Happy Birthday, Miss Brenda!

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda begins her [number censored]th air-breathing trip 'round ol' Sol today.  Born in the year [number censored], the Colonel's Lady has been witness to momentous marvels and marvelous moments in the history of man on this big blue marble.

During her time on the planet:

Two territorial possessions of the Republic were granted Statehood.

Men walked on the moon.

Al Gore invented the Internet and founded a false religion.

The Cold War ended.

The Culture War began.

Elvis died.  Or did he?

Saddam did the stupid. Three times.

Walter Mondale lost 49 states.  Ronald Reagan found them.

Ole Miss won a National Championship in football.  Really.

The United States gave away a canal it built on the isthmus of Panama to a country it created on territory taken from Colombia.  

The United States invaded Cuba, Grenada, Panama, Iraq, and Afghanistan to depose/arrest their leaders.  Four out of five ain't bad.

More than just a passive witness, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda has been a trend-setter and over-achiever from the moment she and her twin sister disembarked from my favorite mother-in-law. 

She is a world traveler. 

She graced the new state of Hawaii with her pre-school presence; lived in Washington, California, New York, New Jersey, and Tennessee as a kid; and then, as a teen, landed in the Panama Canal Zone happily coincident (dare we call it serendipity?) with the arrival of the Colonel to that tropic. 

As spousal support unit to her Marine, the Colonel's Lady has made spartan dwellings happy homes in Virginia (twice), North Carolina (twice), Mississippi (twice), Georgia, Alabama, Hawaii, Rhode Island, South Korea, South Carolina, and Florida  -- in all, EIGHTEEN different abodes adopted and adapted to serve as wonderful, welcoming homes for the Colonel and kids.

She is an organizer par-excellence. 

No church, community, club, school, nor business has experienced her membership without fundamental transformation -- for the good.  Even the Colonel's hen herd has been subject to her organizational will -- eggs are laid with precision placement and perfunctory punctuality.   

She is a consummate care-giver.

The Colonel's Lady is so constantly concerned with the comfort and confidence of others, that the Colonel's numerical call-sign for the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is "Twelve"  -- she always feels the need to "tend to" others.

The Colonel feels the need to pause as this juncture for the benefit of the 'Bama and LSU grads among the two dozen of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon, and explain the punchline in the preceding paragraph.  The Colonel will attempt to use the smallest words he can.

Her nickname is "Twelve" because she thinks she must tend to (ten two) others.  

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is a talented musician.

She plays the piano and plucks the Colonel's heartstrings.  She is the Colonel's angel -- often up in the air harping about something or another the Colonel has done, or hasn't.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda loves the Colonel.  The Colonel reminds her of this often...

...often coincident with the purchase of a new gun or power tool. 

He could go on and on, but suffice it to say the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is the Colonel's favorite person in the whole wide world.  

Happy Birthday, Miss Brenda!      

Willis A. "Buddy" Hinson, Marine

One of the last of a rapidly diminishing group of living American heroes was laid to rest today.  He was a charter member of the Greatest Generation; more than fulfilling his duty to his nation in his youth and yet active until his death as a champion of causes great and small.  He was eulogized by his pastor as a man who always "took care of things;" at the age of 89 he remained on the go and always in service.

Willis A. Hinson  (Buddy to his friends and Great Uncle Buddy to the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda) was one of that rare breed of men who early in their adult lives recognize that there are indeed things worth fighting for and that a small minority of hard men are needed to fight for the rest.  At the age of eighteen, more than a year before Pearl Harbor, Buddy Hinson enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.  For his twentieth birthday Uncle Sam gave Buddy an all-expense-paid trip to the South Pacific.

By the summer of 1942, the Imperial Japanese Army had earned an aura of invincibility--they had virtually steamrolled every Allied force in their way from China to the Philippines to Singapore.  The inexorable Japanese march south had reached the last rim of islands to the north of Australia -- the Solomons -- and there seemed nothing to prevent invasion.  There were scant Australian forces available to defend against the impending attack -- most of Australia's military manpower was fighting Rommel's Afrika Corps in the deserts of North Africa.

Enter Buddy Hinson and several thousand of his closest friends.

In August of 1942, the woefully understrength and ill-equipped 1st Marine Division was thrown ashore on the key island in the Solomons -- Guadalcanal.  The Japanese had been constructing a large forward airbase on Guadalcanal from which to support future operations against Australia.  Buddy Hinson was a machinegunner with the 2d Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment (2/7) of the 1st Marine Division.  The U.S. Navy landed the 1st Marine Division with the mission to seize and hold the airfield, and steamed away.

The Imperial Japanese Army and Navy had a problem with that.

For the next three months, the American Marines, soldiers, and airmen holding tenuously to the former Japanese airfield endured unimaginable horrors as the Japanese threw everything at the mud-mired men but the kitchen sink.  Ferocious Japanese naval bombardment preceded determined land assaults by increasingly larger and larger Japanese army forces against the American perimeter.

At the end of October, 1942, a final do or die assault was mounted by the Japanese.  On the afternoon of the 23rd of October, Marine commanders detected a Japanese force massing on a hitherto unassailed flank and hurriedly repositioned 2/7 on a low ridge of hills astride the expected Japanese avenue of approach.  The battalion commander placed his 33-man machingun section on a spur that extended off the ridge and had a field of fire covering the expected Japanese line of attack.  The Marines got into position as darkness fell and had very little time to dig in and prepare defensive positions.

Fast forward to the first, and last, sadly, time the Colonel got to spend any time talking with Buddy Hinson -- about six years ago.  The Colonel knew Buddy had been a World War Two-era Marine, but not much else about his service.  Buddy and the Colonel participated in a quick round of chest-thumping traditional among Marines and then Buddy sharpened his eyes and leaned in,

"You ever heard of Mitchell Paige?"  

Ever heard of him!?!  Mitchell Paige was among the pantheon of legendary figures the exploits of whom young Marines memorized like favorite bedtime stories.  The Colonel knew that Platoon Sergeant Paige had received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his valor during a particularly brutal fight on Guadalcanal and had gone on to serve a distinguished career; retiring as a Colonel.

"Yessir!" The Colonel answered Uncle Buddy. 

"Well, I served with Mitchell Paige on Guadalcanal."   

The Colonel pressed him for more, but true to the character of his generation, Uncle Buddy gave little other information about the most significant event in his life.  But, the Colonel could tell there was a great story behind those sharp eyes.

To his discredit, the Colonel quickly forgot about the incident, until the other day when he heard that Uncle Buddy had passed away.

The Colonel began a crash course on the Guadalcanal exploits of Willis A. Hinson.  The Colonel was amazed at what he found.

Platoon Sergeant Mitchell Paige's 33-man machinegun section was positioned at the very point at which the Japanese commander had marked for his forces to assault and penetrate the Marine lines.  When the assault came at 0200 on the morning of 26 October 1942, Paige was on the right flank by the #1 machinegun and Buddy Hinson was on the left flank, manning the #2 machinegun.

