The Earth Quakes, A Wave Breaks

Copyright © USGS

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph Couey

Like most earthquakes, this one struck suddenly off the Kamchatka Peninsula, on the far eastern edge of Russia.  An initial assessment of magnitude 8.0 was quickly upgraded to magnitude 8.8, the most powerful earthquake in 14 years.

As most people know, the Earth's surface is made up of numerous interlocking plates that float on top of the convection currents of the hot mantle beneath.  We also know that throughout Earth's history, these plates have been in constant motion, sometimes forming supercontinents.  Other times, they float away from each other.  In this case, the Pacific Ocean Plate subducts or slides beneath the Okhotsk Plate.  Also, in most cases, this motion is not smooth.  The plates will, on occasion, stick together.  But the oceanic plate still maintains its drift, which builds up pressure at the "stuck point" that scientists call the asperity.  As this happens, the continental plate rises and folds, just like curling your fingers into a fist.  When the elasticity of those rocks exceeds their frictional coefficient, they snap past each other.  When that happens, the continental plate snaps forward and up (unclench your fist quickly).  Since this occurs on the floor of the ocean, the snapped plate lifts a column of water as deep as the ocean at that point and as wide or long as the fault.  In this case, that depth is roughly 2.5 to 3.5 miles deep.  Plus, the quake originates deeper, also in this case, about 11 miles beneath the ocean floor.  This column of water was (strike the average here) 3 miles tall and 350 miles long.  When that column breaks the surface, gravity tears it down into a series, or train of tsunami waves, calving off in opposite directions.  One towards land, and one that launches across the Pacific Ocean.  

Subduction zones are monsters.  They have historically generated the most violent earthquakes and most destructive tsunamis in history.  Chile 1960, Alaska 1964, Tohoku 2011, and Indonesia 2004 all originated from these types of faults.

Pacific Tsunami Warning Center, located on Ford Island in the middle of Pearl Harbor, Hawai'i, is the agency tasked with analyzing earthquakes and tsunamis and determining their threat to public safety.  The initial assessment of 8.0 is sufficient to issue a Tsunami Watch.  But with the later evaluation of 8.8, a Tsunami Warning was issued.  Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency's State Warning Point immediately issued the required alerts, one of which was the Wireless Emergency Alert, or WEA, that exploded on everyone's cell phones.

These waves are detected and tracked via a system of what are called DART buoys (Deep Ocean Assessment and Reporting of Tsunamis).  There are two parts of these sensors.  Floating on the surface is a satellite transceiver.  A cable drops down to the ocean floor, where it is connected to a sea floor sensor.  When a tsunami moves, like I mentioned, it is an entire column of water, miles tall.  When the wave passes the sensor, it detects the weight of the column of water.  A signal is sent to the floating buoy and then fired off to the satellite.  Within a few seconds, the entire scientific world knows what has happened.  These buoys, 39 of them so far, are set up along the seaward side of known subduction zones, and off islands along the possible wave routes.  One of the limitations is that if the wave is generated landward of that buoy line, the wave that impacts the nearby land will get there before the buoys detect it.  But most of the millions of people who live along subduction zones have learned that when the earth shakes, they need to move inland, or uphill.

The first indication was the appearance of tsunami waves in Russia and Japan.  Japan saw waves about 3 feet in height, while the areas of Russia immediately adjacent to the event saw wave heights ranging from 10 to 16 feet.  As the waves moved eastward, Guam and Wake Islands reported waves ranging up to 6 feet.  Midway Island, part of the Hawai'ian island chain, also reported 6-foot waves.  The forecast for Hawai'i, based on these results, was for waves in the range of 3 to 10 feet along the north- and west-facing shores. Evacuations were ordered, and the entire state collectively held its breath.

When the tsunami arrived, it numbered around 20 separate waves, eventually ranging from 3 to 7 feet.  Thankfully, there was some minor flooding, but no damage was reported, and even more importantly, no deaths or injuries.

The first big question was why the waves were not bigger.  The answer lies in the amount of slip at the earthquake origin.  Estimates today estimate that the sea floor rose 10 to 20 feet over a distance of 430 miles.  This is significant.  But the Indonesian quake in 2004 generated an uplift of around 50 feet along a distance of 745 miles.  This difference accounts for the smaller waves.  But there is speculation among scientists that this fault may not be done.  The entire Kuril-Kamchatka fault runs over 1,300 miles end to end, and may yet rupture along the rest of its length, perhaps in pieces, or a full-margin rupture.  

I was at work aboard the Battleship Missouri Memorial in Pearl Harbor, and since I'm not allowed to have my cellphone with me while I'm working, I missed the initial alerts.  On a break, I checked my phone just in time to see the Tsunami Warning WEA message.  We continued on as usual because the wave arrival time was three hours after we closed.  But as more messages came in, it was decided to allow those who lived in the immediate danger zones, North Shore and the Waianae Coast, to leave early.  I stayed until I was ordered to leave, reluctantly.  Even the security staff was sent home, and for a rare night, the ship was left utterly vacant.  

The Day War Ended

General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander Allied Powers, 

signs the documents aboard the USS Missouri, anchored in Tokyo Bay, Japan.

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

On September 2, 2025, the world will celebrate the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II.  

That day, a ceremony will take place on the deck of the Battleship USS Missouri, 

where the Japanese signed the surrender, officially bringing the war to a close.  

