PEACE BABIES

I just got through wishing a friend of mine happy birthday.  Her name is Bonnie and, we’re pretty much the same age.  We we’re joking back and forth about how old we’ve gotten and, how fast life has passed along.   I was going to make some comment about how we we’re both war babies.   Some thing made me re-think that position.   I sat for a bit sipping my coffee thinking about being a war baby.

     The generation that brought Bonnie, me, and many others our age, into the world, fought World War Two.  It was a time of true nail biting and unbridled bravery. There were times when it looked like the Axis Powers could win control of the planet.  They we’re not that far away from victory.  Our parents stood up and fought back.  There was a little bit of Winston Churchill in every man and woman back then.  They suffered and took it.  In time, they turned the tables on Hitler and Tojo.

      I would imagine that a sailor manning a five inch gun mount out in the Pacific facing a suicide attack had only the fight on his mind at that moment.  But, I’ll bet that as soon as it was over and the coast was clear, his thoughts turned to daydreams.  He’d probably sit on the aft deck and look towards home.  Don’t you think he’d be telling his shipmates how if he made it home in one piece, the second he hit the dock, he’d grab the first girl he saw and marry her on the spot.   That had to be a steady topic of conversation everywhere on the ship when it was quiet.   Heck, I’d think even the Admirals would be sitting in the chart room between strategy meetings with one thought in their heads.  That thought being, got get me a woman…….soon!!

     I’m sure this happened in every fox hole, in every tank, on every ship, and on every plane to every person in uniform.  War soon shows itself as nothing like a John Wayne movie.  It’s hell on earth and, thoughts of home and family look like heaven from the front.

     Thank heaven, our parents licked the Axis and Peace came at last.  The troops came home and, just like they lined up in long lines at recruitment centers years before.  They now, lined up in front of chapels and city halls.  My father told me of friends of his who married after a long two day courtship.  Near as I know, these couples stayed together till death parted them decades later.   War was soon a thing of the past and, peace sprouted up everywhere with a smile and a kiss or two.

     In truth, it was peace that brought us Baby Boomers into the world.  It took the joy of peace to put us here.  So, we really aren’t war babies.  We’re peace babies.  Sounds good to me.


Doc South

A MEMORY OF LEONARD NIMOY…MAY HE LIVE LONG AND PROSPER, IN HEAVEN

Gee, it was about forty years ago when I got to meet Leonard Nimoy.  My first wife Mollie was a very good feature reporter.  She was getting published quite a bit in many Pennsylvania newspapers.   I was very proud of her.   One day, we got wind that Leonard Nimoy was going to be doing a lecture in Elmira, NY.  Since we we’re both nuts about Star Trek, we figured hey, let’s go.  Mollie, I think, had a press pass so, we brought it along.  That turned out to be a great idea.

     The show was held in this big theater and, the joint was mobbed.  Leonard gave a bit of a lecture on life in general, read some poems, and took questions from the audience.  Most of the questions were about Star Trek.  I don’t remember for sure, but, I think there may have been people there in the crowd, dressed in Star Fleet Uniforms.  Yes, some may have had pointy ears and we’re a little green.   Leonard did his best to not go crazy.  He did his best to answer graciously, the same old questions he probably got everywhere he went.
     One question was asked that I thought was pretty cool.  Someone wanted to know how the Vulcan greeting came to be.  Leonard said he was sitting in synagogue back when he was a kid.  There’s evidently a point in the service where everyone is supposed to close there eyes as a Rabbi chants some kind of prayer or blessing.  It’s, I guess, sort of taboo to open your eyes during this point in the service but, what’s a kid to do?  I can almost see Jehovah looking in on the service saying, “Ok, which kid’s going to crack and open his peepers.”  It’s probably God’s favorite part of the service.  This time it was Leonard who cracked.  He took a quick peek and saw that the Rabbis must have been from the planet Vulcan.    Their hands we’re raised in what would eventually be Star Treks Vulcan Salute with a little Yiddish thrown in for good measure.  Years later, a proper Vulcan greeting was needed and, Leonard had a great idea for one.  They just did with out the Yiddish.  Ratings soared.   It’s funny, but how many of us have learned with great difficulty to make that greeting?  Count me as one.  I love doing it.
     Leonard also read one of his poems about things he enjoyed seeing.   He listed quite a few favorites in the poem but, there was only one that I recall.   It often comes to my mind.  He said he loved seeing couples of any type and age holding hands.  I got to agree.  That’s a good sight.
      Mollie used her press pass to get into the after show press conference.  I seem to remember that Leonard gave Mollie a one on one interview and, she turned it into a great article that anyone would be proud of.  All in all, it was a great day meeting a very nice and talented man.
     Leonard passed away today but, the world is better for his time here.  May he live long and prosper in Heaven.