Within minutes nearly every Marine in Paige's outfit were dead or severely wounded.  Early in the fight Paige looked over to see Hinson fall from a head wound, and then moments later looked back to see Buddy back on his gun, operating a 3-man weapon singlehandedly. 

Suffering from his severe head wound, short of ammo, and now the lone Marine alive on his end of the line, Hinson followed his last order from Paige and put his gun out of action before crawling back to the rear.

The Japanese pouring through the gap in the lines beat Buddy back to the rear and were advancing on the Battalion command post.  Paige was still on his ridge, now behind the advancing Japanese.  He picked up a weapon and took the Japanese under fire, blunting the attack enough to allow an adhoc Marine counterattack force to form and begin to push the Japanese back.  Paige picked up an eighty-pound, 3-man, water-cooled machinegun, cradled it in his arms and joined in the counterattack which re-established the Marine defensive line.  THE STUFF OF LEGEND.

At the ceremony at which Paige was presented with the Medal of Honor, he deflected credit from himself and heaped praise on the men, Buddy Hinson among them, who fought and fell in that climactic battle.

Others have told the Colonel that Buddy used to joke that, "Paige got a parade; I got a pat on the back."  Still, Hinson was devoted to his wartime leader until Paige's death in 2003; and to Paige's memory until his own death this week.    

Until Guadalcanal, the Imperial Japanese Army had never been beaten.  On Guadalcanal, a few great Americans stood toe to toe with the cream of the Japanese military...and won.  After Guadalcanal, eventual American victory over the Empire of Japan was never in doubt.

The Colonel had the honor of telling Mitchell Paige's and Buddy Hinson's battle story this morning at Uncle Buddy's funeral service.  The Colonel is quite certain that Uncle Buddy is now guarding heaven's gates and that the Colonel will have to answer someday to Uncle Buddy for telling a story Hinson would rather not have been told. 

The Colonel is looking forward to the butt-chewin'.       

Public Enemy

The Colonel has found out a great deal about himself recently and would like to thank the kind folks who so civilly and courteously enlightened him.

1.  The Colonel is a terrorist. 

Of all the "ists" he has been called, this one comes as quite a surprise.  Still the Colonel would like to extend his thanks to an unnamed member of the Democratic Caucus of the House of Representatives for making him aware of this fact.  It must be a fact, because the Vice President of the United States was the person to whom the comment was directed and he not only did not chide the congressman (as he surely would have done, were the Colonel not a terrorist) but he is reported (by another Democrat congressman in the room) to have agreed with the assessment.  The Colonel is a terrorist.

2.  The Colonel has Democratic Congresswoman Maxine Waters' permission to take a noncircuitous trip to Hell. 

The Colonel was heretofore not aware that Congressional permission was required for such a trip, and thanks the gentlelady's gracious grant of such.  Heck, Hell can't be much worse than Mississippi in August..., or California anytime, for that matter. 

3.  The Colonel is a hostage-taker.

There was a time when he was part of an elite organization whose missions included in-extremis hostage rescue, and the Colonel is chagrined to learn that he must now retrain. 

4.  Jesse Jackson says the Colonel is actually a neo-klansman.

This, too is quite disconcerting.  Heretofore in posts hereon, the Colonel has vociferously denounced the Ku Klux Klan and it's mouthbreathing, sister-chasin' members. 

(Good thing the Colonel doesn't have a sister.) 

5.  The Colonel is really an enemy of the state.

Democratic Representative Frederica Wilson, she of snappy red cowboy hat wearin' fame, says that the real enemy is the Colonel.  The Colonel assumes she means that he is no longer bound by the oath he took nearly four decades ago to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic."  If this is true, it actually comes as quite a relief -- there are so many churlish characters currently undermining our Constitution that the Colonel has been in quite a quandary over where to start to "defend the Constitution against all enemies" and was beginning to feel a bit guilty about his inability to prosecute an adequate defense.

There has been one recent description of the Colonel that he already knew about himself.  President Obama described the Colonel a while back as clinging to his faith and his guns.

He got that right.

Storm Warning

The novel the Colonel has been working on supposes a Category III hurricane hitting the Northeast megalopolis -- overwhelming the Feds -- followed in a couple of weeks by a 7.8 temblor on the New Madrid fault. 

So much for originality...

News of the 5.8 earthquake that rattled the East Coast today is taking up all of the oxygen in the room, but the Colonel's eyes have been glued to a hurricane gathering steam south of the Bahamas.  Hurricane predicted paths five days out are notoriously inaccurate. 

But, this much is clear:

If a Category IV hurricane races up the Eastern Seaboard this week, or any week, there is great potential for a disaster that will make Katrina pale white in comparison.

The following Forward extract from the Colonel's book in progress (working title: "Tallahatchie") provides a concise 200 year history of hurricanes hitting the vicinity of New York City.

"Three years after the earthquake series [New Madrid, 1811/12] that struck the middle Mississippi Valley, a Saffir-Simpson Scale Category 3 hurricane struck New York City, washing over Long Island and dramatically rearranging the barrier island features.  Another even stronger Category 4 storm, the so-called Norfolk and Long Island Hurricane struck the city in 1821, swamping Manhattan under a 13 foot tidal surge.  Seventy-two years later a mere Category 2 hurricane made landfall on Long Island and completely washed away a mile long barrier island and brought waste deep water to the streets of Brooklyn.  One and a half million inhabitants were eyewitnesses.  

 

In September of that year a hurricane formed off the west coast of Africa and rapidly grew to Category 5 strength.  The monster storm roared straight west across the Atlantic until it was north of the Bahamas and then turned north.  On the afternoon of September the 21^st, only a couple of hours short of astronomical high tide, the storm sliced across the middle of Long Island, having weakened to a strong Category 3.  Still, the hurricane carried with it a storm surge in excess of fourteen feet.  Making landfall as it did to the east of Manhattan, the city only experienced 75 mile per hour winds and minor flooding as winds backed up the East River.  The Eastern end of Long Island, on the storm’s stronger right side, took the brunt of the storm.  Barrier islands and inlets were rearranged; roads and structures washed away, and 100 people lost their lives.  The storm barreled north across Long Island Sound and bulls-eyed the city of Westerly, Rhode Island.  The eastern quadrant of the storm pushed full moon and Autumnal Equinox tides straight up Narragansett Bay and poured thirteen feet of water into downtown Providence.  Although on the weaker western side of the hurricane, water piling up in Long Island Sound inundated Connecticut’s coastal cities and caused the most damage from a natural disaster in that entity’s 350 year history.  By the time the storm tracked over Massachusetts and New Hampshire and then dissipated over Ontario, Canada, nearly 800 people were dead.  The storm destroyed or severely damaged 30,000 dwellings, destroyed 25,000 automobiles, and severely disrupted rail and road transportation for weeks.