I offer my thoughts on that momentous day.

Eighty years ago today, on September 2, 1945, a ceremony took place in Tokyo Bay, Japan. Aboard the anchored battleship USS Missouri, representatives of the Imperial Japanese government and military signed a set of documents certifying their acceptance of the terms of surrender. With that act, the world, which had been at war in some form or another since 1931, finally found peace. Humanity, in an all-too-rare moment, was able to look toward the future with hope.

Peace is fleeting, as history has shown over and over. Humans have never had to search far for a reason to fight. Starting a war is much easier than ending one. Still, we cherish those rare moments because peace gives us a chance to breathe, to live, love, and dream.

War is terrible, destructive, and costly.  Novelist John Ball noted that the only reason a sane government gets involved in one is because the alternative is even less acceptable.  The United States, which had avoided global power and responsibility like the plague, was forced to accept that role in the world by two nations, Japan and Germany, which lusted after it.  We learned a hard lesson: that if we try to hide from the world, the world will come looking for us.  And the rest of the world also learned that an America, thus armed, united, and engaged, is unassailable. 

"How Terribly Strange to be Seventy"

 

You know you're getting old when the candles 

needed would set off the sprinkler system.

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

This post's title is a line from the Simon and Garfunkel song "Old Friends."  The song tells the story of two old men who sit in the park every day together on a bench, simply passing the hours.  At one point, Simon sings, "How terribly strange to be seventy."  It's a poignant line, a somber nod to the creeping inevitability of age.

I reached that milestone this year, May 23rd, and that particular verse has been echoing in my mind.  It's kinda funny in that in the past, I had always considered 70 to be incredibly ancient, perhaps even archaeological.  And now, here I am.  There are the usual maladies associated with aging, but nothing really serious or life-threatening.  One of my friends, after listening to my ruminations, said, "Hey, you've still got your knees, your hips, and your hair.  Be happy with that!"  He was correct, and I am well aware that many others never made it this far with this much intact.  

The day itself was uneventful.  Cheryl was in Japan with her sister, niece, and youngest daughter, embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to her ancestral homelands.  I had just returned from Virginia, spending some precious time with our son and his family.  I slept in and took myself out for breakfast, pancakes, of course.  I went to the local IHOP only to discover it had been shuttered.  I went to Zippy's instead, a local classic that makes really good pancakes.  I feasted happily.

I went home and, after some TV watching, I got busy cleaning house, in anticipation of Cheryl's return.  Part of that effort was ripping up the old, nasty, and unlamented carpet in the living room.  That was hard work, but seeing that beautiful wood floor emerge made me wonder why we ever covered it up in the first place.  

Speech: Preserving the Past, Gifting it to the Future

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Good Evening,

On behalf of the USS Missouri Memorial Association, I want to welcome you and express our sincere and heartfelt gratitude for the many ways you continue to support Battleship Missouri and its programs. 

My name is Ralph Couey. I am a tour guide and a former crew member of Missouri, serving from 1988 to 1990, the last two years of my Navy career.  I was a Chief Petty Officer in charge of Combat Engagement Center and the 65 good men who worked there.  As you might expect, many memories lurk among the passageways and compartments, ready to ambush me unexpectedly.  I can tell you that the first day I came back aboard to work here was an emotional experience.  I remember entering the ship's interior, being enveloped by that familiar scent of steel, paint, and fuel oil, and knowing I had returned home. 

Since that day, I’ve had nothing but fun, and I am so pleased and proud to work with such a great crew. I am hard-pressed to remember when I’ve been around a happier, more caring group of people. 

There are many memorials in the United States, touchstones of times of challenge and adversity, times that demanded from each of us our best efforts, passions, courage, and, most importantly, our unity. These places are where we can return to those moments and eras that molded us both as a nation and a people. It is good that those events can still inspire us because it is so vital that we remember our past.  We must honor those who went before, stood up to the dangers, and did the arduous work that brought us to this day.  Their stories, those accounts we need to tell and re-tell again. 

Memory is fickle. Time has a way of softening details and changing perceptions. For a given event in history, there are two groups of people: those who remember and those who learn.  We who were around and cogent on that terrible day we know as 9/11 have strong memories of that tragedy, driven by shock, sorrow, and, yes, rage.  We watched, most on television, some who were present as those aircraft knifed into both buildings of the World Trade Center.  We learned about the attack on the Pentagon and watched with disbelieving eyes as that great concrete battleship burned.  We heard about Flight 93 and the heroism of those passengers and crew who sacrificed their lives and prevented an even larger tragedy.  That day unfolded before us as no day ever had, burned into our memories.  We remember what we were doing, how we found out, how we felt, and what we feared. 

Speech: A Look to the Past, a Charge to the Future

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

On December 7^th, 1941, at 7:55 AM, the quiet calm of a Sunday morning was shattered by explosions and the hoarse sound of general quarters alarms.

In the first few minutes of the attack, hundreds of American Sailors, Soldiers, and Marines had already lost their lives.  This was the tragedy.  Then came the triumph.  The personnel aboard the ships did not wait for orders but rather reacted in accordance with their training and, in those same first few moments, filled the sky with anti-aircraft bursts.  It is important to note that most of them were barely older than these magnificent student musicians here.

The war that began with that attack lasted 3 years and 10 months, during which time some 69 million people lost their lives.