I FINALLY MASTER THE ART OF SHEPARD’S PIE

It took decades of intense study, trial and error, bitter defeats, and missing the mark by just that much but, I’ve finally got it right.  My joy knows no bounds.   Last night in the Doc South test kitchens, I created a perfect Shepard’s Pie.  Yes, angels sang near the toaster oven, as I spooned that most delicious and perfect of winter meals out of the pan and into my family soup bowl.  I could almost hear my sainted Mom cheering from her heavenly home as I took the first bite.  I truly re-created her treasured delight.

     Back when Mom walked among us, she would often, in winter, make Shepard’s Pie in 55 gallon drums.  That would almost be enough for one dinner in our house.  With my brother Ed and me and our father, the feeding frenzy for Shepard’s Pie might last well past midnight.   Humpback whales feeding on entire schools of herring had nothing on us.  There was never a drop left for the next day.
     Mom once called me to her side and behind shuttered windows and locked doors guided me down the path to true Shepard’s Pie enlightenment.  I studied hard and learned well.  I can’t tell you how many pounds of hamburger had to be discarded and used for lowly meatloaf or sloppy joe because of my early foolish moves.  But in time I learned well.
     The big trial came for me one day when I came home from high school and saw Mom waiting in the kitchen.  I never saw her face so serious.  She made me kneel before her and raise my left hand.  I did as she commanded.  She told me it was time for the final challenge.  A tear of joy trickled down her cheek as she handed me her wooden spoon.  With the spoon now in my hand, she commanded me to make a Shepard’s Pie for tonight’s family supper.  I had one hour.  If the family ate it all, the spoon was mine.
     I jumped to my feet.  Saluted and bowed.  Then, I ran to the sink and started peeling potatoes according to ancient dictates.  Friends it was all a blur of corn and peas.   Traditional spices, flying and wafting in the air.   Ground chuck sizzling to just the right shade of brown.  All the time, Mom stood off in the corner with her arms folded watching my every move in silence.  I never felt more alive.
    My Shepard’s Pie was completed with thirty seconds left to go.  Mom called to my brother Ed who was watching cartoons.  My father slurped the last swig of his beer.  The family came in silence to the table and sat down.  This was it.
    My father and brother each sniffed the air as the Pie I made came out of the oven.  I looked for subtle changes in their expressions as the pie was placed on the center of the table.  I noticed a very slight smile come over my fathers face.  He approved of the aroma.  My brother Ed grabbed his favorite spoon and held it in his fist.  Both my brother and father were hunched over the pie.  Their eyes were glazing over.  Suddenly, there was a spoon flashed by me like lightening.  Then another flash of another spoon.  The frenzy started.  It looked like my brother and father were in the middle of this wildly spinning propeller.  My Shepard’s Pie was a hit.  There wasn’t going to be room for desert.  You could actually see the pie level dropping like bathwater out of a tub.  Mom was smiling and crying at the same time.  I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything I’ve done as I was that great and wonderful evening.
     From that day on, every now and then, Mom would let me knock out a Shepard’s Pie for the family.   She’d say she had a headache and asked if would I make dinner.  I’d say sure.  Of course, she was just fine.  She just wanted to keep my skills sharp.
     One sad day Mom passed away.  It broke our hearts of course.  But, in time, the memory of her life with us became almost like she was still here.  Memories can be very solid if you wish them to be so.  For awhile, I didn’t make Shepard’s pie anymore.  I’d get kind of choked up trying to eat it.  I’d remember mom in the kitchen sitting in her chair playing solitaire as I peeled potatoes.  For some reason, I just couldn’t go on.  I’d use the potatoes for home fries and maybe make myself a hamburger.  Shepard’s Pie was out.
     Then one day I was making toast, when I thought I heard mom’s voice in my head.  I think it really was her.   She was a bit mad at me.  “When are you going to make another Shepard’s Pie?”  You love Shepard’s Pie!”  I didn’t dare interrupt her.  “Why are you being so stupid?  Get busy and make that one meal you really love.  No, I’m not going to tell you how to make it.  You’re on your own now.  It’ll be good for you to have to figure it out again.  It’ll keep you out of trouble..  Don’t let me catch you buying a frozen Shepard’s pie either there mister.”  You get the idea.  Mom was on a roll.   My ears still hurt.
     Well, that was about two years ago now and I’ve been trying to make the perfect Shepard’s Pie since then.  All attempts we’re dismal failures.  Oh, what ever I made was edible I guess.  But, it wasn’t perfect.  That’s for sure.   I guess I had to re-walk the path to pay for my slacking off.  It took many nights of countless potatoes peeled and hamburger fried.  Each time, I hoped that I finally had it right.  Some how, there was a secret ingredient that I was overlooking. There was so much disappointment coming my way but, I had to keep going.
      Funny, but just on a whim, I was walking up one of the aisles at the A&P when Mom’s voice came to me again.   She hollered at me to stop and look to the left and, there it was at eye level for a dollar ninety nine, the lost ingredient.  I remember saying to myself, ” Now I remember, there it is.   Yes!!”
      With joy in my heart and very soul, I snagged that item and drove home as fast as I could.  The pie went together in record time.  I could hardly wait for it to be done.  Oh, when it was finally ready, I can’t describe the joy I felt.  My wife Sandy said that I looked like a chipmunk with all I had in my mouth but, I didn’t care.  The riddle of Shepard’s Pie is now solved.  Life is good.
     I can only tell you the ingredients for a proper Shepard’s Pie.  You must, travel your own path for it’s actual creation.  Here’s what you will need.  Amounts are up to you.   Hamburger, potatoes, milk, butter, salt, pepper, gravy, peas, corn, onion.   Enjoy your journey Grasshopper.