Today, the behemoth megalopolis that is New York and the major cities to its north and south, and whose built-up areas merge and extend nearly without interruption from Washington, DC to Boston, is home to three times the population that existed in 1938.  The building boom that ensued after the Second World War has increased the density and subsequent vulnerability of the infrastructure in the region by a factor of 10...  "

Finding Miss Brenda

As the two dozen or so of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will recall, the Colonel's vast holdings are situated just north of the cultural center of the universe and home of the Harvard of the South (by reciprocal agreement, Harvard is allowed to call itself the Ole Miss of the North): Oxford, Mississippi.

Oxford is a wonderful place; a delightfully traditional, yet understatedly progressive (in the best, not political, sense of that word) town whose resident population doubles and halves with the convening and adjourning of classes at the school for which the town's founders named itself to attract the state's grant of it's flagship university one and two-thirds centuries ago.  There are times in the year when it is a pure joy to amble through town, cruise it's byways, and frequent its stores and shops.  But, anyone who has lived in this area for more than a year knows that there are times when it is just plain prudent not to get on the road and go to town if you can avoid it.   

Last Friday -- Move-In Day for the population-doubling attendees of Ole Miss' Fall Semester -- was one of those days.

The Colonel's consort, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, evidently didn't get the memo.  And the Colonel, willfully oblivious to specific times and dates -- with the exception of the time for sunrise and sunset and the opening dates of the college football and hunting seasons -- agreed, in his calendar ignorance and preference not to do chores outside in the sauna of August in Mississippi, to accompany his Lady on her bi-weekly shopping foray.

Traffic was gridlocked on every major artery into and out of Oxford. 

Actually, "gridlocked" is an understatement that does not account for the antics of hundreds of coeds in SUVs attempting to rewrite the laws of physics.  Where only a week before, the Colonel had cruised contentedly and with so little competition for lane space that he could dawdle and gawk at the beauty of a southern town in quiet, unhurried serenity, there now existed a clogged river of revving engines and unblinking brake lights.

The Colonel sat patiently at a traffic light through a half dozen cycles, and then turned to his bride, "Do you trust me, Honey?"

"Of course not!  What are going to do with my car?  Don't do something stupid!"

With that ringing endorsement bolstering his confidence, the Colonel gunned the engine, leaned on the horn, and executed a series of tire-squealing turns that so startled two dozen motorists in close proximity that two dozen other drivers not in close proximity heard through their cell phones loud gasps followed by the unmistakable sound of a cell phone hitting the floorboard.

Notwithstanding the distracting harmonic blend of high-pitched tire squeal and high-pitched female screech resonating in his ear drums, the Colonel managed to reorient 90 degrees, dart down a little known sidestreet (little known because it isn't exactly a street), squeeze through an alley, and zig-zag across a parking lot to reach their intended destination.

"You're going to get a ticket!"

"Not likely; ain't no cop gonna try that move!"

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was still complimenting her man's driving skill as they walked into Kroger, "I can't believe you did that!  You never cease to amaze me!"

The Colonel reached for his lady's hand to thank her for her compliment but she brushed his hand away.  Obviously, she didn't feel worthy to even hold his hand.

Inside the store, 27.3% of the female student population of the state's flagship university were cramming the aisles making a run on Lean Cuisine and Diet Mountain Dew.  Miss Brenda sent the Colonel to grab a bunch of bananas while she navigated down the bread aisle.  Upon completion of his mission, the Colonel turned to reacquire target lock on Miss Brenda and was dismayed to discover that she wasn't anywhere in sight.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda has long since mastered the art of instantaneous in-store disappearance.  The Colonel can turn his head for just the most minute of moments and Miss Brenda will vanish into thin air in a move not even David Copperfield could replicate.  When that happens, the Colonel has learned that the smartest thing to do is to go hang out in the sporting goods department and let Miss Brenda find him.

Kroger doesn't have a sporting goods department.

They got everything else.  Tools.  School supplies.  Flowers.  Light bulbs.  Kitty litter.    

But, they ain't got a gun, fishin' pole, nor carton of stink bait in the whole place. 

"Don't panic," the Colonel told himself, surveying the sea of petite young ladies into which his bride had disappeared.  "Just look for the prettiest lady in the store."



When the Colonel got tired of that, he decided it was time to go find Miss Brenda.     

Borrowing is for the Birds

The Colonel's ornithological passion and enlightened desire to provide help for the least among the residents of his rump republic is beginning to reveal unintended consequences.  There is palpable fear here aboard the Colonel's vast holdings at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere that currying favor with the feathered fauna on the grounds of Eegeebeegee is creating a dependency class for whose provision the resources of the Tallahatchie Free State are increasingly stressed to sustain.

Take, for example, the state bird of the Colonel's virtuous and less and less virtual republic, founded as much hand-on-wallet as tongue-in-cheek: the ruby-throated hummingbird.

From the first of April through the end of October each year, the grand gardens adjacent to the Big House play host to a hummer host whose natural numbers have swollen to unnatural levels due to several large sugar-water feeders that attract veritable buzzing clouds of the diminutive hovering jewels.  So many hummingbirds have habituated to the handout that the Colonel's grocery bill swells seasonally with the addition of several tons [literary license warning light blinking] of sugar with which he daily replenishes the dole. 

With so many handout-habituated hummingbirds hovering hungrily [abnormal alliteration alarm sounding] above the grounds of the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State, their notorious territorially anti-social behavior is manifested exponentially.  Above the ever-present hum of scores of pairs of wings, a shrill chatter of complaint about disrespect rises and falls as the tiny birds crowd in constant contention at the limited leads to the Colonel's largess.  It is a good thing that hummingbirds are of such limited mass and without the means to ignite flames or carry markers, else the Colonel would fear for a feathered flash mob of arson, looting, and vandalism.  

"Cut 'em off!," the callously conservative, yet otherwise kind-hearted Miss Brenda cries.  "They can fend for themselves quite well!" 

"Too cruel!," the Colonel counters.  "Besides, they love me.  See how they flock around me when I refill the feeders?"

"They're eating us out of house and home!," the Colonel's consort complains.

"Don't worry," the Colonel mollifies his mate, "I'll go borrow some sugar from the neighbors."

"They'll eventually stop loaning you sugar," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda warns.

"Have no fear, my dear, I'll plant some sugar cane."

"Where?"

"Why, in the fenced-in garden, of course.  Can't have the critters eatin' all the cane."

"Where are we going to grow our vegetables then?  We have a lot of mouths to feed, right now."

"C'mon, Miss Brenda, we'll worry about that next year..."