Then, on September 2^nd, 1945, USS Missouri was anchored in Tokyo Bay, Japan.  The destroyer USS Lansdowne brought a delegation of Japan’s representatives alongside.  Among them was the Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigamitsu.  For years, he led the peace faction within Japan’s government.  This did not make him popular with the hard-liners, who wanted to fight to the last man and the last bullet.  Mr. Shigamitsu was targeted several times for assassination.  One of those attempts cost him his right leg.  It was painfully difficult for him to have to climb down the side of a destroyer, then climb up the side of this battleship, and then up an additional ladder in order to arrive on the starboard side 01 level where the ceremony would take place.  I also know that when someone risks their life several times in the cause of peace, that by definition makes him a tough guy.

Speech: Time to Lead

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

There is a story about a young Marine who won a medal for fearlessly charging an enemy position.  He was asked later how he summoned the courage for such an act.  He replied, “I wasn’t running toward the enemy.  I was running away from my sergeant.”

When someone joins the military, it can be an unsettling experience.  It’s an entirely new and alien environment.  They are rarely sure what to do or when to do it.  In those moments, they look for help, direction, and assurance.  The person they always look to is the one with all the stripes.  There, they will find knowledge, wisdom, experience, encouragement, and the occasional kick in the ass.  That person is the Non-Commissioned Officer.  That leavening influence in a unit is essential in the day-to-day of peacetime.  It is absolutely critical in war.

It takes someone special to be a soldier, and it takes something rare to lead them. The roles of a Staff Sergeant are many and varied. They include training, administration, instruction, counseling, discipline, and being the subject matter expert on being a soldier.  But beyond those roles is leadership.

Soldiers want and need to be led, whether they realize it or not.  No matter how confident a soldier is, the acquisition of experience takes time.  That requires the steadying influence of the “been there, done that” NCO.  Therefore, all NCOs are responsible for teaching not only the technical aspects of this profession of arms but also the value of discipline.   In battle, that discipline will keep a young soldier on the line.  And alive.

However, the most important things that an NCO can impart to the troops are the more profound lessons of courage, honor, integrity, and commitment.  These are the most important reasons for wearing the uniform. 

An NCO helps soldiers grow as they respond to the challenges they face.  To confront adversity, rather than turning away.  To learn what it takes to become a leader.  To find within themselves the power and strength to stand their ground.  This was always for me, as a Chief Petty Officer, the most satisfying and fulfilling aspect of my job, taking a raw, nervous, inexperienced kid and watching them become a strong, confident, and skilled fighting sailor.  I’m sure many of you standing here also remember and treasure those moments in your careers.

Admiral Mike Boorda, a Mustang who rose to the position of Chief of Naval Operations, once told a group of Chief Petty Officers, “I may run the Navy.  But I assure you, the Navy runs because of you.”  This is an undeniable finite truth that applies to all the armed services.  All the great things the Army has ever done were because the Sergeants made it happen.  You are where the rubber meets the road.  Where battles are won…or lost. 

This country will likely find itself in another war in the coming years.  If that happens, you will be at the tip of the spear.  Know that the outcome of any battle is absolutely dependent on all of you doing your duty.  And on the sergeants to lead the way.  But wherever you give battle, make sure that the enemy knows that field belongs to the United States Army.

Sergeants, your time is now. Step up. Stand tall. And lead.

Re-learning How to Love -- And Trust Again.

 

Falling in love once again...

Copyright © 2025

By Ralph F. Couey

A lot has happened since the last time I checked in here.  Cheryl and I got sick in March, which stretched well into April before whatever it was finally released us from its vile clutches.  It left us both sapped of energy, and it's been a slow road back.  Then, about the same time we put that behind us, My Urologist decided that my continuing struggles with prostate issues had come to a head, and last Wednesday, I had surgery.  It wasn't major, as surgeries go, but, sparing you the details, my plumbing system is already improved.  I was out for about 2 hours, and it's taken another huge effort post-anesthesia to regain my stamina.  

Now, some good news.  Through one of our daughters, we were introduced to a wonderful lady who has been suffering for years from crippling chronic pain.  She was looking for someone to adopt her dog, a cute little Bichon named Pickles, as she wouldn't be able to care for her any longer.  We love dogs but haven't had one since we lost our beloved Tweeter in 2016.  He had been with us for 17 years, and that loss was sheer heartbreak for both of us.  We avoided getting another one because of that.  As one wise person said, a dog's only fault is that they don't live long enough.  Long story short, we agreed to adopt Pickles and will take her in late May after I return from Virginia.  The circumstances are sad, but we are happy to once again have a furry, loving companion back in our family.  We met with them on Monday and had a wonderful, meaningful time together.  This will involve some changes in our lifestyle, but none that will cause us any regret whatsoever.  It does leave us with the feeling that, as ecstatic as we are to get Pickles, we could feel the lady's heart breaking because of this necessary choice.  

That Day...And What's Coming Next

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been a week and a day since Super Bowl LIX, and I think I'm finally in a good place to reflect on the disaster that day for the Kansas City Chiefs.

First off, All Hail the Eagles!  They played a great game and hit on all cylinders in all three areas, offense, defense, and special teams.  They did everything a champion is supposed to do, and they certainly deserve all the props that go their way.

Now.