JUST CALL ME DOC TWAIN OR ERNEST SOUTH

There’s a chance that I might be putting these Blurps I write into a book.   Friends are shoving me in that direction.  Maybe I’ll do it.   Evidently, they say it’s a good idea and, not that hard to do anymore.  I just need someone to check my rotten spelling and grammar.   I’ve got a friend ready to do that.  He’s got a fist full of red pencils in hand.  There’s a guy who will set it all up ready to print.  It all gets done in cyber space.  They tell me that there’s a company who manufactures the book on demand.  Once all is ready, a person can order just one book and pow, they make it.  Of course, if a thousand books are ordered they knock them out quick as a wink too.  Winks are pretty fast I hear.  They’re much faster than two shakes of a lambs tail.  I always thought it was impossible to get a book out.  I’ve always marveled at all the books the talk show hosts write.   They seem to have a new book out every month. I wondered how the heck they find the time to write and publish.  Now, I see how it’s done.  It’s a piece of cake.

     The hard part they say is writing the darn thing.  Gosh, for me that’s the easy part. I just sit down and start typing.  It’s more fun than doing work.  I love thinking of people, not all people, but, some people enjoying these things I do.  Next thing I know, it’s fingers do your stuff.  However there’s one fly in the ointment.
     My friends say the book should have some photos of me in it.  I don’t know if you know this friends but, there are very few good photo’s of me in existence.  Almost none exist.  The one that was done for this years Wanderers cruise night dash plaque came out pretty good.  So, there’s one.  I think there’s one from about 64 years ago of me wearing a clown suit and crying.  That one’s pretty good but, other than that, there’s not much to pick from.  This is going to be tough.
     You know what I need?  I need the guy who takes all those photos of the frozen dinners you see in the supermarket.  Those guys are regular Rembrandts.  If you don’t believe me all’s I can say is the next time you have a frozen dinner one night just compare the actual meal on your dish to the one shown on the front of the box.  I need the guy who can do that.
     There is one guy from the Poccono Mountain Corvette Club who did a drawing of me.  One year, I noticed him sketching something near me at the clubs annual open car show and figured that he was drawing a hot rod.  Turned out he was sketching me.  It was a great drawing.  I actually looked handsome and maybe even hip and smart too.  Sometimes when I’m down on myself, I just get out that drawing and stare at it.  It’s a shame the frozen food companies don’t need sketches of their stuff.  He could make millions.