Dakota Meyer, Marine

"The President of the United States in the name of the Congress takes pleasure in presenting the

 MEDAL OF HONOR

to

CORPORAL DAKOTA L. MEYER
UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

 
For service as set forth in the following

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the repeated risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as a member of Marine Embedded Training Team 2-8, Regional Corps Advisory Command 3-7, in Kunar Province, Afghanistan, on 8 September 2009. When the forward element of his combat team began to be hit by intense fire from roughly 50 Taliban insurgents dug-in and concealed on the slopes above Ganjgal village, Corporal Meyer mounted a gun-truck, enlisted a fellow Marine to drive, and raced to attack the ambushers and aid the trapped Marines and Afghan soldiers. During a six hour fire fight, Corporal Meyer single-handedly turned the tide of the battle, saved 36 Marines and soldiers and recovered the bodies of his fallen brothers. Four separate times he fought the kilometer up into the heart of a deadly U-shaped ambush. During the fight he killed at least eight Taliban, personally evacuated 12 friendly wounded, and provided cover for another 24 Marines and soldiers to escape likely death at the hands of a numerically superior and determined foe. On his first foray his lone vehicle drew machine gun, mortar, rocket grenade and small arms fire while he rescued five wounded soldiers. His second attack disrupted the enemy’s ambush and he evacuated four more wounded Marines. Switching to another gun-truck because his was too damaged they again sped in for a third time, and, as turret gunner, killed several Taliban attackers at point blank range and suppressed enemy fire so 24 Marines and soldiers could break-out. Despite being wounded, he made a fourth attack with three others to search for missing team members. Nearly surrounded and under heavy fire he dismounted the vehicle and searched house to house to recover the bodies of his fallen team members. By his extraordinary heroism, presence of mind amidst chaos and death, and unselfish devotion to his comrades in the face of great danger, Corporal Meyer reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service."

Affection Reflection

Thirty-five years ago this past weekend, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda made the biggest mistake of her life and the result was the best thing that could have ever happened to the Colonel.

On Sunday, the 31st of July, the Colonel and his lady celebrated the 35th anniversary of their wedding.  

For about twenty years now, the Colonel and Miss Brenda have brought the house down with the following routine:

Innocent Questioner:  "So, how long have you two been married?"

The Colonel:  "Thirty-five years...[2-beat pause for maximum comedic effect]; three of the best years of our lives."

[4-beat pause while IQ and any interested by-standers trade puzzled looks]

The Comely and Kind-hearted Miss Brenda:  "Those were the years he was deployed."

Gets 'em every time.

In what is sure to become a highly anticipated annual ritual, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda sat with the Colonel for a rare quiet and reflective interlude Sunday afternoon. 

With five adults and two pre-schoolers under the roof,  the two dozen of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon have no idea how rare quiet and reflective interludes are here at the Big House aboard the Colonel's vast and well-defended holdings at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.

The Colonel and his Lady sat for nearly an hour recalling, recounting, and remembering where they were on each of their wedding anniversaries; beginning with the first (and certainly not the last) spent separated--he at Officer Candidate School in Quantico, Virginia and she ensconced in a tiny efficiency apartment on campus at Ole Miss.  Many anniversaries were coincident with duty station moves.  Many others were remembered for being the first with a particular child, or without that child as he or she left the nest.

The Colonel and Miss Brenda chuckled at the memory of the tenth anniversary trip to the Bahamas.  While checking through customs, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda clung tightly to the Colonel's arm and gushed to the customs agent, "It's our tenth anniversary!"  

The agent looked up from the paperwork and dead-panned, "I...don't...care."

There must be a government gulag somewhere in North Dakota, to which all prospective Customs and TSA agents are sent to strip them of all humanity, feeling, and common sense. 

The Colonel made a point of reminding the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda that for their 20th, he took her to Hawaii...and they got to stay for three years.  She made an even sharper point of reminding the Colonel that she was not a beach person and that Hawaii is a great place to visit, but an even greater place from which to return.  The Colonel thereafter refrained from attempting to convince his Lady that she had been fortunate to have been married to a roguishly handsome soldier of the sea whose postings took her to far-flung exotic locales about which most others only read.  

Truth is, the Colonel has been the fortunate one.        

The Colonel's Kernels

It was corn harvesting time here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere last week, and the Colonel beat the critters to the kernels.

Back during June, the temperature climbed into the middle miseries, the clouds departed hereover, and nary a drop of rain fell for four weeks.  An acre of corn, beans, and cantaloupes planted by hand the middle of May began to wither in the wicked hot weather.  The Colonel carried buckets of water every evening down to the garden plot in the back forty, and lovingly ladled liquid on each and every stalk and vine. 

The corn survived. 

The cantaloupes thrived. 

The Colonel began to worry about four-legged veggie vandals and fruit thieves.

A scare-crow and a two-wire electric fence around the garden served to ease the Colonel's worries a bit.  Several fruitful late afternoon anti-critter patrols served to reduce the critter population substantially and put the remaining bandits on notice.  The best defense, after all, is a strong offense.  

Last week, the Colonel checked on the progress of his corn and decided it was time to harvest.  He pulled ears for a couple of hours and filled up the bed of his rusty red pick-up, Semper Fillit, with, well, shucks, a whole load of corn.

More corn than he'd ever grown.

More corn than he'd ever shucked.

More corn than he knew what to do with.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda took one look at the Colonel sitting on the tailgate backed by a mountain of corn, and remarked with obvious pride at her man's produce prowess, "What in the world are you gonna do with all that corn?"

The Colonel grinned like a mule eatin' briars and replied, "Not my problem.  I grow it.  You process it."

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda thereby clouded up and commenced to rain all over the Colonel's harvest victory parade.  The Colonel hates it when that happens. 

After the corn had been shucked and cleaned, it became obvious that the mountains of corn on the cob and buckets of corn off the cob far exceeded the storage capacity extant in the one freezer in the Big House.  There are now two freezers in the Big House, and the economy has been sufficiently stimulated.

All told, the Colonel figures he brought in a corn crop valued at approximately $3.75 a cob, given the Colonel's valuable time and effort expended and the economic stimulus applied toward appliances.   

Berry Nice

One of the most abundant and valuable natural resources aboard Eegeebeegee--the Colonel's vast holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere; and capital of the Tallahatchie Free State--is a berry.  Blackberries.  Rubus fruticosus.  The soil here in this forgotten corner of Dixie--viscous, boot-sucking mud when wet, and shovel-dulling Confederate Concrete when dry--grows little well but loblolly pine trees and blackberries. 

Due to the Colonel's careful cultivation, blackberry brambles thrive throughout his heavily guarded territory and dominate the edges of most of the fields.  To the untrained eye of the casual observer, the Colonel's careful cultivation might seem more like benign neglect.  Some brambles might even seem to encroach willy-nilly upon the otherwise clear fields and glades of the Colonel's campus.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  There is sheer brilliance in the apparent madness of neglect.

"Brilliance" hard to accept on the part of the Colonel? 

Those among the two dozen of you regular post-perusing wasters of valuable rod and cone time who are displaying disdain at the thought of the Colonel demonstrating brilliance in any endeavor have obviously never tasted a hot, buttered biscuit, slavered with a generous helping of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's homemade blackberry jam.  The Colonel has tasted upwards of two million hot, buttered biscuits, slavered with a generous helping of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's homemade blackberry jam, and is, therefore, the self-proclaimed, world-class expert on the topic of the most delicious food on the planet.   

The Colonel sticks to his self-assessment of brilliance.

Want further proof of the Colonel's brilliance?

While he is inside in the air-conditioned cool on this sweltering summer day, the Colonel's fair lady is out in the heat picking blackberries.  

Better go turn the A/C up a notch--it's gonna get hot in the kitchen when Miss Brenda comes in and starts cookin' jam...   