I think many of us wearing red that day knew that the jig was up by halftime.  They were down by a bunch, and while the defense put up a courageous fight, the offense and special teams...didn't.  I have been a Chiefs fan as long as there has been a Kansas City Chiefs.  Across that span of 62 years, I've seen some spectacular games.  I've also seen a bunch of clunkers, which included most of the decade of the 1980s.  In the 6 seasons, Patrick Mahomes has been the starter, this team and this city have witnessed an unprecedented run of success.  They've been in 5 of 6 Super Bowls, winning three.  Their appearance in the AFC Championship game, most years hosting, became so frequent that people began to refer to the game as the "Arrowhead Invitational."  As fans, after years of epically bad football, we became used to winning.  Dangerous habit.

The Cost That Must Be Paid for Freedom

 

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Freedom is not free. 

This statement has become timeworn, perhaps even trite.  But its use, perhaps overuse, hasn’t diminished the fact that it is still fundamentally true.

In what was then colonial America, a group of restless idealists decided that after decades of mistreatment by Britain, enough was enough. After countless hours of fractious, even combative debate, they published their intent to break from the Crown and form a new country. 

This was an incredibly bold and courageous move against what was then the most powerful empire on Earth.  They were, in fact, committing treason, the punishment for which was death.  Also at risk were their families, homes, and everything they had earned and built.  The risk was enormous, but they did not hesitate. 

The war resulting from that Declaration of Independence was long, brutal, and costly.  The army suffered bitter cold, hunger, and sickness.  Desertions were common.  The war was almost lost on several occasions but for the dynamic presence of a Virginia planter, George Washington.  His inestimable leadership, strength, and tactical brilliance kept the army together and allowed him to execute a series of bold, brilliant attacks that eventually drove the British out of America.  

Even after such an improbable victory, the internal struggles continued.  What kind of government would it be?  A republic with a strong central government and subordinate states?  Or a confederacy characterized by a weak central authority and autonomous states? Some of these questions were addressed in the Constitution, which required 13 more years of arguing.  Other questions would take a costly Civil War to find the answers. 

Learning the What, and the Why Behind It

 

Hubble Ultra Deep Field © NASA/Hubble

There are about 10,000 galaxies in this image.

There is still so much to learn...

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Like most writers, I have a lot of curiosity.  Most of that occurs in the normal pace of life.  I'll notice something and ask myself, " Why is that there?" or "How does that work?" and especially, "How and why did that happen?"  Those questions trigger in my brain a restless little gnome that proceeds to run around wildly in its allotted space, shouting for attention.  That tiny imp won't sit down and shut up until I've at least tried to answer the questions.

In the ancient, dusty past, that meant a trip to a library, sometimes at a university, to spend hours flipping through card catalogs, followed by repeated trips into the stacks to chase down sometimes obscure tomes containing the information I would be seeking, hoping that someone hadn't checked it out.  Then I had to sit down and read the book and take notes.  This is a process that would take hours, sometimes days. Younger folks these days, spoiled by the Internet have no clue about the sheer drudgery and frustration of research. 

The problem with books is that events move so fast these days that they're instantly obsolete once published.  Today, the world is literally available in our hands or even on our wrists.  I am constantly reminded and amazed that humans landed on the moon using a computer that was many times less powerful than my smartwatch.  The problem with such an avalanche of information is successfully judging the veracity of sources.  The 'Net is full of stupid people saying idiotic things, and care must be taken to ensure factual truth and not be taken in by an attractive stream of rhetoric.  That takes time, patience, and even courage, all of which seemingly are in short supply these days.

A Day of Infamy; A Day of Grace

 

Sunrise, Pearl Harbor

December 7th, 2024

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

The sun rose, spreading its light into the clear sky, a moment of indescribable peace and tranquility. Across the harbor, the water lay almost glassy. It was eerily similar to another morning 83 years earlier, that Day of Infamy; December 7th, 1941.

That day, however, the calm was suddenly broken by the roar of aircraft and the shocking explosions that heralded the beginning of a new war.

This day, however, the peaceful calm remained intact. On the north side of Ford Island the destroyer USS Carl Levin and the submarine USS Hawai'i moved through the water with reverent dignity. The drawbridge connecting the island to Honolulu had been pulled aside, and the two vessels made their way through, passing alongside the grave of a ship that has always been the symbol of that attack. As they came abeam of the USS Arizona Memorial, a whistle sounded across the water and the white-clad sailors manning the rails came to attention. This has always been the tradition. When any Navy ship passes the graceful white memorial, they render honors in respect partly for the old battleship, but just as much for the 1,177 men who remain entombed within the ship.  

At the appointed moment, 7:55 AM, or 07:55 in Navy speak, there was a sudden roar from the south. A formation of four F-22 Raptor fighters from the Hawai'i Air National Guard swept in low. Just as they reached the memorial, one aircraft went vertical, knifing into the brilliantly blue sky accompanied by the roar of afterburners. It was the traditional "missing man formation," the moving salute to the fallen. Across the harbor, at the Arizona Memorial Visitors Center, a 103-year-old Pearl Harbor survivor rose from his wheelchair to render a salute.

