-25T15:23:00.001-10:002023-08-25T15:23:12.064-10:00Birthday Wishes<p> Happy Birthday Nikki! Hope you have a wonderful time!</p><p>Love,</p><p>Dad and Mom</p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-79190763907219164922023-03-21T21:28:00.001-10:002023-09-28T20:54:00.831-10:00The Not-So-Distant Sound of Drums<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXV12udnoJr05PG-M3TJPRtRd7lsRI3U_nOUnVPjChK-t_oWcU5TIDcUXpdpTSMMAOeFkSrWpTGzD5HguFaf3DHMgWhSyYDcnY0WJOxpot2XdifRpZmh4goCgOYmZNm09N5ClITcuIaRPACMp5M2GE5-O7Sk0-QYi-gxwXYv_gOwMlSJyo7w/s1024/Marines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXV12udnoJr05PG-M3TJPRtRd7lsRI3U_nOUnVPjChK-t_oWcU5TIDcUXpdpTSMMAOeFkSrWpTGzD5HguFaf3DHMgWhSyYDcnY0WJOxpot2XdifRpZmh4goCgOYmZNm09N5ClITcuIaRPACMp5M2GE5-O7Sk0-QYi-gxwXYv_gOwMlSJyo7w/w441-h331/Marines.jpg" width="441" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Almost 90 years ago, the United States was beginning to crawl out of the depths of the Great Depression. The recovery had begun as early as 1933, but the economy suffered another severe downturn in 1937-38, but by mid-1938, growth became rapid. It would take World War II to complete the recovery. The grinding misery of that decade was the worst economic crisis of this country's history. That it coincided with the onset of the Dust Bowl, and the accompanying collapse of the farm economy in the prairie and plains states served to deepen the crisis. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Internationally, while the United States wallowed in misery, two nations, Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan embarked on mutual paths towards global dominance. It seems, in retrospect, unfair that just at the point when Americans could finally draw a breath, yet another crisis loomed. Politically, the nation was deeply divided. The experience of the first World War left a sour tasted in the mouths of many. We had been dragged into a stalemated war through alliances with European governments. Many Americans were fed up with taking part in the squabbles of old countries. The word "isolationist" was coined to describe this frustration. If, they felt, America could ignore the rest of the world, then we would no longer have to send young men to fight in wars that had little to do with us. This division made its way to Washington, where the Senate and House fought endless rhetorical battles either for or against arming our friends, and strengthening the forces that would defend us. In 1935, there were only 119,000 soldiers in the Army. That is less than the number of the Blue and Grey who faced each other at Gettysburg. By 1938, however, the threat from Germany and Japan was clear, and looming was the prospect of fighting two major wars simultaneously. Even after those numbers boomed to over 8 million by 1942, there was still a strong feeling of vulnerability in those early months of the War. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the years since, the world has endured its times of crises. War, in scattered places across the globe, has been pretty much continuous. But the big, world-circling conflict has not occurred. There were moments when things were close, the Berlin Crisis of 1961, the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, the Yom Kippur War in 1973, and two computer glitches, one by the U.S., and one by the Soviets in 1979 and 1983. But the very fragile humans who were involved managed to not push the proverbial button.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A little over a year ago, Vladimir Putin sent Russian combat forces into Ukraine. Putin's claim of the "de-Nazification" of Ukraine was and remains laughable. The world was initially horrified, then surprised that the cream of Russian soldiery did not run roughshod over their opponents. It's fair to say that as the situation stands today, Ukraine has not only successfully protected most of its territory, but also fought the mighty Russian army to a standstill. Now Putin has other problems. Many men and women of military age have fled the country. Large numbers of Russian soldiers have either defected or surrendered. The international community has not looked with approval on Putin's aggressive actions, and the mood among the Russian citizenry is not at all enthusiastic. </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Americans like underdogs, and there have been loud calls for us to become more directly involved. While viscerally satisfying, this offers the nightmare scenario of U.S. troops shooting at Russian troops across a battlefield. There's no way that ends well. But Putin has not been shy about putting his superpower rival on notice. There have been numerous incidents of long-range Russian aircraft approaching U.S. airspace and met by American fighter aircraft. Last week, two Russian SU-27 fighters intercepted a U.S. predator drone, trying to dump fuel on the drone, then coming close enough to damage the propeller and drop the Predator into the ocean. This was a serious escalation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, China has become more bellicose. Numerous instances of interceptions, and aggressive actions by PRC fighter aircraft have raised tensions. The root of the conflict here is actually easier to understand. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The coming of World War II to the Chinese mainland was coincident with the last Chinese civil war. Communist forces under Mao Zhe Dong fought a long and bloody battle with the U.S. supported nationalist forces commanded by Chiang Kai-Shek. Despite Chiang's material superiority, Mao's forces made steady gains, aided by the convincing message to peasants who were fed up with the exploitation by the wealthy. The communist forces grew. At one point, there was an agreement of sorts for both sides to concentrate on defeating the Japanese. Mao used this time to further build up his army, and in 1949, he ran the Nationalists completely out of China to Taiwan. The PRC has always referred to Taiwan as a rebellious province, which will eventually be re-taken. The United States, backing Taiwan, has pledged to pitch in if the People's Army crosses the Taiwan Strait. Lately, the Chinese have ramped up talk about Taiwan, forcing the U.S. to keep a closer eye on things. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Americans are proud of our military. For decades, we had a decided technological edge over any of our potential enemies, and the ranks were filled, not with reluctant draftees, but men and women who chose to don the uniform. The feeling was common that we would mop the floor with anyone who dared challenge us. The Russian struggles against Ukraine have firmed up that feeling.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the truth is, we no longer hold a technological advantage. The U.S. was last through the door in the drive to develop new weapons. Our new stuff is still being tested. Theirs is operational.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Russians several years ago developed what is called a super-cavitating torpedo. The fasted torpedo to this point ran at 70 knots (nautical miles per hour). The Russian SCT is designed to open up a pocket of air through which the weapon "flies." Air, having less resistance than water. enables the rocket-powered torpedo to attain top speed of around 300 knots. Torpedoes are crucial in modern warfare, especially against the U.S. Navy which still has enormous aircraft carriers. A modern carrier is quite fast, but will never outrun or outturn an SCT. The U.S. Navy without carriers would be a shadow of its self. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In addition, both Russia and China have achieved great strides in developing hypersonic missiles and aircraft. The fastest missile during the Cold War was the Soviet AS-4 Kitchen, which had a top speed of Mach 3+. The new technology produces a missile that flies at speeds up to Mach 20. China recently launched one that circled the earth twice before diving into the ocean. As far as I am aware, we don't have anything that could engage and destroy such a weapon. FYI, Mach 8 is around 6,100 miles per hour. As I noted earlier, the U.S. was slow to the party, and while the Russian and Chinese weapons are operational and deployed, the American versions are still under development. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are vulnerable to a degree not seen since the early years of the Revolutionary War. We are possibly facing our second two-ocean war, for which we just don't have the horses. It took 10 million of us to defeat the Germans and Japanese. At this time, counting both active and reserve, we have just 2.1 million, many of whom are already deployed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">85 years ago, we were able to ramp up quickly. But it takes so much longer to make a recruit into a fighter because the technology is so much more complex. You just can't take someone off the street, give them a few weeks of calisthenics, and send them into combat anymore. A full-scale non-nuclear war with these modern technological weapons will move with lightning speed, and will likely end, one way or the other, in a matter of weeks, before the first wave of recruits could graduate boot camp. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The drums of war are beating again, growing nearer with each day. Will we hear them in time?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Greatest Generation, toughened by the hard life of the thirties, met the challenge in 1941. If the two-ocean challenge rises again, can we meet it? Or perhaps more importantly, will we?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-55959369016078667042023-02-18T22:07:00.004-10:002023-09-28T20:54:52.501-10:00Checking In...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjnF_nOffyROga_mYHSQ8UvnjFzblH_3JF5sUsX461m8C2q2F4K_TgtFBJt6QrwVLWva1KJBRS0d13-oGSMBArK0jy_LUn2bs2XAeVGRBseT3pUg4rq0g4ZuOT9O67ldu5lWbrjGL4L87FBFASKVtCfqzCsX3shP61q0Lg_2GUVlo8wQ_gQ/s1200/Mahomes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjnF_nOffyROga_mYHSQ8UvnjFzblH_3JF5sUsX461m8C2q2F4K_TgtFBJt6QrwVLWva1KJBRS0d13-oGSMBArK0jy_LUn2bs2XAeVGRBseT3pUg4rq0g4ZuOT9O67ldu5lWbrjGL4L87FBFASKVtCfqzCsX3shP61q0Lg_2GUVlo8wQ_gQ/w403-h268/Mahomes.jpg" width="403" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">© 2023 Los Angeles Times</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">written content only</div><br /> A week ago I watched my team, the Chiefs, edge the Philadelphia Eagles in Super Bowl LVII. Yes, it was a moment to savor. After all the negative comments about how the Chiefs would not be as good this year, the game was more vindication than victory. Patrick Mahomes won two MVP awards, and the unofficial MVA (Most Valuable Ankle). His performance in the second half after the agony he was in just before halftime defies description. He triumphed over the pain, giving his all. I don't think we'll see another gutty performance matching that one for awhile.<br /><br />In the 7 days since, I have enjoyed the celebrations, particularly the parade through the familiar streets of Kansas City. The life of the party was, of course, Travis Kelce. This larger-than-life personality has endeared himself to the fans, and not surprisingly, has earned him an invite to host Saturday Night Life in two weeks.