China Doll

The Colonel's baby girl began her 30th air-breathing lap 'round ol' Sol yesterday, even though her birth certificate says her 29th birthday is today--the 5th of July.

Sugar Bear, as she is known to none but the Colonel, joined the Gregory Clan in November of 1986.  Born in Hong Kong, she lived in an orphanage there until she was nearly four and one-half years old.  At her birth, none but God knew that she would be the capstone to the family created by the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda 35 years ago this month.

When the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda began giving birth to the Colonel's children, two robust man-children -- call signs: Hero and Juice (grist for another post) -- appeared on the scene in such rapid succession (less than sixteen months separation) that the Colonel and his Lady suspected that further procreation would lead inevitably to a house full of boys. 

The Colonel was okay with that.  Miss Brenda?  Not so much.

Snip. Snip.

The Colonel realizes that the Mississippi State and LSU grads among the two dozen of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon are scratching hat racks and doing the hound-dog head-tilt at his point.  The Colonel could have used the medical term for the procedure but the State and LSU grads would end up making futile trips to their respective schools' libraries to look up the word (it is the Colonel's understanding that all of the books held therein have already been colored in).

The Colonel shoots blanks.

The Colonel and his Lady still wanted a baby girl.

"No problem," the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda thought.  "We'll adopt."

Problem.  Counter-intuitive, incomprehensible problem.

Finding an American-born baby eligible for adoption is so much more difficult than one would think.  And, if a couple already has children, that couple goes to the back of the line. 

The Colonel will refrain from leaping into his Pro-Life sermon at this point, but will leave you with this firmly held belief:  The vast majority of babies killed by abortionists would easily find love-filled adoptive homes.  Don't believe the Colonel?  Try to find an orphanage with babies in these re-United States.  The Colonel will wait while you search...

Since the Colonel has long since surpassed his own attention span on the topic, he will allow you to continue that futile search on your own and get back to him.

But, back to the Colonel's baby girl.

When the Colonel and his Lady shared with friends their frustrations regarding adoption, those friends recommended foreign adoption.  Long story, short; the little girl God wanted to be a Gregory was found in an orphanage in Hong Kong waiting patiently for the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda to get their act together.  

In November of 1986, the extent of Sugar Bear's grasp of the English language was counting to ten and a rapid-fire recitation of the alphabet, which far outstripped the extent of the Colonel's grasp on Mandarin.

A Mandarin/English phrase book facilitated a smattering of communication for the first couple of months.  Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Sugar Bear no longer understood her native tongue. 

Well, she no longer understood the Colonel's pronunciation of her native tongue.  

At any rate, January of 1987 was a very frustrating month on the communication front.  Stalemate.  Battle lines drawn.  Tons of tears.

Then, as if another switch had flipped, Sugar Bear began speaking English, daily gaining vocabulary and sentence structure at an exponential rate.  By the time she started kindergarten, her vocabulary far exceeded that of the average Mississippi State or LSU grad.  When she learned to read, she read everything.  Twice.  

The Colonel's baby girl is a month away from earning certification as a surgical technician, and has a job at the local hospital waiting.  The Colonel has taken to memorizing medical dictionaries to maintain his tenuous position atop the family vocabulary pole.  He is also not just a little proud of his Sugar Bear.

The birthday thing?  

Well, Sugar Bear once remarked that she wished she had been born on the birth date of her adoptive country--the Fourth of July.  The Colonel told her she had been.

"No, Daddio Pistachio," she responded, rolling eyes and sighing heavily in weariness at her Daddy's lack of calendar acuity.  "I was born on July 5th."

To which the Colonel launched into a two-hour lecture on planetary physics, geography, and international customary agreements, culminating in a description of the International Dateline and man's attempt to bring order to the longitudinal chaos of solar time-keeping on a rotating planet.  

"...and, so, Sugar Bear, when it's the 5th of July in Hong Kong, it is the 4th of July here in the Western Hemisphere."

The conclusion of the Colonel's lecture, delivered two and one-half decibels higher than a parade ground command of execution, had the desired effect of waking the Colonel's favorite daughter from her sermon-survival slumber, and she blinked in comprehension.

"Cool!"

Sugar Bear celebrates her birthday on the fifth of July every year, but the Colonel doesn't let her forget that she was really born on Independence Day.    

Critters of the Corn

The Colonel begs the forgiveness of the dozen or so of you who have absolutely nothing better to do than to regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon for the lack of postage hereon of late.  Forgive him, dear reader, for the transgression; it has been two weeks since the Colonel's last mind-mangling missive.

Frankly, the Colonel's been a little busy.

It is the time of year here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere in which everyone with a patch of dirt has a garden planted on it.  The Colonel has two.

One garden up near the Big House, nicknamed "Li'l Gitmo" for the massive amounts of anti-critter fencing and barbed wire ringing it, has begun to produce a bumper crop of squash, 'maters, peppers, okra, and cukes.  The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, whose job it is to process the produce, has begun to give the Colonel the stink eye every morning as she navigates the limited floor space of the kitchen -- now further limited by buckets of fresh veggies. 

She'll get over it.  She has to -- the other, bigger, garden down in the bottom behind the Big House is beginning to make bountious amounts of corn, beans and melons.  

The Colonel has been advised by his domino-playin' buddies that the local coon cartel, a particularly violent and rapacious masked gang, will make short work of his corn if he doesn't take some rather drastic actions to prevent their depredations.

"Colonel, dem coons'll wait right 'til you decide to pick yore corn the next day an' they'll get into yore patch that same night, pull down every stalk and take a bite outa every ear."

"Really?"

"Yep, if'n you 'spect to get some corn from yore patch, you gotta pick it a day before you decide to."

Given that the Colonel has notoriously bad timing, and would probably end up trying to pick his corn the day after he decided to, he's thinking a multiple-strand high-voltage electric fence is a better option. 

That, and a surge of counter-critter clear and hold operations aimed at eradicating the threat.             

Setting Sun; Rising Dragon

The Colonel has, in several posts hereon and on many other occasions in many other fora over the last two decades, posited his strongly held belief that a major war between these re-United States and the Peoples Republic of China (PRC) is a foregone conclusion.  Nothing in the last few years has swayed that belief.  In fact, recent events and increasing tensions in the Western Pacific region have only served to concrete the Colonel's contentions.  

The Colonel maintains that the United States and its regional allies will go to war with China for much the same reasons that resulted in the War with Japan in the early 1940's.

Rising Sun

A wave-top summary of Japan's rise in the region, beginning in the last years of the 19th Century, and culminating in the Japanese military offensives begun in December of 1941 is instructive and necessary to understanding the current threat posed to the region by the PRC.

The seeds for the fruit of Japanese imperialism were actually planted by the United States in the middle of the 19th Century, when the U.S. and other Western European powers forced Japan to emerge from nearly three centuries of self-imposed isolationism.  The U.S. and Western Europe viewed Japan as fertile ground for new markets and possible colonial expansion.  Open contact with the West over the next few decades taught two important lessons to the Japanese--the potential gain from imperialism and colonialism; and the military modernization required to be a player in the region and on the world scene.