Veterans Day 2024

 

At the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific

Honolulu, Hawai'i

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content and images

The United States has engaged in many wars over the centuries.  In every case, young men, and now young women willingly left their homes, mines, shops, factories, fields, and schools to take up arms to defend the cause of freedom, and their beloved country.  They fought in many lands, on and below the oceans, and in the skies above it all.  The met dangerous, implacable foes in battle, the violence in which surpassed the ability of countless scribes to adequately express.

They don't speak much of those times.  It may be that the don't wish the hell of their very personal nightmares to be transferred to anyone else.  Or maybe speaking of them brings the horror back.  I once met an old Marine, who had fought with the legendary 1st Marine Division at Guadalcanal and Peleliu.  I have long had a deep interest in the history of the Pacific War, so I was asking him about his experiences.  He responded by saying, "Son, I can't tell you about war.  Unless you've been there, there's no way you could possibly understand.  Thank God you don't."

It takes a special kind of person to endure such an experience.  It is never the scripted false valor seen in cinema, because it's based in fear; that very primal instinct for self-preservation.  In the film "In Harm's Way," John Wayne's character said, "All battles are fought by scared men who'd rather be someplace else."  All warriors feel fear.  They wouldn't be human if they didn't.  But the difference between the courageous and the cowardly is how that fear is handled.  Fear can send some into mindless, paralyzing panic.  Others push past that moment understanding that there is a thing that needs to be done, and they can do that thing.  Perhaps that's what defines courage, the willingness to push fear aside and do what must be done.  As President Kennedy said, "The cost of freedom is high.  But Americans have always paid it."  

Aboard my first ship, the Knox Class Frigate USS Ouellet, in the engine room, it was just another slog through a seemingly endless midwatch.  At one point, a flange connecting two lengths of fuel line failed.  Instantly a high-velocity stream of fuel oil sprayed directly in to the face one of the main electrical switchboards.  Balls of green lightning began shooting throughout the engine room, while the fuel flooded the space.  It seemed certain that a disastrous fire was about to erupt.  One of the sailors on watch, a third class petty officer, all of 19 years old, waded through the flooding oil, past the balls of lightning to the panel.  Working quickly, he not only shut down the panel, but managed to reroute electrical power to another switchboard, ensuring that the rest of the ship could have power.  No hesitation, no apparent concern for his own safety.  Of course, he received a nice medal for his efforts, and I can't remember the last time he had to buy a beer for himself at our ship's reunions.  

The Spirit of Autumn

 

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and Written Content

"Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature."

--Fredrich Nietzsche

"Everyone must  take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."

--Elizabeth Lawrence

The air is warm, but dry, a comfortable pleasant kind of day.  The sky has taken on that vivid blue that contrasts so beautifully with the changing leaves.  The breeze is soft, yet with that unmistakable nip of October.  It is a fine autumn day.

I walked across a meadow through the tawny grass and entered the treeline.  After a short distance, I stopped and inhaled deeply.  It was there; that scent that is the hallmark of fall.  Yes, I know its just dead leaves I'm smelling, but there's something else, something undefinable but still manages to trigger the emotions within me that can only be summoned this time of year.

I am standing amidst a forest of trees that have been wrapped in brilliant golds and vivid reds.  Around me is silence, broken only the sound of rustling leaves as the squirrels forage for their winter provender.  Now and then, the breeze rattles the branches and dislodges a few more leaves.  They flutter gracefully as they fall, before adding to the thickening carpet on the ground.

Slowly, aimlessly I move, my shoes kicking around the leafy ground cover.  That sound, so familiar, so evocative, so comforting awakens memories, some just a year old, others that reach all the way back to a distant childhood.  I suppose that if the ticking of my life's clock had a sound, it would have to be the swishing of leaves in the fall.

Summer has most times been a season to be endured.  Heat and humidity is the bane of my existence, its oppressiveness weighing on my like a wet wool blanket.  Energy and stamina desert me on those days.  The nights bring little relief, the velvety air jealously holding on to the moisture within.  

This Time of Year, This Time of LIfe

The Autumn of Days

The Autumn of Life

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

We're hitting the road again, back to Virginia to spend time with our son and his family.  And of course, I get to spend time with the fall foliage and cool, perhaps cold temperatures that mark that passage into my favorite time of year.  In the mainland, anyway.  .

At this point in life, I've found more and more how important family is.  Of course time passes.  Grandchildren who were once young grow up and move on.  Our "children" now sport bits of grey hair, and begin to complain about aches and pains.  But that bond of blood, unbreakable as ever, continues to hold us together.  

I've always held a longer view of life, so I see the perspective of generations in my family.  My exploration of genealogy has taken me back to 10th century France and 17th century Ireland.  When I look through that long list of names, I often wonder how they viewed the future.  For most of them, it was the continuing birth of children that kept clans alive, flourishing, and powerful in those turbulent times.  

But these days are different.  The future, a constantly moving target, is uncertain at best.  Our grandchildren will face challenges we could never dream of, economic, social, political, perhaps environmental.  The wisdom of the aged in their lives can't provide a template, or even a vague sketch of how to navigate those expectedly stormy seas.  They will have to rely on their experience, knowledge, skills, and yes, sheer toughness all of which I dearly hope we've provided them.  This is uppermost in my mind because our oldest has gone to college in far-off New York.  We have a great deal of faith and confidence in her, but we all remember what that time of life was like, how hard it was to be away from home and family, learning for the first time who to trust and how much.  For the first time in her life, there's no safety net, no sanctuary when things truly go south.  Intellectually, I know this is a necessary experience, a required rite of passage to full adulthood.  Life is indifferent.  It is not what you allow it to do to you, but what you do to it that will forge a path of success.  Doesn't make it any easier to be so far away.