<br /><br />Of course, I've been happy over the win, and looking forward to what this team can accomplish next. <br /><br />On other fronts, it's not been so much fun. My Mustang's repair parts came in, and is in the shop beginning that work. But the damage will take awhile to fix. They expect mid-March as to when I can expect to get it back. Then, our other vehicle, a Hyundai Santa Fe, began to have problems. It was sluggish and making noises. I took it into Goodyear, and was told that there was only two quarts of oil in the engine. It has never leaked or blown smoke. But we took it to a discount oil change shop, and the only thing that makes sense is that they didn't replace the oil. Of course, there's no way to prove it, so we took it back to Hyundai. The repairs are extensive and will run well into five figures. We decided to get it fixed, because buying a new one means shouldering a large debt for probably seven years. That would mean we would both have to keep working. The good news is that the parts are in and we should get our SUV back by mid-week.<br /><br />Our insurance company provided us with a rental, but because of the time it took for the Mustang's parts to arrive, most of the allotted time had expired. So we had to take over those payments until we can get one of our cars back. Fortunately, Cheryl's sister has graciously loaned us her minivan to help us out. <br /><br /> I get to preach at our congregation in Kaneohe on the other side of the island tomorrow. I enjoy doing this, because it forces me to be much more diligent in my time with scripture and contemplation. It has been a time of quiet joy during my preparation. We have a funeral Wednesday morning for one of Cheryl's aunties. They asked me to sing two songs, one of which, the Casting Crowns brilliant "Scars in Heaven" a wonderful, comforting song for those who have experienced loss. I have also been asked to lead the singing of "Aloha O'e," the heartfelt ballad penned by Queen Lili'uokalani, the last Hawaiian monarch in 1878. Some of the lyrics are in the Hawaii'an language, which I hope I can pronounce correctly. I work a midnight shift the night before, so it'll be a long day. But I am happy and honored to be able to do it for them.<br /><br />We are now in the rainy season here, and it has come with a vengeance. This week we experienced a Kona Low storm which has dumped feet of rain on the Big Island, Maui and Kaua'i. Flooding has been a terrible thing for people to endure, and there was one death, a firefighter who was swept into a storm drain while trying to effect a rescue. And just as soon as this one leaves, another one will arrive. Rain was falling in some places up to 5 inches per hour, which is like standing under a fire hose. This kind of thing is a challenge and a test for those of us in Emergency Management, and so fare, we've met the challenge. <br /><br />Friday afternoon, our phones began lighting up. People were reporting a loud boom, followed by a few seconds of shaking. We made some phone calls ourselves. It wasn't an earthquake (no faults under Oahu), and the military had no exercises or aircraft up busting mach. There was no reports of large landslides, so we were all left with a mystery. I recalled the incident over Chelyabinsk in Russia in 2013 when a 60-foot rock boomed into the atmosphere at 70,000 miles per hour. The 10,000 ton meteor exploded at just under 100,000 feet altitude. The flash was bright enough to temporary blind some people. The shock wave, arriving a bit later, broke windows all over the city, knocked down walls, collapsed roofs, and injured almost 1,500 people. I dug into the witness accounts and saw some clear parallels with what happened here. That same day, another object soared in and exploded over Texas, an event detected on the Weather Service's radar. These objects are called Bolides, meteors that explode in the atmosphere. I sent a text to the local weather office asking if they had seen anything. They said no, but as the mystery remains unsolved, my money's on the space rock.<br /><br />So, life, with all its twists and turns, ups and downs, goes on. Like a hike, sometimes its a steep climb, sometimes its level, sometimes it goes downhill. But it's always the journey and it must be taken in that context. If nothing else, it keeps us from going crazy.<span><a name='more'></a></span><span><!--more--></span><span><!--more--></span><span><!--more--></span>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-65769251280260410672023-01-30T21:34:00.005-10:002023-09-28T20:55:07.381-10:00That Incredible, Incomprehensible Thing in my Head<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10wkkF2PTV5dzvvzGZ6gynyNiJGVoUFzpyth6Ffgo16tLHZHCztAvVpnSNBJbyI26O93XVLFX_dHRYwc0RKXdnf7gFVc-dEntavv_X87umuYCfDbKnTZQqDgHdB9J3hS5Yg2PbdbkUhR0Z73sCLrxV8lgkOP2WfyvhSc74FbvaPjjKYAVng/s612/brain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="612" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10wkkF2PTV5dzvvzGZ6gynyNiJGVoUFzpyth6Ffgo16tLHZHCztAvVpnSNBJbyI26O93XVLFX_dHRYwc0RKXdnf7gFVc-dEntavv_X87umuYCfDbKnTZQqDgHdB9J3hS5Yg2PbdbkUhR0Z73sCLrxV8lgkOP2WfyvhSc74FbvaPjjKYAVng/s320/brain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"The human brain has 100 billion neurons, each neuron</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>connected to ten thousand other neurons. Sitting on your shoulders</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>is the most complicated object in the known universe."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>--Michio Kaku</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Everything we do, every thought we've ever had</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>is produced by the human brain. But exactly how it operates</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>remains one of the biggest unsolved mysteries."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>--Neil deGrasse Tyson</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We plow through each day, tackling problems, creating solutions, remembering, and predicting. We calculate numbers, the intentions of others, all happening in that incredibly complex thing inside our head.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The human body, with all the things it has to do, is a wonder of engineering, and it's easy to take it for granted. We don't have to think about making our heart beat, or breathing, it does it by itself. But of all the parts of us, I would say that our brain is the one thing we most often take for granted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last week, at the behest of my doctor, I submitted myself for an MRI of my brain. Magnetic Resonance Imaging is one of those miraculous devices that allow doctors to peer inside the human body without doing what used to be called "exploratory surgery." The device uses strong magnetic fields and radio waves to generate images of human organs. According to Wikipedia, the response of hydrogen nuclei in human tissues are separated from other nuclei by the magnetic field resonating at the hydrogen frequency. To make a long story short, that resonance allows images to be captured, one slice at a time. This gives the doctor the ability to closely examine the organ from the inside out. This has enabled the early diagnoses of a wide range of dangerous conditions, thus saving countless lives.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've had a few of these before, so I knew what to expect. After changing into a gown and carefully ridding myself of anything metal, I was taken into the room and laid on the bed. Over the years, these beds have become much more comfortable, avoiding the annoyance of back muscle cramps. After a period of instruction and insertion of earplugs, I was slid into the device. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been claustrophobic in the past, but I was given a kind of mirror that allowed me to look out into open space, and not at the curved shell inches above my nose. Plus, having lost a lot of weight means I don't fill the tube like I used to. There was a nice cool breeze flowing through the tube which helped a lot. In fact, I was so comfortable, I fell asleep, even with the TONK TONK TONK going on around my head.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was slid out after about an hour and after disconnecting the IV, I started back to change. I stopped long enough to ask for a CD of the scan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been doing that for as long as I can remember. Somewhere in a box, I have a video record of most of my heart caths, and two other brain exams. These things fascinate me, but not in a morbid way. To see my heart working from the inside gave me insight into how complex the heartbeat actually is, all the things that must go right every time for me to go on living. Images of my brain, however, are on a whole 'nother level.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At home, I loaded the CD and started flipping through the images, of course looking for anything that shouldn't be there. I spent a good 2 hours taking in and trying to understand what I was seeing. I was able to identify some parts and what their role was, which was informational. But the more I looked, slice by slice, my thoughts became less clinical. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Everything I am, everything I've learned, the roadmap of my personality was somewhere in those mysterious folds. The creativity that allows me to write was in there, as well as the ideas that became words. All my memories, both good and bad, were there along with all the faces that have populated my life. And, somewhere in there in a place which remains undiscovered is the love I feel for those closest to me, especially Cheryl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the brain is far more than conscious thought. It is the Plant Manager for the rest of my body, ordering my heart to beat, my lungs to breathe, my kidney, spleen, and stomach doing what they were hired to do. Sending commands to my legs that allow me to walk or run. The parts that process inputs from sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste, including my weakness for ice cream. It tells me when I'm tired, and its time to sleep, and sends hunger when I need to eat. It sends an all-hands alert when something hurts. It regulates my temperature as well. It keeps excellent communications between the left and right hemispheres (contrary to what I once thought, the right hemisphere controls the right side of my body, the left hemisphere controls the other side) making sure my movements, such as right and left legs, are properly coordinated. It doesn't, by the way, keep me from walking into a room and being unable to recall exactly why I made that trip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's a ton more to a brain's many functions, which I will leave you to discover on your own.