Many theories exist to explain the rise of imperialism/colonialism and expansionism in a nation. 

Hobson's "Excess Capital" theory can be dismissed as the reason for Japan's expansionism.  The was no excess capital available in Japan's largely agrarian economy at the turn of the 19th to 20th Century.  In fact, Japan incurred great debt borrowing to finance its military modernization.

Likewise, Lenin's Marxist view of imperialism as the last stage of capitalism prior to proletarian revolt can be dismissed in Japan's case.

Probably the most apt explanation for Japan's expansionism is a rapidly developing nationalism, a national social dynamic manifesting itself in the desire to increase standing (politically and materially) and security relative to other nations.  Japan saw the rapacity of Western imperialism and colonialism and adopted similar postures to both increase its standing and to ensure its national survival vis-a-vis the West.  The result was expansionist war with Russia culminating in the annexation of Korea and the occupation/colonization of significant portions of the Asian mainland.  Western resistance to Japanese expansionism in Asia gave rise to Western efforts to sanction and dissuade Japan's imperialism.  Japan responded with pre-emptive war against the U.S. and Britain. 

Rising Dragon

With the counterproductive era of intentional Maoist social upheaval far behind her, China is today rapidly modernizing and expanding its regionally hegemonistic and internationally relative standing in consonance with a national pride completely understandable in a people who comprise nearly a third of the planet's population.   The PRC's economy is growing at one of the fastest clips of any in the world and will, if maintained and supplied with resources, become the world's largest within a generation.

Couple modern Chinese nationalism (on the rapid rise since WWII) with a Hobsonian-satisfying excess of capital (thanks to abundant cheap labor and Western markets hungry for inexpensive goods) and you have all the makings of a rising dragon in the East whose size and reach will easily over-shadow the rising sun of a century ago. 

The relatively minor military campaigns we've been involved in since 9/11 can't rightly be called wars. Going toe to toe with China--now that will be a WAR. The war with China will rival, if not greatly eclipse, last century's war with Japan in scope and will be fought for much the same reasons. 

In the Colonel's not-so-humble opinion, the flash point for the next War in the Pacific is the region of the South China Sea and further south toward Australia. 

In the geopolitical category of "Who'd a thunk it?" the headlines from that region this week are about Vietnam's leaders (with whose predecessors the United States fought a debilitating decade-long limited war) asking for U.S. help against what they view as aggressively expansionist behavior by the PRC.  Besides Vietnam, we actually have treaty allies in the region with territorial claims and vital commercial interests (SLOCs, Spratly Islands' oil and fisheries, etc...) in the South China Sea area--Japan, South Korea, Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore, Australia, et.al.   The PRC is increasingly viewed in the region as expansionist, in much the same way and for much the same reasons as Japan in the inter-war years. 

While consuming all of the political, social, and media oxygen in the room at present, our current limited military actions in the misguided, mismanaged, and misnamed "War on Terrorism" (wars are conducted against nations, not against tactics), is but a sideshow interlude before the main attraction; in much the same way as U.S. military adventurism and interventionism in the inter-war years (1919--1940) was for the main attraction of 1941 to 1945.

Hot Water

The Summer Solstice may still be a couple of weeks away, but here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, the heat is officially on. 

It is hot.  How hot?

Approaching triple digits hot.

So hot the Colonel puts on his Kevlar overalls before going outside-- to protect against shrapnel from the gravel popping on his driveway.

So hot the shoreline of Lake Brenda is receding faster than the Colonel's hairline.

So hot the crows are carrying canteens.

So hot spittle sizzles before it hits the pavement.

The heat is quite an inconvenience.  The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was working out in the garden the other day while the Colonel was supervising from the air conditioned interior of the Big House.  She was perspiring heavily enough to give the folks over in the Delta fresh worry about high water.  The Colonel felt bad about it, and stepped outside to check on her.

"Hey, Sweetie, I really hate to see you workin' out in the heat.  Could you please work in the flower bed on the other side of the house?"

The Colonel's Lady looked up from her work, mopped her brow, and asked, "Why, is it any cooler over there?"

"Nope.  But, I won't be able to see you 'round there." 

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda shot the Colonel a not-so comely and slightly less than kind-hearted look, and returned to her work.  

Yep, the heat is on...and the water is hot.     

Freedom Flier

On the fourteenth of June of each year, the people of the United States, whether they realize it or not, celebrate Flag Day.   The day commemorates the anniversary of the 1777 resolution of the rebel Continental Congress declaring that "the flag of the United States be thirteen alternate stripes red and white" with a union of "thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation."

The resolution made official a battle flag that had already led troops of the rebel Continental Army in combat against the British Army, loyal American formations, and mercenaries hired by the Crown.  By the time the Continental Congress got around to recognizing it, the blood of patriots had already christened what Francis Scott Key would, nearly two generations later, immortalize as the "star spangled banner."

Over the next century, disparate organizations and communities across America conducted their own unique patriotic celebrations honoring the flag.   On the one hundredth anniversary of the resolution of the Continental Congress, the United States Congress  recognized the occasion, but it wasn't until 1949 that the Congress passed an act declaring June 14th as Flag Day.

Twenty-six years earlier (1923), the National Flag Conference, attended by representatives of the U.S. military and 66 other interested national groups, adopted the first "National Flag Code" providing guidance for the display and care of the National Flag of the United States.  In 1942, the 77th Congress of the United States ,using the National Flag Conference's "Code" as a guide, passed Public Law 829, which included rules for use and display of the flag, as well as rules for conduct during playing of the National Anthem and recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag. 

The United States Code (the official compilation of Federal Law) Title 36, Chapter 10 contains what is known as the Flag Code--the clear, unambiguous rules for properly and respectfully displaying and caring for the flag.  As you read the following excerpts (particularly §176) from that law, the Colonel asks that you recognize wherein you have been guilty of disrespect for the flag under which millions of Americans have fought for our freedom.
  
§170. National anthem; Star-Spangled Banner

The composition consisting of the words and music known as The Star-Spangled Banner is designated the national anthem of the United States of America.

---

§171. Conduct during playing

During rendition of the national anthem when the flag is displayed, all present except those in uniform should stand at attention facing the flag with the right hand over the heart. Men not in uniform should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Persons in uniform should render the military salute at the first note of the anthem and retain this position until the last note. When the flag is not displayed, those present should face toward the music and act in the same manner they would if the flag were displayed there.

---

§172. Pledge of allegiance to the flag; manner of delivery

The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag, 'I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.', should be rendered by standing at attention facing the flag with the right hand over the heart. When not in uniform men should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Persons in uniform should remain silent, face the flag, and render the military salute.

---

§174. Time and occasions for display

• (a) Display on buildings and stationary flagstaffs in open; night display It is the universal custom to display the flag only from sunrise to sunset on buildings and on stationary flagstaffs in the open. However, when a patriotic effect is desired, the flag may be displayed twenty-four hours a day if properly illuminated during the hours of darkness.
  