The others are also growing up.  Fast, too fast.  Our two grandkids in Colorado are blossoming into powerfully creative individuals.  They are strong, directed, and confident and there are great things ahead for them.  But at some point, they too will leave the nest and undertake their own flight.  And those of us left behind will be on pins and needles watching from afar as their stories unfold.  The younger two in Virginia also are striding forward in confident assuredness.  I still don't know what they will end up doing or being, but I'm pretty sure they'll be in charge.

Gut Punch...Or Perhaps Not

 

Happy Days...

Copyright ©2024

by Ralph F. Couey

"Life belongs to the living

and he who lives

must be prepared for change."

--Johann Wolfgang von Goeth

Everyone, I think, is familiar with the feeling of shock and dismay when normality is blown up by the unexpected.  The common reaction is "No!  This isn't happening!"  We push back in that moment, trying to evade what has befallen us.  But no amount of denial changes what has happened.  It must be faced, even embraced as a new reality.

I've been dealing with some health issues, mostly those attendant with aging.  I won't burden you with the details, as there is really nothing more boring than listening to an old person complain about their aches and pains.  But in April, my doctor, out of the blue, administered a memory test to me in his office.  Mainly due to fatigue, I bombed it miserably.  That was hard enough, but what he said next was a total gut punch.  

Dementia.

I was shocked and dismayed.  And scared.  The one thing about getting old that I feared the most was mental impairment.  I could have better dealt with the loss of a limb, but not my mind.  Everything I am, that I've ever been, that I could ever be resides there in that incredible organ inside my heard.  Without that, we are all just empty husks.

Over the last year I've noticed a tendency for short term memory dropouts, silly things like looking for car keys that are already in my pocket, or getting stuck in writing, desperately searching for that perfect word or phrase.  I've forgotten appointments, or gone on the wrong days.  I'll re-ask a question posed just minutes before.  But that time was filled with a lot of stress, mostly work-related at my last job.  Once I moved on, a lot of that went away.  But I was still worried.

In the months that followed, some other things happened, that indicated to me that this wasn't the disaster I originally thought.

I had an appointment with a neurologist and after hearing about the diagnosis, he administered a memory test.  I Aced It.  After some discussion, he put my problems down to something called "cognitive impairment."  Not sure what that means, but it doesn't seem to be dementia.  I was relieved. 

What Was Paid for Freedom

 

Little Round Top Battlefield, Gettysburg

Copyright © 2024

Image and Text

By Ralph F. Couey

Freedom is not free.

This statement has become timeworn, perhaps even trite.  But its use, perhaps overuse, hasn’t diminished the fact that is it still absolutely fundamentally true.

In what was then colonial America, a group of restless idealists after decades of mistreatment by Britain decided that enough was enough.  After countless hours of fractious, even combative debate, together they published their intent to break from the Crown and form a new country.

This was an incredibly bold and courageous move against what was then the most powerful empire on Earth.  They were, in fact, committing treason, the punishment for which was death.  Also at risk were their families, their homes, everything they had earned and built.  The risk was enormous, but they did not hesitate.

The war resulting from that Declaration of Independence was long, brutal, and costly.  The army suffered bitter cold, hunger, and sickness.  Desertions were common.  The war was almost lost on several occasions, but for the dynamic presence of a Virginia planter named George Washington.  His inestimable qualities of leadership, strength, and tactical brilliance not only kept the army together, but allowed him to execute a series of bold, brilliant attacks that eventually drove the British out of America. 

Even after such an improbable victory, the internal struggles continued.  What kind of government would it be?  A republic with a strong central government and subordinate states, or a confederacy characterized by a weak central authority and autonomous states? Some of these questions were addressed in the Constitution, a document that took 13 more years of arguing before its initial form was finalized in 1789.  Other questions would take a costly Civil War to find the answers.

A Tribute to Docents

 

The End of World War II

Copyright © 2024 Text and image

by Ralph F. Couey

For over a century, battleships were the physical embodiment of a nation’s strength.  Much as nuclear-tipped missiles are today’s strategic weapons, battleships filled that function long ago.  A government’s ability to enforce its policies and exert its will was tied directly to the number of battleships it could put to sea.  In most cases, these great ships never had to fire a shot.  All they had to do was show up.  

In 1946, the Ambassador from Turkey died in Washington DC.  President Truman ordered that the Ambassador be taken home, but not by air.  USS Missouri, enjoying some otherwise quiet post-war years, was tasked with carrying the Ambassador back home for the last time.  This was seemingly a straightforward and honorable thing to do.  But in Turkey, a threat was growing.  The Soviet Union, seeking a free passage for their Black Sea Fleet into the Mediterranean had put the Turkish government under tremendous pressure to give up control of the Bosporus and Dardanelles straits.  The government of Turkey was becoming shaky, and the people were fearful.  But on April 5, 1946, Missouri arrived and dropped anchor in the harbor of Istanbul.  The presence of this powerful ship, this unmistakable statement of support for that beleaguered government changed the entire situation.  The Turkish government stood tall, knowing they were not alone.  The Turkish people had their faith restored.  And the Soviets?  They backed down, knowing that nothing they had could stand against Missouri.  History was changed, this time without firing a shot.