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was struck with the sheer wonder of that thing in my skull. I remembered what I was thinking about during the procedure, and where those thoughts originated and ended. Of course there are no LED lights blinking to indicate the thing is working, and that can be hard to understand, given everything that is going on in there. But as I sit here writing, what is going down on this page, and the actions of my fingers on the keyboard, serve as my indicator lights. I've been frustrated at times in my life at what I thought were breakdowns in functions when I really needed everything to work. In writing, that manifests itself in pauses, my fingers hanging in the air, while I search for the proper word or phrase. My learning disabilities that have haunted me my entire life become what I view as betrayal by my brain. But all things considered, it's still a pretty remarkable thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Scientists have striven for years to develop a computer that can do everything the brain can do. AI is the outgrowth of that search. Computers may be faster, and more accurate. They may be able store and retrieve information much better. But there is one thing they will probably never be able to do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Experience the wonder and beauty of a wildflower in the woods on a spring afternoon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I feel sorry for those computers.</div><br /><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-45034334523914503372023-01-23T21:25:00.004-10:002023-09-28T20:55:26.677-10:00The Routine -- And Breaking It Up<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgCFB3Herd5F0LvmujmcSH7k6saYcFFyleIeHVIjHQzoosEQ0yXEFDgs8EFUFDz0FXMK_NgHae_6ScR9_1yyqNLc6P3SG4Uc5rSevskh2djdVaEOEbevGVJeIgAMQ_Nh8XZgbRAzNxtCXMrZByUxEibMIXDFs6C8TS5gMo85lpQ1azFHHAw/s4032/Mustang%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgCFB3Herd5F0LvmujmcSH7k6saYcFFyleIeHVIjHQzoosEQ0yXEFDgs8EFUFDz0FXMK_NgHae_6ScR9_1yyqNLc6P3SG4Uc5rSevskh2djdVaEOEbevGVJeIgAMQ_Nh8XZgbRAzNxtCXMrZByUxEibMIXDFs6C8TS5gMo85lpQ1azFHHAw/w508-h381/Mustang%203.jpg" width="508" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In happier days...</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2023</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are roads one can drive that create a journey that is seemingly endless. US 180 through West Texas, US 54 across the Western two-thirds of Kansas, US 50 across the Nevada desert. The towns passed look curiously alike, almost like Bill Murray's repetitious Groundhog Day. Life, for me has fallen into the same kind of repeating journey. The days don't have enough difference to stand out in any way, and I find that the weeks are passing rapidly, kind of like those white-painted road posts so common in the west.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I guess my week actually starts on Tuesday, one of my two regular days off. That's laundry day, so I'm engaged in that for most of the day. I'm the cook that evening, so when I finish the clothes, I start putting dinner together. Tuesday evening is one of the few times that Cheryl and I are home together, hours we have come to cherish more and more. Wednesday morning is Ground Golf (huge in Japan, by the way) which takes up most of the morning. My work week starts that night when I go in late for a midnight shift (technically Thursday) which means that half of my day off I have to spend in bed collecting Z's for a long night. When I get home Thursday morning, I have a couple of hours, then its back to bed so I can have a few hours with Cheryl before I leave for work. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I get off Friday morning and don't have to go back in until Saturday afternoon, so it's kind of a day off, except I'm really tired by then. Now if I can stay awake long enough, those two mornings are great for doing my walking in Waikiki. I'm off to bed early and then up again Saturday morning. We have some time together for shopping and errands before I leave early afternoon for my evening shifts Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Sunday is church and a quick nap before going in. Monday passes, and it all starts over again. If I have enough time, I stop at my overlook on Diamond Head Road, gaze at the ocean, and feed my birds for a few minutes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vNYyFFVsAeapzPS8GbotxoIqbTHDr1-kZQDDUoQytvJSWB9QTYwIhgexHutYVvaItQO9vbsaO0pbQDxebzCV-BKPxyURnCgzv9nevgZVQHjnMJI4lFYl24HQ1FZTb0IhyKOrbMm2afA9COkixQEwTMeeAT99oaN5kEVOJ_6rgqgOLnyEmQ/s4000/Overlook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vNYyFFVsAeapzPS8GbotxoIqbTHDr1-kZQDDUoQytvJSWB9QTYwIhgexHutYVvaItQO9vbsaO0pbQDxebzCV-BKPxyURnCgzv9nevgZVQHjnMJI4lFYl24HQ1FZTb0IhyKOrbMm2afA9COkixQEwTMeeAT99oaN5kEVOJ_6rgqgOLnyEmQ/w488-h219/Overlook.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is my life, for what its worth. The midnight shifts are a trial at my age, and they represent a mountain that has to be climbed. Not a lot of fun. Jumping shifts like this really makes my sleep patterns tough, but I have a mortgage and a Mustang, and "I owe, I owe, it's off to work I go..."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One thing about a routine though. It's like getting on a train and letting it carry you along. But it does make the calendar fly by with distressing speed. The calendar compresses and I have conversations like, "Wasn't July just two weeks ago?" </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But then something happens that throws a wrench into the works. That happened this week. On Monday, I was enroute to work when another driver made a fast left turn in front of me, my view blocked by a delivery truck next to me.. The result?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwMa4I6jGw50X8tVuwYde1_zO6wsZGqyo7StzIj-C5xf4hTSTyRYUwxHAXAgBSui-1crssZ9BswBaBlGBfN4FF-7COo6Uk2zAxO-uMRTbaFKeeSL7ctDW_76Jo6drTvrf2GgyK9sKy29UtgM8Hg9UgyfAWDhZQIDcCIUBTbQkEui7G8D_iQ/s4000/Bent%20Mustang.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwMa4I6jGw50X8tVuwYde1_zO6wsZGqyo7StzIj-C5xf4hTSTyRYUwxHAXAgBSui-1crssZ9BswBaBlGBfN4FF-7COo6Uk2zAxO-uMRTbaFKeeSL7ctDW_76Jo6drTvrf2GgyK9sKy29UtgM8Hg9UgyfAWDhZQIDcCIUBTbQkEui7G8D_iQ/w407-h183/Bent%20Mustang.jpg" width="407" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Will need dental work...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgpHs6uxSggrVSpxSkuxdR7LukINS9--fh6l8fAKKqyTfnKeyPCdwCUSQvny_P9JpHBQ2N0vBumTDPByfXppZeJa1UGp9u--SQMU8B15i9w9JlLTar7TpsMPPak7iVxwtZwCK4YgJqWI-WS-7Aih1OnoQuRY6DcU4ljxJEQ9Qc_hnMwQKuA/s4000/Mustang%20interior.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgpHs6uxSggrVSpxSkuxdR7LukINS9--fh6l8fAKKqyTfnKeyPCdwCUSQvny_P9JpHBQ2N0vBumTDPByfXppZeJa1UGp9u--SQMU8B15i9w9JlLTar7TpsMPPak7iVxwtZwCK4YgJqWI-WS-7Aih1OnoQuRY6DcU4ljxJEQ9Qc_hnMwQKuA/w412-h188/Mustang%20interior.jpg" width="412" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Airbag</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The good news is that I am totally fine - physically. And the damage seems to be localized to the fascia and quarter panels, and one of the airbags (did you know they use gunpowder to trigger those things?). There's no damage to the engine or radiator. The Adjuster told me that as long as the frame isn't bent, the car is repairable. Still, it hurts to see this. I waited 57 years to own a Mustang, and the last two years have been less ownership than relationship. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My insurance company furnished me with a rental for 30 days, but that might be a problem. Every body shop on the island is at capacity. Plus, there are still supply chain issues with parts. I can only hope things go better than they look now.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And there's more change coming soon. One of my colleagues is leaving for some very green pastures, so the schedule for February includes a new set of RDO's, Sunday-Monday, and no more Mid shifts, at least for now. We also bought a new fridge to replace the aging one in the kitchen, and we dialed back the renovation from an ensuite to just a bathroom. Waiting on the new bid.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>As it turns out, any stultifying routine can be broken with a little effort, though I wouldn't recommend wrecking your car just to shake things up. I guess the key is to not get so lost in the mundane repetition of each day, and make some changes, not big ones, just enough to give something new to each week. </div><div><br /></div><div>Time is precious after all, and the one thing we can never get back. <br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-59829941658128437122022-12-31T21:57:00.005-10:002023-09-28T20:55:42.697-10:00New Year's Steep and Rocky Path<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6-kmZLzSK1j9V-DynysWwZUJVsfq5PqecxIzKh9Spl-RhxAuDo5lRx1qkdDeZVqjw5qRI1EAD1Cem7XL9PBMSxOjZYNEvHPjK0jLPcprTx85HjI0Nd_ukpe_2vu1UxhrqmWX2uQnxMsXOVeEOU2qYD3TW5-y8FE33KcIyD7TFH8mSepNjg/s640/web1_WDA-Fireworks-017.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="640" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6-kmZLzSK1j9V-DynysWwZUJVsfq5PqecxIzKh9Spl-RhxAuDo5lRx1qkdDeZVqjw5qRI1EAD1Cem7XL9PBMSxOjZYNEvHPjK0jLPcprTx85HjI0Nd_ukpe_2vu1UxhrqmWX2uQnxMsXOVeEOU2qYD3TW5-y8FE33KcIyD7TFH8mSepNjg/w404-h272/web1_WDA-Fireworks-017.jpg" width="404" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Honolulu Star-Advertiser</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>– Thoreau</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We measure our journey in one of two ways, by distance and by time. Every earth year, our world completes an orbit around its parent star. In that time, the planet actually travels 584 million miles. But, our sun is orbiting the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way galaxy. In one of our years, that's about 4.5 billion miles. And if that weren't enough, our galaxy is racing through space, along with all the other galaxies, at about 1.3 million miles per hour. Since there's no fixed reference point in space, that actual distance traveled is kinda fuzzy. So, even when we stay at home, we're still on a journey. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But New Year's is about a journey in time, 12 months of trial, trauma, joy, and hilarity. When we reach this day on the calendar, we are anxious to put the past behind us. This is especially true given what's been going on. Three years of pandemic misery merely leads the list of the existential load we've been carrying. It's a day when we try to resolve to change the things that gifted us so much angst. That can be any number of things from weight and physical condition, patterns of life, better choices. But the bottom line is a fresh start. New Years provides a convenient launch point for this new mission. In reality, a person can make a fresh start on July 4th just as easily, but who ever heard of Independence Day Resolutions?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Author Sara Ban Breathnach wrote,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>"New Year's Day. A fresh start. A new chapter in life waiting to be written. New questions to be asked, embraced, and loved. Answers to be discovered and then lived in this transformative year of delight and self-discovery. Today carve out a quiet interlude for yourself in which to dream, pen in hand. Only dreams give birth to change."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dreams are valuable. They are the scratch pads for the designs of your life. But dreams are useless unless a person is willing to undertake real change. You know, actually work on it. To make any kind of change we have to realize that what we need and what we need to leave behind. We have things in our lives that shouldn't be there and need to go. The toughest thing is coming to grips with the reality that there are changes we don't want to make, but restrict or block our ability to grow beyond our past. We have to be willing to take out our own garbage.