• (b) Manner of hoisting The flag should be hoisted briskly and lowered ceremoniously.
  
• (c) Inclement weather The flag should not be displayed on days when the weather is inclement, except when an all weather flag is displayed.
  
• (d) Particular days of display The flag should be displayed on all days, especially on New Year's Day, January 1; Inauguration Day, January 20; Lincoln's Birthday, February 12; Washington's Birthday, third Monday in February; Easter Sunday (variable); Mother's Day, second Sunday in May; Armed Forces Day, third Saturday in May; Memorial Day (half-staff until noon), the last Monday in May; Flag Day, June 14; Independence Day, July 4; Labor Day, first Monday in September; Constitution Day, September 17; Columbus Day, second Monday in October; Navy Day, October 27; Veterans Day, November 11; Thanksgiving Day, fourth Thursday in November; Christmas Day, December 25; and such other days as may be proclaimed by the President of the United States; the birthdays of States (date of admission); and on State holidays...

---

§175. Position and manner of display

The flag, when carried in a procession with another flag or flags, should be either on the marching right; that is, the flag's own right, or, if there is a line of other flags, in front of the center of that line.

• (a) The flag should not be displayed on a float in a parade except from a staff, or as provided in subsection (i) of this section.
• (b) The flag should not be draped over the hood, top, sides, or back of a vehicle or of a railroad train or a boat. When the flag is displayed on a motorcar, the staff shall be fixed firmly to the chassis or clamped to the right fender.
• (d) The flag of the United States of America, when it is displayed with another flag against a wall from crossed staffs, should be on the right, the flag's own right, and its staff should be in front of the staff of the other flag.
• (e) The flag of the United States of America should be at the center and at the highest point of the group when a number of flags of States or localities or pennants of societies are grouped and displayed from staffs.
• (f) When flags of States, cities, or localities, or pennants of societies are flown on the same halyard with the flag of the United States, the latter should always be at the peak. When the flags are flown from adjacent staffs, the flag of the United States should be hoisted first and lowered last. No such flag or pennant may be placed above the flag of the United States or to the United States flag's right.
• (g) When flags of two or more nations are displayed, they are to be flown from separate staffs of the same height. The flags should be of approximately equal size. International usage forbids the display of the flag of one nation above that of another nation in time of peace.
• (h) When the flag of the United States is displayed from a staff projecting horizontally or at an angle from the window sill, balcony, or front of a building, the union of the flag should be placed at the peak of the staff unless the flag is at half staff. When the flag is suspended over a sidewalk from a rope extending from a house to a pole at the edge of the sidewalk, the flag should be hoisted out, union first, from the building.
• (i) When displayed either horizontally or vertically against a wall, the union should be uppermost and to the flag's own right, that is, to the observer's left. When displayed in a window, the flag should be displayed in the same way, with the union or blue field to the left of the observer in the street.
• (j) When the flag is displayed over the middle of the street, it should be suspended vertically with the union to the north in an east and west street or to the east in a north and south street.
• (k) When used on a speaker's platform, the flag, if displayed flat, should be displayed above and behind the speaker. When displayed from a staff in a church or public auditorium, the flag of the United States of America should hold the position of superior prominence, in advance of the audience, and in the position of honor at the clergyman's or speaker's right as he faces the audience. Any other flag so displayed should be placed on the left of the clergyman or speaker or to the right of the audience.
• (l) The flag should form a distinctive feature of the ceremony of unveiling a statue or monument, but it should never be used as the covering for the statue or monument.
• (m) The flag, when flown at half-staff, should be first hoisted to the peak for an instant and then lowered to the half-staff position. The flag should be again raised to the peak before it is lowered for the day. On Memorial Day the flag should be displayed at half-staff until noon only, then raised to the top of the staff...
• (n) When the flag is used to cover a casket, it should be so placed that the union is at the head and over the left shoulder. The flag should not be lowered into the grave or allowed to touch the ground.
• (o) When the flag is suspended across a corridor or lobby in a building with only one main entrance, it should be suspended vertically with the union of the flag to the observer's left upon entering...

---

§176. Respect for flag

No disrespect should be shown to the flag of the United States of America; the flag should not be dipped to any person or thing. Regimental colors, State flags, and organization or institutional flags are to be dipped as a mark of honor.

• (a) The flag should never be displayed with the union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.
• (b) The flag should never touch anything beneath it, such as the ground, the floor, water, or merchandise.
• (c) The flag should never be carried flat or horizontally, but always aloft and free.
• (d) The flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery. It should never be festooned, drawn back, nor up, in folds, but always allowed to fall free. Bunting of blue, white, and red, always arranged with the blue above, the white in the middle, and the red below, should be used for covering a speaker's desk, draping the front of the platform, and for decoration in general.
• (e) The flag should never be fastened, displayed, used, or stored in such a manner as to permit it to be easily torn, soiled, or damaged in any way.
• (f) The flag should never be used as a covering for a ceiling.
• (g) The flag should never have placed upon it, nor on any part of it, nor attached to it any mark, insignia, letter, word, figure, design, picture, or drawing of any nature.
• (h) The flag should never be used as a receptacle for receiving, holding, carrying, or delivering anything.
• (i) The flag should never be used for advertising purposes in any manner whatsoever. It should not be embroidered on such articles as cushions or handkerchiefs and the like, printed or otherwise impressed on paper napkins or boxes or anything that is designed for temporary use and discard. Advertising signs should not be fastened to a staff or halyard from which the flag is flown.
• (j) No part of the flag should ever be used as a costume or athletic uniform. However, a flag patch may be affixed to the uniform of military personnel, firemen, policemen, and members of patriotic organizations. The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing. Therefore, the lapel flag pin being a replica, should be worn on the left lapel near the heart.
• (k) The flag, when it is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferably by burning.

§177. Conduct during hoisting, lowering or passing of flag

During the ceremony of hoisting or lowering the flag or when the flag is passing in a parade or in review, all persons present except those in uniform should face the flag and stand at attention with the right hand over the heart. Those present in uniform should render the military salute. When not in uniform, men should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Aliens should stand at attention. The salute to the flag in a moving column should be rendered at the moment the flag passes.

Daniels Down

The Colonel has allowed the balance of a standard calendar week to pass before proffering his assessment on the decision by Mitch Daniels not to seek the Republican Party nomination for the Presidency of these re-United States. 

As the dozen or so of you who regularly participate in egregious wastes of valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will remember (and recoil in regret at the remembrance), the Colonel has, for the balance of a standard calendar year, vociferously promoted the candidacy (if undeclared) of the current Governor of Indiana.  One or more of the dozen of you would be quite correct in asking why the Colonel has not addressed Governor Daniels decision not to embark on the national rescue mission, the leadership for which the Colonel felt the Governor had the foremost qualifications.

Frankly, the Colonel has yet to work his way tortuously through the lengthy and laborious grieving process.

The Colonel just can't believe that Daniels has really decided not to run.  Maybe he'll change his mind.