She is a magnificent sight, a presence both majestic and powerful.  Battleship Missouri is a symbol of American strength and resolve.  She is also a physical reassurance, a promise to our friends that America will stand by you.  And, a message to our potential foes…think twice.

We tell the story of this ship so people can connect to it in a deeply personal way.  That Missouri’s history and the history of the nation whose flag she still proudly flies is also their history.  And they can also feel a sense of pride in the strength and resolve she represents.  People from other lands visit us, and they see America in this mighty ship. They feel the shared sense of America’s moral obligation to the world; the lengths we will go to ensure justice and protect the innocent and downtrodden.  It is a fact that no nation in history has shed so much of her own blood in the defense of other people’s freedom.  That we have, and are still so willing to fight and die for complete strangers.  It is so much who and what we are as a people, and to many throughout the world, a presence of sacrificial nobility. 

A Prayer for Peace

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Father in Heaven,

We live in a world shrouded in hate, anger, and division.  

Despite your commandments to love one another, 

your children instead choose the darker path, 

the path through which flow the forces that are tearing this world and ourselves apart.  

We know that this is not the way of peace, but rather the voice of the adversary.  

Help us to resist the darkness, 

to speak only love, act only in love, and walk only in the way of love 

that we may spread the light of your love throughout our world.  

Let us forgive, and seek forgiveness.  

Help us to walk this very difficult path, always leading with kindness and compassion.  

Help us to always remember that we are loved and forgiven, 

and that we have to treat others in the same way.  

Help us to resist the hot winds of lies, bitterness, and hate 

and push back with the cool breezes of truth, love, and reconciliation.  

The journey towards the establishment of your kingdom here on earth 

begins with the steps we take today to prepare the way.

 

In the name of Your Son, the Prince of Peace,

Amen

The U.S. Navy's Awful Song

Radio Division, USS Earl K. Olson 1944
Author's father is at the far right

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

All of the services have their song, the one that is played usually when the members are walking or marching across a stage or down the street.  Except for the Space Force, they have been around for a very long time.  They are well known and familiar to most people and are meant as an expression of pride by the service member's themselves.

Most are stirring and inclusive across the ranks of officers and enlisteds.  

Except for one.

Now for the Marine Corps, its a song that speaks of courage, strength, and honor.  Words like:"

"From the halls of Montezuma

to the shores of Tripoli

We will fight our country's battles

In the air, on land, and sea.

First to fight for right and freedom

and to keep our honor clean

We are proud to claim the title

Of United States Marines."

The song starts out by referencing two critical battles where the qualities of the Corps shined brightly.  In 1847, Marines were part of the force that stormed and captured Chapultepec Castle, thus ending the Mexican-American War.  In 1805, Marines, in their first battle, attacked Derna, Tripoli.  Not only was the attack a victory, but it was the first of many times that Marines would raise our flag over the field of a hard-fought battle.  

The second part embraces the elan of the Corps,  knowing that they will be the first to engage the enemy.  They also vow to fight with honor, instead of as barbarians.  Throughout the years and wars, Marines have done just that.  The most important part of these lyrics is that there is no difference between officers and enlisted Marines.  All share that legendary reputation.

A Signpost Event in Life

 

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

"To exist is to change.  To change is to mature.

To mature is to go on creating one's self endlessly."

--Henri Bergson

Signpost events.

They are the things that happen only once in a lifetime that mark the passage of time and also those major transitions in life.  In this case, it was the high school graduation of our granddaughter Diana.  In some ways, it's hard to wrap my head around the fact that this day had arrived.

Looking back, the memories of this now-young lady roll out of my mind in nearly HD clarity.  The day she was born, the first years as she grew up.  That first day of school, and as her artistic talents blossomed in the chalk masterpieces that covered our driveway.  Mostly though, I remember her sweet, loving nature, unselfishness and generosity.  She visited us many times, and her family lived with us in Virginia for three years, a priceless collection of moments.  I remember the day in Pennsylvania when she and I took our dog Tweeter out for a walk and she got to hold the leash by herself for the first time.  There was the time when she got to ski for the first time, her face set in determination as her grandmother ran unsteadily alongside trying to keep up, unnecessarily as it turned out.

Determined.

If there was one descriptive word that encompasses Diana, that would be it.  Most ambitious people wear that on their sleeves, making sure everyone knows about it.  Diana's gentle nature hides that part of her.  Where it becomes apparent is in her actions.  Her work ethic, intensity in sports, the utterly focused expression when she plays violin.  We once asked her about the multitudinous activities she was involved in, concerned about burnout.  She responded, "No, I WANT to do all these things!  Everything!"  

This fall she will be off to college in far-off New York state, that first tentative trek into the unknown.  She seems confident and ready.  But what characterizes this signpost moment is the reality that we will no longer be able to protect her.  That's scary for those of us who love her the most, an instinctive reaction.  But perhaps the time has come when maybe we won't need to, at least on a day to day basis.  We'll always be available for advice and counsel, day or night.  But the hard part of this moment is realizing that the time has come to let go, to have faith in what we taught her, and what she has learned.  There will be times when she will feel alone in adversity.  But that is so much a part of growing up, learning how to face those times, how to win.  And how to deal with the defeats.  