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the movie "The Last Jedi," Yoda tells Luke,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><i>"Pass on what you have learned. Strength, mastery, yes. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes. Failure most of all. The greatest teacher failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond." </i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Everyone has at least one common thing: Things in our past of which are less than proud. Yoda's sage advice is equally applicable to us. Failure is a life lesson. We can either bury it or ignore it, or we can look it squarely in the eye and learn from it. Most misery in a person's life can be linked to the refusal to confront and learn from our mistakes and misjudgments. Yes, that's insanely difficult, and it takes courage to do that. Author Fred DeVito wrote, <b><i>"If it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you."</i></b> Change -- real change -- is supposed to be hard. We have to challenge ourselves daily, even hourly. The good news is that once we get to the other side, it is a sweet, sweet victory.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Attitude is vital in this process. Commitment as well. Understand that this is a journey in and of itself, one that requires making that promise at the start of every day to push on especially when we're tired and frustrated. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, <b><i>"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year. He is rich who owns the day." </i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">About a year and a half ago, I entered a time where I was haunted by depression. Once an enthusiastic exerciser, I found it increasingly difficult to make that effort. Over time, I began to sleep away the hours I wasn't at work. I got help, and with that help and the constant love a support from my wife, I've made it back quite a way since then. I still struggle with fatigue, but recently I had to move some furniture around and I was shocked at how that effort exhausted me. It was, shall we say, my "Come To Jesus Moment." I don't have a thing for resolutions, but I know if I don't get back out there and walk my miles, and lift my weights, I may not be long for this world. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Will this be easy? No. But it is vitally necessary, and out of respect for my wife, children, and grandchildren, I will do this. It's kinda ironic that I couldn't be motivated by my own welfare, but by the welfare of others. But that forces me outside of the darkish box I've been it, and my thoughts outward instead of inward. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Whatever baggage any of you have brought to this moment, it is a moment that can be life-changing. And it will test you to your limits if you carry it through. Of course, then you discover that what you thought were your limits really weren't your limits. We are all capable of so much more than we think. To have faith in yourself, and block the voices of weakness and rationalization lays the groundwork. But mansions don't build themselves. We need to bend over and start moving rocks ourselves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is an opportunity; a moment in time. A new path lies before us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do we have the courage to walk it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy New Year everyone. And thank you for taking the time to visit my site.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><p></p></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-64834147612925570902022-12-25T21:52:00.001-10:002023-09-28T20:55:56.873-10:00Vows Fulfilled<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOKNteyvRTjdXX018tUaDTh-T9PwZPEnGYSufDfK8aLH7vZUkDo6R8K92iMxOS_lqPm4HnSjIRQXKHu6llz37JW22v-ULLHE2vFiILKv44Nqld2JvVPJYHW_p-GskN0SQsN0gp2nSEnKQspO7cOd9Qx-aMSOvBmh_C1dNzELgfbWtmQl_rw/s1385/Us.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1385" data-original-width="1083" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOKNteyvRTjdXX018tUaDTh-T9PwZPEnGYSufDfK8aLH7vZUkDo6R8K92iMxOS_lqPm4HnSjIRQXKHu6llz37JW22v-ULLHE2vFiILKv44Nqld2JvVPJYHW_p-GskN0SQsN0gp2nSEnKQspO7cOd9Qx-aMSOvBmh_C1dNzELgfbWtmQl_rw/w302-h386/Us.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Christmas 2022 was a curious sort of event for us. No visitors, and our only link to family was electronic. Both Cheryl and I had some stressful days, she doing surgery, and myself at work dealing with a powerful Pacific storm that caused all kinds of havoc across the state. And a dead rat that chose to expire and deteriorate beneath the deckplates of my workstation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had two extra days off this past week while contractors were installing the rest of the new windows. All the leaky, drafty jalousies are gone, save one. Our home is as energy efficient as its ever been in its 60-plus year lifespan. We didn't put much effort in decorating this year. We bought a new artificial tree and had it lit almost every evening. Cheryl made sure it was on when I returned home at work, a wonderful site at oh-dark-thirty. But the rest of the ornaments stayed in their boxes. With everything else going on, it was just too hard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We've been watching, fascinated as the storms of December have swept across the country. We had our share of snow yards deep in the mainland, and for those of you who were digging your way out, we felt your pain. Here, it's winter, the time of year when powerful storms sweep out of the North Pacific dumping feet of rain blown by dangerous winds. Even when the storms don't make it here, their effect is felt in enormous surges of waves that batter the north and east shores of our islands. I remember the first time I witnessed 50-foot waves crashing onto a beach. I was speechless; in awe of the ocean's power. But it's also the time of year when the humidity is notably lower, and the temperatures become very pleasant. In terms of comfort, it is the most wonderful time of the year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The one thing about Christmas, the one universal truth is that people are better to each other. Almost everyone has a smile and cheerful word, and kindness and generosity emerges from wherever it hides during the rest of the year. The season brings out the best in people, especially in their personal relationships. Families gather to share, to eat, to talk and laugh. They catch up on everything that has happened during their time apart. And if they can keep their politics firmly locked away, it can be a joyous and memorable time.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Christmas is a season of joy, but it can also be a time of reflection. In the mainland, I would sit by the window and watch as the snow fell and think deep thoughts, or no thoughts at all. The snowfall has been replaced by the rhythm of the surf as it glides across the sand. But the solace hasn't changed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Christmas cards Cheryl and I gave each other were amazingly similar in sentiments. For the past few months, we've made a point to spend time together. Our schedules oppose each other, so that time is limited. But we seek each other's presence in a way we've never done before. And we don't have to necessarily have to be doing anything. We find peace in sharing the couch while we watch whatever happens to be streaming. Being together, whether at home or shopping, sharing the occasional sunset at Waikiki, is the most important. The common thread is the realization that we are getting older, and as the years mount up the chances that one of us could be taken unexpectedly I think haunts us both. Yes, we're co-dependent. I joke that without her, I couldn't even find matching socks. But the truth is that she is absolutely essential to my life, my happiness, even my sanity. She handles our finances, a part of our lives that is an absolute mystery to me. But just her absence...that's a sadness painful to contemplate. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She calls me her rock, that I help keep her steady during her struggles with stress and frustration. She says I still make her laugh, which is good because I love her smile. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Neither one of us are able to contemplate a life without each other, which is why we've chosen to cherish the time we have now, and not to take it, or each other for granted. I suppose this is the normal course of a marriage as the years pass. Mortality becomes a very tangible thing. I read sometimes about elderly couples (definition of elderly: Anyone older than me) who pass from natural causes within hours of each other. No one can schedule that, and since our lives belong to God and not us, there's no desire or purpose to arrange that. Still, there's a kind of emotional justice in that, never having to live alone and apart from that person who has been the sun, the sky, and the stars to us. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Years ago, I was involved on the periphery of the drive to establish the Flight 93 Memorial outside of Shanksville, PA. I was able to interact with some of the family members of those who lost their lives in what turned out to be the first strike in the War on Terror. We spoke about that day, how sudden that loss was. I was told that they learned that there are no normal goodbyes because events occur without warning. One of them told of an argument between those two spouses on the morning one of them got on one of those doomed aircraft. I was looked at through eyes reflecting a pain of loss and guilt. "Never part from each other with words of anger. You might never be able to take them back." That has stuck with me, the fragility of human life against the exigencies of life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, in the years we have left, we will cherish each other. We will spend as much time together as our busy days permit us. We are God's gifts to each other, and we will honor those gifts. We've been through the richer and poorer, the sickness and health (mostly me), good times and bad, surviving it all. So there's only one promise left.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Until death do us part.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-62840091706791747142022-12-09T05:26:00.001-10:002023-09-28T20:56:15.935-10:00Pele's Dance on Hawai'i Island<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0x0ddwmtL2guBLWApdgDUH-_kypqanGJI2UVpNJKmBaMDM3TR2XV5XWMskU8RFgdgKMk55NECWodqtPZa3si2fKchg5DBH8VuQktv1VienGo9hFw1SOxDV6XiPqEcvDInnU61T5gj9isDupiIEFHO1S2qPJk8eU4vy7FPk_4A_XG9TVy8g/s1337/Mauna%20Loa%202022-11-28%20021329.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="1337" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0x0ddwmtL2guBLWApdgDUH-_kypqanGJI2UVpNJKmBaMDM3TR2XV5XWMskU8RFgdgKMk55NECWodqtPZa3si2fKchg5DBH8VuQktv1VienGo9hFw1SOxDV6XiPqEcvDInnU61T5gj9isDupiIEFHO1S2qPJk8eU4vy7FPk_4A_XG9TVy8g/w444-h250/Mauna%20Loa%202022-11-28%20021329.