How dare the Governor make such a decision!  The Colonel has invested the last remaining shreds of his public and private credibility in promotion of Mitch Daniel's candidacy.  The Colonel wants to grab the man by the scruff of the neck and shake him like a rag doll!

C'mon, Mitch.  Please.  The Colonel will spend every waking moment from here on extolling your virtues, if you'll just get in the race.  The Colonel promises he'll deliver the Tallahatchie Free State.   

This is so hard.  The Colonel just feels numb.  There's no reason to even care about the political process anymore.  The Colonel will just lose himself in his sawdust production chores.  Even that seems pointless.

Well, the Colonel guesses the Governor has his own good reasons.  Running for the Presidency of these re-United States takes an incredible toll on a candidate and a candidate's family.  Being President sounds cool and all; but the job is relentless and thankless, perks notwithstanding.  Probably best for him and his family that he not run.  He'd probably win, and then he would really be in trouble.  

Okay, the Colonel will review the field of Republican candidates for a few days and let the dozen or so of you who regularly waste rod and cone time perusing posts hereon know, in short order, just who you should next support for the nomination. 

Apologies for getting you all excited about Mitch Daniels, but you are not alone in your pain.

He broke the Colonel's heart, too.   

Honoring the Fallen

This coming weekend America observes Memorial Day.  We shouldn't celebrate the day.  It is too solemn an occasion for that.

The Colonel begs the patience of the dozen or so of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon while he pontificates on his pet peeve.  The Colonel has few causes and crusades to which he devotes his energies that are more dear to him than the effort to educate those within reach of his voice and pen regarding the sacredness of Memorial Day, and the distinct difference between Memorial Day and Veteran's Day.

While he always appreciates the sincerity of the sentiment, it has always frustrated the Colonel to be thanked for his military service on Memorial Day. The Colonel did not die (at least he doesn't think he's in Heaven, at present -- although his vast holdings here at shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere are close, and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is an angel) on a battlefield in service to his nation.


Memorial Day was formerly known as Decoration Day--a day on which flowers were placed on the graves of war dead.  While many communities claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day, it is widely accepted that Columbus, Mississippi holds as strong a claim as any on that distinction.  Cemeteries across the south were filled with both Union and Confederate dead, but it was at the 1866 Decoration Day service in Friendship Cemetery (hallowed ground in which many of the Colonel's kin are buried) in Columbus that flowers were first placed on both Confederate and Union graves.

Memorial Day is reserved solely for remembering those who gave the ultimate sacrifice of their lives in the wars to which our nation sent them. Memorial Day should not be a celebratory holiday. It should be a day of solemnity and thankful remembrance of our honored war dead. The trivialization of Memorial Day as a beach holiday and a shopping summons denigrates the memory of the fallen.

On the other hand, Veterans' Day, as the day formerly known as Armistice Day (in recognition of the date on which hostilities in the First World War ceased) is now called, is the appropriate day for recognizing all who served (past tense) in the uniform of the United States.  

If one wishes to use a specific day to recognize the service of men and women still in uniform, Armed Forces Day is the appropriate occasion for that.  And...you'll have to wait a whole 'nuther year for that -- Armed Forces Day was last Saturday. 

If you wish to properly observe Memorial Day, the Colonel respectfully refers you to:

http://thecolonelscorner.blogspot.com/2010/05/decorating-day-decorum.html 

Polk's Precedent

One hundred and sixty-four years ago today, at the behest of the greatest and least heralded U.S. President of the Nineteenth Century--James Knox Polk--the Congress of the United States declared war on Mexico.

The proximate casus belli was tension over the admission into the union of the Republic of Texas, including territory still claimed by Mexico.  In truth, the conflict was a war of conquest in fulfillment of the American foreign policy concept of Manifest Destiny.  At war's end, Mexico ceded, according to the terms of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, all of the territory which was later to become the States of California, Utah, Arizona and Nevada (as well as territory that would become portions of Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming).  

Frankly, as much as the Colonel is a huge fan of Polk, he is disappointed with the 11th President for not annexing all of Mexico (as many in his party--Democrats--were rightfully demanding).  The Colonel can only imagine the economic, resource, and social advantages that would have accrued to our nation had the United States added a dozen or more States stretching from California to well south of the Yucatan.  Our present issue with illegal immigration and the violent Mexican narco free-fall toward failed state status would in all likelihood be...,well, non-issues.  

The Colonel has little doubt in his military mind that, at this point in this egregious waste of rod and cone time, there are many readers with hands reflexively to mouths in horror (or a liberal facsimile thereof) at the thought of our nation making such a nakedly imperialistic land grab.  The Colonel would point out to those of you hyperventilating from behind your cupped phalanges, that the history of man is the history of men taking territory from those who took it from someone else, and that if our American ancestors had not taken land from others we Americans would probably not exist as such nor enjoy the highest standard of living and wealth of social accomplishments ever seen in the solar system.

But the Colonel digresses.

Just prior to initiating hostilities against Mexico, President Polk's administration negotiated (some today call his negotiating style "brinkmanship" due to its bellicosity) the terms of the Oregon Treaty by which the United States gained exclusive possession of the territory that would later become the States of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho (as well as portions of Montana and Wyoming).   

Thus, President Polk's muscular foreign policy resulted in the extension of the boundaries of the United States all the way to the Pacific Ocean and increased the territory of the United States by a third.  In fact, Polk increased the territory of the United States by significantly more contiguous land area than did President Jefferson's much more highly lauded Louisiana Purchase.  

Polk was not only a foreign policy visionary with significant achievements attendant to his vision, but was a domestic policy champion as well.  He created the Department of the Interior, oversaw the establishment of the United States Naval Academy and the Smithsonian Institute, re-established an independent Treasury, and reduced trade-strangling tariffs.  Were he alive today, he would undoubtedly be a darling of the Tea Party for his veto of federal funding for state and local projects that forestalled, albeit briefly, the scourge of political pork rampant in our republic.

Slight of stature and temperate in nature, Polk was nonetheless renowned for his oratory (often without notes and always without a teleprompter) which earned him the sobriquet "Napoleon of the Stump." In office, he was referred to as "Young Hickory" after his mentor and fellow Tennessean Andrew "Old Hickory" Jackson.  The youngest man (49) to assume the Presidency to that time, Polk was not without qualification, having served as Chairman of the U.S. House Ways and Means Committee, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, and Governor of the State of Tennessee.  

Polk is still the only Speaker of the House to serve as President.   

The Colonel would be remiss to not mention the one blight on Polk's memory--he was a slave-owner.  He was in "good" company as such, however--nine of his predecessors and four of his successors, were, or had been, slave-owners at one time.  Polk's will stipulated that his slaves were to be freed upon his wife's death.

Polk's accomplishments as President are all the more impressive given that he did not overtly seek the office, and, once nominated by his party as a compromise candidate, pledged to serve only one term.   A pledge he honored without prevarication.

Who is the man with Polk's temperament, moral and physical stature, foreign and domestic policy principles, and breadth of leadership experience in American politics today?


Mitch Daniels.