On Graduation Day, we watched as Diana and her fellow grads walked into the ice hockey arena and across the stage.  We cheered her loudly, but we were not alone.  Other families were there, cheering as well.  The love, pride, and joy was palpable  as the happy noises cascaded down from the stands to shower over that sea of sky blue caps and gowns.  It was a uniting moment for us all.

A few years from now there will be another graduation, this time from college, which I fervently hope I will be healthy enough to attend.  Another signpost will be surpassed, and for Diana, another trek will be undertaken.  

Today, we are happy and optimistic. But we know that her journey has just begun.  Ahead lie challenges that are unforeseeable.  But Diana has been launched on a path that will be uniquely hers.  We can no longer lead, but must now watch from the sidelines.  Part of the heartbreak is the realization that if we have done our jobs well, she won't need us.  So, we will have faith.  And hope.  But she must walk this path on her own, strong, upright, and yes, determined.

She will succeed.

She will be accomplished.

She will fulfill her dreams.

She is, after all, our granddaughter.

Jars of Clay

 

Adobe Stock Images

It is early morning, the dew still upon the grass. Within a humble shed, a small turntable begins to spin. The steady tread of a foot pedal joins the sounds of cheerful birdsong in the air.

A pair of hands, strong and capable, but skilled in the delicate and fine, deposits a mound of wet clay on the turntable.  For now, it is just a lump, gray and formless.  Muddy drops of water fall to the floor.  As yet, it is ugly.  But in the artist’s eyes, something beautiful can be seen.  Slowly, patiently, the hands begin to shape the clay.  Out of that formless lump a vessel emerges, tall and graceful.  The process is hard to follow from the outside, seeming to emerge by magic, because it is in the artist’s vision, soul, and skillful hands that this vessel is brought to life.

In the scriptures, we are these earthenware vessels, these jars of clay.  We are born and shaped in the eyes of God, the artist.  But we are fragile, easily chipped, cracked, and even shattered.  As jars, we can no longer hold water.  But what we carry inside our imperfect selves is not water, but light; the light of God’s love, the light of His Gospel.  Through our cracks, around our chips, even from our shattered pieces, that light shines out into this world of darkness.  Our value is no longer what we hold within, but rather what was hidden within now flows and floods out of us.  That light within us is like holy water, that douses the thirst of sorrow, anger, hate, and despair.  It is only when it is allowed to flow freely that it delivers the blessing. 

Take stock not of our imperfections, of what we think we can no longer do.  But rather, what we are able to do, and commanded to do, as keepers of the light of God.

A Source of Wonder in the Sky

                            

Aldebaran peeking out from beyond the Moon.

Credit:  Roger Hutchinson

Sky & Telescope

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Written Content Only

Visitors to this blog sometimes leave notes and comments, for which I am always grateful.  Feedback is absolutely vital for any writer, whether good or...otherwise because it makes for a better writer from a technical standpoint, but also provides a space to be more aware and sensitive of the impact of my words.

I often write about things in nature, both here on this planet, but also throughout the universe.  People have remarked on my "sense of wonder," and for that I plead guilty as charged.  A recent post concerned an encounter I experienced with a preying mantis.  I remember that day, and how I couldn't resist looking at it from very close range.  I'm sure I made that poor critter nervous, especially when I carefully petted it.  But all boys have a fascination with such things, and perhaps that part of me hasn't quite yet grown up.

I spend some evenings looking at the sky, toward those bright, enigmatic points of light in the sky.  I marvel that many of those lights are stars that are tens of thousands of light years distant, and yet beyond my limited vision are billions of others stretching out billions of light years across a universe that continues to expand.  The true size of our universe may be ultimately incalculable and beyond comprehension.  The sheer vastness of it all remains an immense fascination for me, from the exquisitely micro to the eternally macro.

Renovations to our home were recently completed, one of which involved the creation of a new master suite.  Our former bedroom is on the east side of the house, and just feet away lies our neighbor's abode.  Now, we live on the west side of the house, facing the Waianae Mountains, actually the walls of an enormous and ancient volcano.  The land slopes away from that side and we have a wide open view of the sky, and the gift of glorious sunsets every day.

One night, I was just drifting off to sleep when I saw a bright red-orange light appear from behind a drifting cloud.  That I was able to see it sans spectacles was in itself remarkable.  At first I assumed it was the giant planet Jupiter, a bright enough beacon in any sky.  I put my specs back on and pulled up an astronomy app on my phone and aimed it in that direction.  Turns out, Jupiter was still below the horizon and after some careful study, the light gained an identity.  The star Aldebaran.

The Ambush of Memory

Feels like it was another lifetime...

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

"Our lives are our story, unfolding each day, page by page.

People we meet become characters in our story, as we become characters in theirs.

It is in these chance encounters that we recognize 

that every life is a story waiting to be told."

--Ralph F. Couey

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...

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, 

"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was...

A time of innocence, a time of confidences

Long ago... it must be...

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They're all that's left you."

Jubilation...Devastation

 

Union Station, Kansas City, MO

Copyright © 2024 Kansas City Star

"You think you're lost, but you're 

not lost on your own.

I will stand by you, I will help you when you've done all you can do

If you can't cope, I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let go."

--Rascal Flatts

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

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.  

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.

This was KC; it was home; everyone there were neighbors and friends, even if only vicariously.  

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.

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.