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mauna Loa (USGS)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a relatively quiet Sunday evening. There was no weather to speak of, no other event on-going, though we had been monitoring the earthquake activity at Mauna Loa. About 10:30 PM, the monitor we have for the California Integrated Seismic Network sounded it's familiar alarm. CISN monitors earthquake activity around the world, and sends us alerts, which happens several times during a watch. Most people don't know what a restless planet we live on. If an earthquake larger than magnitude 6.5 occurs anywhere within the Pacific Basin, we go to a higher alert posture until the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center evaluates the incident in case a tsunami was generated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Local earthquakes are a different matter. The Big Island, Hawai'i, is home to no less than four active volcanoes. Mauna Kea, where all the expensive telescopes are, Hualalai, Kilauea, and Mauna Loa. There is also an active volcano on Maui, called Haleakala, and one offshore of the Big Island, Loihi. This one is an undersea volcano which will break the sea surface in about 100,000 years. All of the activity has been on the Big Island. Kilauea has been erupting since September 29th of last year, the effused lava confined to the summit caldera. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the Big Island is a special case. A strong enough earthquake might break loose the southeast flank of the island and send the Manhattan-sized mass sliding into the ocean, generating a tsunami. So, anything north of magnitude 3.5 gets our attention. On the night in question, the first quake, a magnitude 4.5 came in at about 10:55 PM. PTWC assessed almost immediately that there was no tsunami threat. Then about an hour later, another earthquake rumbled, this one a magnitude 4.1. Shortly after that, we received a telephone call from the island's Civil Defense, reporting that Mauna Loa was erupting. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although my watch team was due to leave at midnight, we stayed to help the midnight crew handle things. It was a long night, as we didn't leave until things finally calmed to a manageable level at 4:45 AM. The state Emergency Operations Center, an old artillery bunker in Diamond Head crater, went to full activation, which is where we've been since. Sunday will mark two weeks since the eruption started. At first, the eruption was confined to the summit caldera. The next day, the eruption moved into the northeast rift zone, probably the safest direction.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since then, the volcano has remained active, the fountains seen on the USGS YouTube site are spectacular, especially during the day when the vivid red of the erupting magma is visible. Lava flowed downhill towards the Daniel K. Inouye Highway, a vital link for Big Island residents. There was a concern that the lava could cover and block the road, but in the past two days, a breakout flow occurred further uphill, and that seems to have taken the steam out of the threatening flow, stalling 1.7 miles from the highway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Park Service and law enforcement have been busy trying to keep people, mainly tourists, out of danger. Several arrests have taken place. There are also those who have been desecrating the mountain, which is a sacred site for native Hawai'ians. Three people were busted after throwing marshmallows into the lava flow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There hasn't been a lot of ash, but what there has been was something called Pele's hair. This is actually fine strands of volcanic glass that wafts out of the volcano and travels great distances on the winds.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVKjB-Dt8bmp2Bp_9GFMN2ayBSfFx1uJEo9SexLBHhGg2H6TlK_uIyzLuqFDKRqcTW4yFqPDXKTVnOtlSeUuNZ9sg5u2pwNGI6DIyP8E_HsDTSvO0R3ZyytQFfDLx5FgT1YMLUYOSHbEo1IS4zjWi-eyS8BDT9ktw8EJO8-EfO3daJNpU1w/s4704/HAVO_20120608_Pele-s-Hair-Curly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="4704" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVKjB-Dt8bmp2Bp_9GFMN2ayBSfFx1uJEo9SexLBHhGg2H6TlK_uIyzLuqFDKRqcTW4yFqPDXKTVnOtlSeUuNZ9sg5u2pwNGI6DIyP8E_HsDTSvO0R3ZyytQFfDLx5FgT1YMLUYOSHbEo1IS4zjWi-eyS8BDT9ktw8EJO8-EfO3daJNpU1w/w402-h226/HAVO_20120608_Pele-s-Hair-Curly.jpg" width="402" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">National Park Service</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While it looks pretty, its dangerous if inhaled. Touching it can result in getting small glass slivers in your skin. Authorities have recommended masks for those in the affected areas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Aside from the obvious awe factor, watching this volcano erupting reminds one of the power of nature, and how minimal humans are when compared. Most people don't know, but Mauna Loa is the tallest volcano on the planet, but there's more to this than meets the eye. The summit rises to 13,679 feet from the surface of the ocean. But there's five miles of the volcano between the ocean surface and the floor. And if that wasn't enough, the enormous weight of the mountain has pushed itself five more miles below the ocean floor. From there to the top, it's about 55,000 feet, the tallest by a fair margin.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The eruption continues, and as no communities are in danger, it has become the biggest attraction. This is an unusual time, because Mauna Loa's neighbor Kilauea, is also erupting, something that last occurred in 1984. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nobody knows how long this will last, but it will be a hot ticket here as long as it does.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-36487378821854571112022-10-16T21:32:00.003-10:002023-09-28T20:56:30.050-10:00The Eternal Music of the Moonlight<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82cVPNhvdEjCcvO9jI0_JAG2ytjqx3f63JKMJjD25-98FX1xAiqyse3fZ3U1LDp0dPYCaRfb4JDk-bpiHdJmoKetR0o5AE1-_zAm7k715T2znZUDHISC3DHGZaoB_k4-rOnReHWfWc6s1u_EjJfowUlfVxlXwGYOhc9Z9VOv8RY79y2aG3Q/s596/moonlight-sonata-3rd-movement.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="596" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82cVPNhvdEjCcvO9jI0_JAG2ytjqx3f63JKMJjD25-98FX1xAiqyse3fZ3U1LDp0dPYCaRfb4JDk-bpiHdJmoKetR0o5AE1-_zAm7k715T2znZUDHISC3DHGZaoB_k4-rOnReHWfWc6s1u_EjJfowUlfVxlXwGYOhc9Z9VOv8RY79y2aG3Q/w521-h321/moonlight-sonata-3rd-movement.jpg" width="521" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Piano Sonata No. 14</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ludwig van Beethoven</div><div style="text-align: center;">AKA "Moonlight"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Copyright © 2022</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been around classical music for most of my life, introduced to by my father who was a big fan of Beethoven. This was the music we listened to, at least until the Beatles showed up. Later on, my activities in band and orchestra through high school and college provided exposure to the genre through the performance side. There have been several pieces that I still enjoy listening to, such as Beethoven's 5th and 9th, Holst's "The Planets," Kachaturian's "Gayne Ballet Suite," and the last 5 minutes of Mahler's "Resurrection" particularly the performance of the Simon Bolivar Youth Symphony conducted by Gustavo Dudamel (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RONBzkthUjM" target="_blank">Resurrection Proms</a>) at the 2011 BBC Proms, a concert series featuring youth symphonies and choirs. I never tire of listening to the beauty and power of that orchestra and choir putting forth with that special energy that uniquely belongs to the young. And the audience responding in kind with a long, cheering, ovation. Towards the end, the mezzo soprano Anna Larssen, is trying to keep her emotions under control, at one point, clenching her fist. But by the end, she is openly in tears. It never fails to move me. But that's what great music is supposed to do, to reach into the soul and change you. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In 1801, Ludwig van Beethoven wrote a three-movement piece he called "Quasi una fantasia" (like a fantasy). A year later, he dedicated the composition to he pupil, the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. The Countess was, by all accounts, a great beauty and through the time he taught her, he fell in love. He later wrote a 10-page love letter (never sent) the inspiration of which some historians attribute to the Countess.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In structure, the piece is a subdued melody articulated by seemingly endless arpeggios. It is played quietly; reflectively. Variations in tempo enhance the passion written into the phrases. "Moonlight," the sobriquet it is universally known by, was actually attributed to the piece five years after Beethoven's death by a critic and poet Ludwig Rellstab. He described the first movement as moonlight shining on Lake Lucerne in Central Switzerland. Within 10 years, it was known by almost everyone as the Moonlight Sonata.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Moonlight had a powerful effect on listeners, and continues to have today. French composer Hector Berlioz described it as "one of those poems that human language does not know how to qualify."</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I first heard those haunting notes, I knew nothing of it's backstory. In my mind, I likened it to a man whose greatest love had died. Now, he sits on the lakeshore, watching the silvery track of moonlight across the quietly dancing waters, aching in his loss, and trying to find solace and healing in the quiet of the night. In the music, I feel his pain, his emptiness as he asks the eternal unanswerable question of untimely death, "Why?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I put myself in the presence of that mourner, and try to translate those emotions into the keystrokes. I play it slow, quietly using only enough pressure to create each note. As the notes run up and down the scales, I feel the heights of his anguish, and the depths of his loneliness. The music drifts from minor to major chords, as the man relives brief flashes of warm memories, cut short by the brutal realization that there will be no more of those moments. His sorrow is palpable, his sorrow crushing; unrelieved as the last notes trickle down to the last chord, as final as the closing of that last door between life and the unknown beyond.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">While I played a lot of instruments over the years, piano remains a challenge. For whatever reason, I can't get my two hands to work together. So, whatever songs I know I play by ear. A couple of decades ago, I found Moonlight in a compilation music book belonging to my wife. I sat down, and doggedly tried to learn the music. I even wrote the note names above in pencil to try to help me along. In the end, I get about a third of the way through before I lose my way in the arpeggios. But I can get through part of it. love playing Moonlight, even what little I can get through. There's no other piece of music of any genre that has touched me in the way this one has. Maybe, someday, I'll learn the whole thing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This past spring, we went to Virginia to spend time with our son's family. His wife, Yukyung, is an accomplished pianist. I can't help but feel a pang of envy, wishing I could play like that. One evening, after dinner was over and before the kids were shipped off to dreamland, I was wandering around the house when I heard the piano. The instrument sits in a high-ceilinged circular room just off the front door. I came up on the opposite side of the staircase as she began to play Moonlight. I pulled out my phone and began videoing. I stood there listening until her sister came in and dimed me out. Yukyung stopped playing and turned around, embarrassed, why I don't know. But it was a moment putting me back in touch with music that has been with me for as long as I can remember. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I enjoy a broad range of music, from Renaissance to Rock, Opera, Folk, Jazz, Praise, traditional Irish. No one genre can hold me for very long. But of all the music I've ever heard or played, nothing means as much to me as the mystical, evocative sound of the Moonlight.</div><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-87585887351918943552022-10-13T02:03:00.006-10:002023-09-28T20:56:48.157-10:00Sunrise, Sunset, and Doves<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1AoIJXb7mA0aWo6tmYegkmnDM6h9PKEG4LzlptNl7PS1F4ackGJ4RFMXbGVnUzQ_HpU8NDhyH85owIRClJSTwP_R3HPEotKsZjEHKfTaST2w9P5bgjdWdq2S0d9CbgXgBqIMfIIYFxXQYQxhHpXsvkC1qTH_LkjbfayQTlVQZt6_2a3CcQ/s4000/20221007_063644.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1AoIJXb7mA0aWo6tmYegkmnDM6h9PKEG4LzlptNl7PS1F4ackGJ4RFMXbGVnUzQ_HpU8NDhyH85owIRClJSTwP_R3HPEotKsZjEHKfTaST2w9P5bgjdWdq2S0d9CbgXgBqIMfIIYFxXQYQxhHpXsvkC1qTH_LkjbfayQTlVQZt6_2a3CcQ/w489-h220/20221007_063644.jpg" width="489" /></a></div><br /> <b><i>"Every sunrise gives you a new beginning and a new ending.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Let this morning be a new beginning. It's an opportunity</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i> to enjoy life, breathe freely, think, and love.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Be grateful for this beautiful day."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>--Norton Juster</i></b> </div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Image and written content </div><div style="text-align: center;">except cited quotation</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There was a time when I embraced complexities, a time when nothing entertained me more than looking for the one loose thread that would undo the entire suit. A lot of what I did in the Intelligence Community involved the same kind of process. Behind every "what" was a "why," and the "why" was important because it explained the "what." The truth thus sought secreted itself beneath layers of misdirection and falsehood. In peeling back the voluminous layers, that nugget revealed itself in tiny pieces, or flashes of inspiration and insight. It was a deeply satisfying kind of life.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Age slows us down, not only physically but mentally as well. In trying to replicate the past, I find now that the only truth revealed is how tired my brain has become. This is part of life, something that has to be accepted and dealt with as the years pile up. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I still work, a job that requires the exercise of intellect and memory, though certainly not to the degree as in the past. I find that in my non-work related pursuits that I gravitate towards less taxing activities.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I read a lot, mostly history, science, and political science. I've always "yearned to learn" and the desire to know something can overtake me at the oddest moments. Modern technology makes such a quest fairly fast and informative, so much better than before when the desire to learn something usually meant a trip to a library or a consult with the family encyclopedias, though by the time we received them, they were hopelessly out of date. But outside of that, I find myself finding peace and fulfillment in far simpler pursuits. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I work inside a dormant volcano which sits at the opposite end of the island upon which we live, and that means commuting. Traffic has been bad and getting worse here on O'ahu, so I leave earlier than absolutely necessary, thus allowing time for the unexpected freeway snarl. Most days, however, I get there early and rather than show up too soon, I take a little time for myself.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Diamond Head Road circles the outside of the eponymous crater. At the western end of the loop is the beautiful greenspace of Kapi'olani Park. Going east from there, the road gently curves and rises as it passes elaborate cliffside residences fronting the Pacific. There are three pullouts from where a beautiful view of the ocean presents itself. I go to the middle one because there are no trees to block the view. Sometimes the slots are filled, but I wait patiently because most people stay only a few minutes. After pulling in, I exit the Mustang and then lean against the hood of the car, empty my brain of worries, and replace them with a quiet appreciation of the beauty. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because it sits on a sheer cliff, there's always a breeze, even on the hottest days. Below me, the water reaches to the horizon, reflecting various shades of blue. To my left I can see two of the neighbor islands, Lana'i and Moloka'i, and on an exceptionally clear day, the peaks of Maui can be resolved. From there, I can appreciate the vastness of the Pacific. I know that 2,500 miles to the east lies Mazatlan, Mexico. 2,400 miles behind me to the north is Petersville, Alaska. To the west, 5,400 miles away is the port of Fuzhou, China. To the south,across 7,450 empty miles is Antartica, at the bottom of the planet. The islands that make up my state are but grains of sand in an immense mass of water. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUw3X4Ar-bcswxcwdnHlnUwWOObRTpE3tte9bN1Yg0IaOn83fbU3R58b1uVxiSr200dWwQwk62tR4tSRiTV6YUouMOVpAI0k9Y7EcRlKQAjQ4S8ffQ1SrRSFpLp5rJR5YAbZhAvcJY0apdvBj7LXKTinnckTnJh1Vjjw1Meh0CCoyySl0tHw/s2238/20221022_145145.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="2238" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUw3X4Ar-bcswxcwdnHlnUwWOObRTpE3tte9bN1Yg0IaOn83fbU3R58b1uVxiSr200dWwQwk62tR4tSRiTV6YUouMOVpAI0k9Y7EcRlKQAjQ4S8ffQ1SrRSFpLp5rJR5YAbZhAvcJY0apdvBj7LXKTinnckTnJh1Vjjw1Meh0CCoyySl0tHw/w376-h243/20221022_145145.jpg" width="376" /></a></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">While I am there, people come and go, mostly tourists who stop, take a few pictures and selfies, and drive away. Birds are always around, mainly doves. On a whim, I bought a bag of bird seed and put it in my trunk. At some point, I'll grab a handful of seed and spread it along the top of the low retaining wall. Even if there aren't any around at first, it doesn't take any time at all before they spot the feast and start dropping in. There's a kind of peace that comes with watching birds feed, and their behaviors. Most of them are striped doves, due to the linear markings on their necks. They don't mess around. As soon as they alight, they're gobbling. At some point the larger species, spotted doves begin to arrive. These are about a third bigger, and more aggressive. They'll try and run each other off and claim the feed for themselves, but as they're engaged, behind them their smaller cousins are gobbling away. It's kind of amusing to watch a larger, more aggressive bird take the time and effort to run the others off, turn around, and realize that the food is gone. I'm sure there's a philosophical or political missive in there somewhere, but I'd rather watch them eat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Most days I'm there in the mid-afternoons. But lately, I've been jumping shifts, so when I work days, I get there either at or shortly after sunrise. Sunsets have always a lot to me, especially here where the colors are so vivid. I don't see many sunrises, mainly because I'm either at work or at home catching up on sleep. To get there early enough to see the sun rise out of the ocean is a real treat. I thought the colors were magnificent in the evening, but to watch as the colors begin to tint the clouds before actual sunrise, and then see the beauty as the sun clears the horizon and changes the sky into a beautiful portrait. As the light plays across the ocean surface, other colors are revealed, most tantalizingly brief. Its a time of incredible peace and tranquility. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I treasure those moments, and as life continues to swirl its darker moods, I find I need those moments when I can completely let go. Yesterday is over; before me is a blank page awaiting the words of today's story. And I am ready to write.</div></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-41988074069153731502022-09-10T23:24:00.008-10:002023-09-28T20:57:04.902-10:00Catching Up<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSXe0fkuvQ7qdkHn53F40b2kpZhaqhI2A-TibN1aWJb6rRVDF5unjqREttRR7qm7jkUaW5BT7sqcyrwd0MX3Q7yO9iUNj2brLNkxzi72YIeUKzA_cUuvDLAPK77akWg4vzIO5cuEZthszRPVMJsAPjrM6H22gtpr0jvw4jKcPR1NczAD3dA/s3457/Sunset%20wave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1556" data-original-width="3457" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSXe0fkuvQ7qdkHn53F40b2kpZhaqhI2A-TibN1aWJb6rRVDF5unjqREttRR7qm7jkUaW5BT7sqcyrwd0MX3Q7yO9iUNj2brLNkxzi72YIeUKzA_cUuvDLAPK77akWg4vzIO5cuEZthszRPVMJsAPjrM6H22gtpr0jvw4jKcPR1NczAD3dA/w614-h276/Sunset%20wave.jpg" width="614" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Copyright © 2022</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;">Image and written content</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The English monarchy has a very long history, some 1,400 years if you go back to the Kings of Wessex. In that time there has been 65 monarchs who have sat on the throne. This past week, Elizabeth passed from this life after 95 years, 70 of them as Queen. Nobody over that nearly a millennia and a half ruled for anywhere near that long. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She assumed the throne at 25, after the death of her father. Winston Churchill doubted her abilities, thought she was far too young for such daunting responsibilities. For such an eminent statesman, it was a rare misjudgment. Not only did she prove equal to the challenge, she embraced her responsibility to serve the people, her subjects, and the country. Her strength, intelligence and equanimity in the face of all that the country and her family have endured, earned the respect of the entire world. On the day of her passing, I could here the soft footsteps which marked the passage of history. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Charles is now King, but he has a past that has caused a lot of grief. The death of Diana was a personal loss for millions, and the stories that emerged of his treatment of her painted a dark picture, indeed. An air of uncertainty hangs over the Royal Family. Elizabeth was the glue that held them together through scandal after scandal. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And now, she is gone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It remains to be seen if her successors can recapture the grace, strength, and respect that was her enduring legacy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We have watched as the mainland has been baked and broiled this summer. Triple-digit temperatures have been visited on nearly the entire 50 states, creating an unprecedented drain on electricity. In addition, most of the western states are dealing with extensive and serious drought conditions. Winter, the time when snowfall is supposed to replenish water sources, has not produced the snowfall required. There is real concern that these states could run completely dry by the end of this decade. The future of this region, and the tens of millions who live there, now hangs in the balance. There is no man-made solution in the offing. As the history of the Dust Bowl years recalls, sometimes for unknown reasons, nature just turns off the spigot. All we can do is wait for the rains to return.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On a happier note, for nearly three scintillating weeks, we had grandchildren in the house, as our son's family flew in from Virginia for a visit. Our niece got married, which sparked the reason for the visit. It was a great reunion, full of fun, laughter, and love. I managed to take some time off and went with them as they made almost daily visits to the beaches here in O'ahu. It was a time for us as grandparents to embrace the unrelenting passage of time reflected in their growth. I know most grandparents think their grandchildren are the loveliest, smartest, and most talented in the world. With all respect to our peers, ours actually are.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One of the great things was having the time to talk to them and listen to them as they weighed in on different subjects. Yes, they're still children, but not for much longer. We're so proud of all 11 of them. Now these three are back in Virginia in school, and back in to their busy schedules. Our son, Robbie, was already slated to coach Ian's flag football team (providentially called the Chiefs), but when no one else would step forward, he agreed to coach the baseball team as well. I know this takes a lot of time during each week, but he is a skilled and knowledgeable teacher. He understands kids, and what they need. His tutelage was on display Saturday the 10th, for the first games of the season. On the football side, Ian quarterbacked and threw three touchdowns in a 27-20 win. We were proud, but it certainly was one of those moments when the thousands of miles between us hung heavily on our hearts. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The renovation of our home continues in fits and starts. Just before the wedding, we had solar panels installed on our roof, 23 of them. It was good timing, as electric rates are beginning to rise here. But its nice that during this very warm summer, we have a place of refuge where we can run air conditioners with a clear conscience. We will find out next week exactly how much the rebuild of two rooms into an en suite (hope I spelled that right) will cost us. We've set some money aside, but we'll probable have to dig into our equity to cover it. That project should be in full motion by October, and hopefully will finish before Thanksgiving. For the first time in the history of this house, there will be two fully functioning bathrooms. Yay!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here in the islands, life goes on. In a place where it was already expensive, costs have gotten worse. The gas prices have fallen somewhat, due mainly to people using less. Gasoline usage nationally for the month of July was lower than during the worst of the pandemic lockdowns. With an unexpected glut of supply, prices came down. But the other necessities of life, food and shelter, continue to rise. This situation may increase what has been the steady stream of young people fleeing Hawai'i for the mainland. It's just nearly impossible to make ends meet for them. It remains to be seen what the long-term effects of that exodus will be. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The tourists are back, and the state is in the black fiscally for the first time since the beginning of the Pandemic. Of course, traffic is horrible, but like many things about this place, it just has to be endured. Violent crime has increased, and it is now dangerous to walk areas of Honolulu after dark. The violence has begun to encroach on the areas around Waikiki, as some tourists have discovered. Home invasions are on the rise, which has everyone on edge, especially the Kupuna (elderly).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There have been several instances of shark attacks, and a lot of people have found out how hot the sun really is when you're sixteen hundred miles closer to the equator. I think that a lot of people view Hawai'i as this big amusement park set up and run just for their benefit. But this is the tropics, and there are creatures in the sea and on the land that kill. Some of them walk on two legs. One of the most discouraging behaviors is the massive disrespect that tourists have for Native Hawai'ian culture. There has been too much casual desecration of this place by people who never take the time to understand.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The first images from the Webb Space Telescope have been published, and opened up a whole different level of wonder about our universe. Viewing in infrared, it has revealed details in sharp detail never before seen. The scientists are still exploring those images, but there should be a veritable explosion of new knowledge as this new data solves old questions, and raises a host of new ones. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lately, I've been able to look up and see in the night sky, the two gas giants, Jupiter and Saturn hanging together in the sky. It's a wonderful sight that fires the imagination, at least mine. I guess with all the bad news flowing around, it's kind of an escape to look up and dream across the light hours, and parsecs. The known universe is enormous beyond words, and still largely unknown. Our planet and its people will be interstellar dust before most of those questions can be answered.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've been busy these past few weeks. The staffing crisis at work continues, and as a result we are all working odd hours and missing off days. The good news is that the boss had decreed that we are no longer to cancel vacation or come in to work sick, as we have been forced to do too often. Cheryl come home from the hospital with lurid tales of what she has had to deal with at work, mainly the poor quality of many of her colleagues. Truth be told, we are both ready to really retire, but are unable to do so just yet. Still, we've found time to spend an evening at the beach at the end of the day, just being together. Quietly we sit and as the sun sets, we watch, awestruck, as God paints the sky.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-75617281381114447842022-08-01T20:10:00.001-10:002023-09-28T20:57:18.405-10:00Missing the Music and the Joy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNJ-9wQMuuzXGLGy6dPlA2CJOwrJIhrMqa3CDoG0_Jil8g7LfIPE7ciwYK-FzvSh9feGiXd54YC89plQg_DOW9V_9oGfdLBGeUTTSSdhsHNvVz_yUMM4pjxbArg7iyy6cPkGSpD4e1KmkAADLuiULuQ970mDkV8D3W_xq2z4jGTwWaeex4g/s624/cliffs-of-dooneen-sheet-music_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="624" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNJ-9wQMuuzXGLGy6dPlA2CJOwrJIhrMqa3CDoG0_Jil8g7LfIPE7ciwYK-FzvSh9feGiXd54YC89plQg_DOW9V_9oGfdLBGeUTTSSdhsHNvVz_yUMM4pjxbArg7iyy6cPkGSpD4e1KmkAADLuiULuQ970mDkV8D3W_xq2z4jGTwWaeex4g/w381-h230/cliffs-of-dooneen-sheet-music_orig.jpg" width="381" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Music washes away from the soul</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>the dust of everyday life."</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>-- Berthold Auerbach</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were many things that ended up being casualties of the Pandemic, like normal life for instance. But while most communities have started that long, slow journey back, there were some losses. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were a lot of things I used to do before this thing started, to which some I've returned. Medical facilities are still requiring masks, but everywhere else, its become optional. I still feel a sense of hesitation before entering WalMart, automatically reaching into my pockets for a mask. The variants are still raging, and there are still people getting sick, even the completely vaccinated and boosted. But for most of us, I think we're so exhausted by the whole thing that it's no longer the front-and-center attention grabber that it once was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The task of putting our lives back together goes on. Vacations are now being planned and taken. People gather in large crowds without a second thought. Businesses are getting snippy about getting people back from working in pajamas to being present in the workplace. Zoom, once a novelty, is now mainstream, along with all the other video meeting tools. So, there has been a kind of paradigm shift, one that might change the way we do business in the future.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of the casualties for me was the Irish Music sessions. Twice a month, I would gather with a lively group of very talented musicians for about 3 hours to play along with their encyclopedic knowledge of traditional music. Those halted when the shutdowns began to happen. This had become one of the highlights of my month, I labored long and hard on my Bodhran (a frame drum) hoping to at least not gum up the works. I also sang occasionally, though I had to use lyric sheets as I suffer from CRS. (Can't Remember Songs.) Still, they were a patient lot as they educated me on the music and the session rules. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Over time, it became a highlight in my life. I always looked forward to going and I went when ever I could. Losing that little joy kinda made the Pandemic a little darker.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My work schedule has changed due to some long-standing staffing issues, meaning I work a combination of evening and midnight shifts. Because of that, there's only one evening a week that I have free, unfortunately, it's not the same night as everyone else. I've thought about hosting one on Tuesdays, if I could locate a usable venue, and wasn't so afraid that no one could come. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still, I've continued to practice, utilizing the Internet and some CD's. I'd like to think I'm getting more proficient, but being alone, I have no stick by which to measure progress. I recently bought an Irish tin whistle and an instruction book, and I'm starting the long, slow, sometimes frustrating process of learning a new instrument. It'll be months before I'll be brave enough to do this in front of others, but at least I've started. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div>The actual number of traditional Irish tunes is unknown, but thought to be well into the high hundreds. Some are as much as 200 years old, and new ones are always being composed. One of the purposes of a session is a way for musicians to explore new songs and replay favorites. Also to stretch themselves. A person is never done learning, and that's especially true in music. I did grow a bit as a musician, but there's a long way to go yet. But the best part is the fellowship of sharing a common love for the music. I think I miss that more.<p></p><p>Irish music has a global following, and rare is the city where you can't find a session. There's even some groups in Moscow, Russia who gather and play. This universality is one of its attractions. As for as I know, there's almost nobody who regularly gathers to sing tradition French, German, or Russian songs. It's the kind of music that's hard not to like, and easy to love. The songs run the gamut from nonsense and humor, to sad and sentimental, to strident and strong, all mirroring the turbulent history of the Island from which it was formed. Once it gets into your blood - your heart - it just doesn't let go.</p><p>As the years have passed, I've had to let go of things that once were important to me. Softball and motorcycling in particular. As one gets older, the ability to do those things fades away. The hope is that those things held enough happy memories to keep the dark shade of regret from shrouding them. But this is one thing I don't want to let slip away. </p><p>I once read a story about an old Irishman who played the fiddle at the local pub in session. He had been there for as long as anyone could remember, never missing a night. He knew by heart every Irish song ever written. According to the story, he passed in the middle of one of those sessions. </p><p>All things considered, there are far worse ways to go.</p><p><br /></p>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070886.post-55244158849705904152022-06-27T22:23:00.002-10:002023-09-28T20:57:42.375-10:00The Best Kind of Trip<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSZ434YNAB-NLJDDDgZPtEsacqHWkEKnroABjkAXPQGQ1KxocdRZNE1urT1GE0TD3fpG8OpxZ70d9OUJJPssvXOvUbSDGXmH8QB_9TyyMiUVFbIosR7JbohBuYFpHkuZcbxjzWr1aXz0R-Fd4k_iJr_BypxCfKhDT0S5XmOznYxDAJ6MypQ/s4000/Virginia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSZ434YNAB-NLJDDDgZPtEsacqHWkEKnroABjkAXPQGQ1KxocdRZNE1urT1GE0TD3fpG8OpxZ70d9OUJJPssvXOvUbSDGXmH8QB_9TyyMiUVFbIosR7JbohBuYFpHkuZcbxjzWr1aXz0R-Fd4k_iJr_BypxCfKhDT0S5XmOznYxDAJ6MypQ/w496-h223/Virginia.jpg" width="496" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright © 2022</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Ralph F. Couey</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've lived in Honolulu now for about three-and-a-half years, both of us working at jobs that at times test the stamina of that proverbial last nerve. While we've taken time off now and then, we really haven't taken what one could term a vacation. A fellow named Earl Wilson called it "what you take when you can no longer take what you've been taking." Well, that was us. We were both stressed, and also depressed and sad. What sparked the idea for this trip was a video that popped up on a social media feed of our oldest granddaughter at age three singing "Away in a Manger" at church. It was so cute, no shyness, just belting out the carol. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That girl starts driving soon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Time was getting away from us. So, we booked the trip in late February, scoring an incredible deal on first class tickets, something we'd never done before. The date of departure was May 21st, and it seemed like the days crawled past waiting to leave. But finally we found ourselves at Honolulu International waiting to get on the red-eye.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The trip east was broken into three legs, first one to Phoenix, the second one to Charlotte, the third into Dulles International in the Virginia 'burbs of DC. We got down to baggage claim, and lo and behold, our bags were the first ones off. Our grandchildren came running into the terminal and right into our arms., hugs for which we'd ached so much It was a joyous reunion.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, they had all grown since we saw them last summer. That's the thing with children. They're always changing. and if you turn your back for a seeming instant, all of a sudden they're all grown up. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The relationship between grandparents and grandkids is, in it's own way, transcendent. In the autumn of our years they become as radiant as the sun, and more precious than gold. They are so completely full of life and love. Since even a visit of 16 days flies by too fast, we had to crowd a whole lot of living into that time. We still found time to spend with each one, coming face-to-face with how much they've grown. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRghv_esVxwKzlnfycwPduejzrsAt7_Ofkv9zAQvF4hR8LCump6z0tv0O9jn0koOZJkXrZrPAfqEoV16y-0aAn-7cZ6KoRj19pdU7v8EQhTrC_qAAP5WRIq9kvFi3c62KPs1mn1tNldXu_EPPgjXp7Il-iS0tJgLtLnVUCiPCsHrLzTcnKw/s4000/Diana.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRghv_esVxwKzlnfycwPduejzrsAt7_Ofkv9zAQvF4hR8LCump6z0tv0O9jn0koOZJkXrZrPAfqEoV16y-0aAn-7cZ6KoRj19pdU7v8EQhTrC_qAAP5WRIq9kvFi3c62KPs1mn1tNldXu_EPPgjXp7Il-iS0tJgLtLnVUCiPCsHrLzTcnKw/w146-h299/Diana.jpg" width="146" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Diana, the erstwhile carol singer, is now 15. She is quiet and soft spoken, but her thoughts emerge with so much wisdom for one so young. Her award-winning violin playing is masterful, but as she told me, she wants to do everything. This is stated quietly, but in her voice can be heard the steel of ambition. She is courageous enough to try every dream she might have, and knows that dreams take work for which she seems to have an unending capacity. She also plays a great piano, does artistic sketches so real they seem to leap off the paper. She is involved in competitive swimming, and is good at it. Oh, and she's also a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, bad news for any potential suitors. If she would ever have time for them. Yeah, she's busy.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYv38w5kcV7SFTvy4MwFCEZISIq46KjViDTcp9vGIUNl0vaZGurfNKeuhEackMXjmtwE8giYl9aSO4IwAUy2V57ffOox9ktz8apdkAoiYKCnJQxGQ_G94dqiDVZcjylwtQaFZxy0JiPqKV-aibvn48umZLocO_PpENqfhV0jP3yYe5-ui6Q/s4000/Dad%20and%20Son.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYv38w5kcV7SFTvy4MwFCEZISIq46KjViDTcp9vGIUNl0vaZGurfNKeuhEackMXjmtwE8giYl9aSO4IwAUy2V57ffOox9ktz8apdkAoiYKCnJQxGQ_G94dqiDVZcjylwtQaFZxy0JiPqKV-aibvn48umZLocO_PpENqfhV0jP3yYe5-ui6Q/w378-h170/Dad%20and%20Son.jpg" width="378" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ian is about as normal a 10-year-old as you could find anywhere in America. He loves video games, but is heavily involved in both Baseball and Football. His approach is similar to his Dad's, deeply analytical. He plays wide receiver, but where his instincts really show is on defense, playing deep safety. Every move he makes has a purpose and seems to know instinctively when the receiver he is covering is about to make a move. But the greatest thing is his attitude. As soon as he steps between the lines, his walk becomes a strut, and it is clear that he owns that particular piece of turf and woe betide any who would trespass thereon. Before one of his baseball games, I asked him about his approach to hitting. He responded with a detailed explanation and demonstration that would have fit seamlessly into Sports Center. But he is very affectionate with us, and there is a sensitivity to him that is positively endearing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE__hTADYGlZsUO2yclCPEfBrvDVlY82IdaCuULdz55zifPMdF8nqIYVPEswPyebH5g3UK3mo3KVW0CMaEbOwjtiKoMhGHVpJ4x3mTG8GHOxUeiTk7XGhrcGmYI-A_-m2d1r7sc9KSp73Eq_EenILX4CclmRpWerReZF55v4n4T4RuQ7Qu1A/s4000/Sophie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE__hTADYGlZsUO2yclCPEfBrvDVlY82IdaCuULdz55zifPMdF8nqIYVPEswPyebH5g3UK3mo3KVW0CMaEbOwjtiKoMhGHVpJ4x3mTG8GHOxUeiTk7XGhrcGmYI-A_-m2d1r7sc9KSp73Eq_EenILX4CclmRpWerReZF55v4n4T4RuQ7Qu1A/s320/Sophie.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sophie, at a precocious 7 years, seems to have embraced Hakuna Matatta. No moment is more important than now. She is blissfully unconcerned with the future. That's for parents to worry about. She can make fun out of anything she does, and when you ask what she's doing, she responds with a detailed in-depth discussion that explains everything. She is also taking piano lessons, and we got to see her recital, where she played wonderfully, looking for all the world like she was perfectly at home in front of an audience. She is cheerful and happy, though can be a bit of a drama queen. When things aren't exactly right, the whole world - the whole universe is crashing down around her. But she recovers quickly, like a cork bobbing in the water. Cute beyond words, she is.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was a fast-paced life. The kids were all busy, so we were all busy. But we still found some time to drive past our old townhome, and I renewed my friendship with the Appalachian Trail.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-Xdlw8xp7QjmlKMgQd6lwi2Ogh80ynOiYyg0rRVOFdFf1-BEXHMV_Bc2YmaSviJMJCWIAR1_kBvlwU1C8JImubbCO2pz3QoT5USGGsHool3gobyVEQDXqRBWv8vb3A89SZQlH3bBEEbHuOuQz5PijnzEQGjPlm8hDBNRvlAigbZlylIIPQ/s4000/AT%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-Xdlw8xp7QjmlKMgQd6lwi2Ogh80ynOiYyg0rRVOFdFf1-BEXHMV_Bc2YmaSviJMJCWIAR1_kBvlwU1C8JImubbCO2pz3QoT5USGGsHool3gobyVEQDXqRBWv8vb3A89SZQlH3bBEEbHuOuQz5PijnzEQGjPlm8hDBNRvlAigbZlylIIPQ/w371-h167/AT%202.jpg" width="371" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Spending time with our grandkids is invigorating and fulfilling. And healing. When we left Honolulu, I was sad, depressed, frustrated, even a bit angry. But when you put a few thousand miles between yourself and the sources of your troubles, something wonderful happens. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Perspective.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you stand next to a big truck...yeah, it's big. Get a couple miles away and...it ain't so big anymore. One I was far enough away from my irritants, I was able to put them in their proper place. Since we've been back, I've been much calmer and relaxed. I find that the things that used to wind me up now don't matter that much. One of those realizations was remembering that there are only a few things over which I have any control. Everything else I can afford to ignore. Cause it just don't matter. And the future? It's (1) unknowable, (2) unpredictable, (3) and promised to no one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I live more in the moment now, because moments are so priceless. The last night we were there, we had to say goodbye to the kids before they went to bed, because we were leaving for the airport somewhere around Oh-dark-thirty. One last time we hugged and spoke and hugged some more. Yes, tears were shed. I lived in those moments, and I can still feel their embrace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The next day we flew back, first to Seattle, then home. I spent time looking out the window, contemplating the memories we had just made. It was two weeks that were too short and ended too soon. But it was a great trip, because I not only found my smile again...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I rediscovered hope.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Ralph F. Coueyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06434244155358774163noreply@blogger.com1