IT’S THE TALK OF THE CRAWLSPACE

The other day, I was busy doing show right here in the home studio.  Actually, it’s a combination bedroom, storage warehouse, and studio with mostly pathways between piles of records and broken or idle sound equipment.  Whenever I do a show, I often have a bit of a snack resting on the cluttered trunk behind me.  Actually, my trunk is more of a trash receptacle  with out sides.  There’s actually debris on the trunk from colonial days.  Ben Franklin was here once and, left his coffee cup.  I just haven’t gotten around to washing it yet.  I keep putting it off.

     My show snack that day was a nice chocolate covered donut along with a cup of coffee.  I was playing a long song, probably Dave Brubeck’s Take Five and it was time to take five bites out of that donut.  I turned around to look at my prize treat and had quite a shock.
     There on the top of the trunk, coming from behind a stack of broken and empty CD cases, a mouse was closing in on my donut.  He was about three inches long, dark brown, with a scarred tail.  He walked almost in a squat putting one foot slowly in front of the other.  Sometimes, to get behind cover, he would suddenly scurry as fast has he could in a short burst to get safely behind a mound of papers.  James Bond, in all his glory, couldn’t have been any more careful.  The target for tonight, my donut.
     For some reason, he didn’t see me.  I guess he was concentrating too hard.  I just moved my head in his direction and kept the rest of my body quite still.  He was getting pretty close to hitting pay dirt.  He was just a half inch away.   Slowly, he cautiously put his left forefoot onto the edge of the plate.  Then the right leg came up as he opened his mouth for the heist of a life time.  No one would ever know.  Maybe he could take some home for the family.  Maybe he could get the whole donut down into the crawlspace and feed everybody.  Maybe he’d become king of the crawlspace.  Having this donut might be enough to get a good spot up in the attic.  He heard it’s pretty darn nice living in the attic and this donut might do the trick.  Just one more step and a snickitty lick. He took a little bite.
     That’s when I hollered, “Hey what are you doing over there?”  He froze with his mouth full of donut.  The gig was up.  He looked up and me and swallowed hard.   Holy heck!  Where’d that giant come from?  Well, it was feet do your stuff time.  He could worry about shattered dreams later.  That big guy’s hand is coming this way and it was twice his size and, how can you even bite one of those fingers with a mouthful of donut.  All he could do was flee.  There was no chance to defend his prize.
     The mouse ran right for my hand.  That’s a typical rodent tactic.  They’ll run right at you and, then suddenly make a sharp ninety degree turn to escape the scene at a gallop.  This little guy jumped onto the neighboring trunk and ran right over my mixing board.  He leapt from there to the turntable, bumped into the tone arm and climbed down the back wires to the floor.  From there, it’s anyone’s guess as to which of many holes in the walls he chose to get back to his home turf down in the crawlspace and home.  Steve Mc Queen would have been proud of this little guy.
     I’m proud of him too.  He showed spunk.  In a way, it was a lot like the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.  I got to play the giant.  Usually, I don’t get to be the giant.  I can hear the stories around the hot water pipe as the mice gather in the evening before going to their homes in the pink  insulation between the rafters.  Maybe the little baby mice  will now fall asleep at night dreaming of the day when perhaps they too will make a foray into the land above the rafters and return with treasure for all.
     I think I’m going to stick a few munchkins down the mouse hole.  Just for fun and encouragement

CARTOON BREAKFAST TIME

It’s my daughter Sunshines birthday today.  Soon, like me, she’ll be older than dirt.   I have many great memories of her to share with you.   Here’s just one.   When she was four or five years old, her mom and I lived in Northern Pennsylvania.   We had this great old kitchen cook stove.  It heated the house nicely and, and made some great meals too.  I loved that stove.

     At night, I’d set a fire in the firebox and bank off the fire.  On Friday nights, I’d place an iron frying pan over the firebox.  The fire would burn under it as it sat over the firebox.  The pan would heat all night and, yet, it would never get dangerously hot.  It would just be real warm my morning.
     Saturday morning, the wife and I would be zonked out and snoring away when this tug would pull on my arm.  It would be Sunny asking if she could get up and make her breakfast.  I’d grunt out a, “sure go ahead.”   The elfette would leave the room and go downstairs.  I pretended to be asleep but, I was listening as if I was hearing an old radio show.
     I’d hear the toilet flush as Sunny came out of the bathroom and head down the steps to the kitchen.  Soon, the fridge door would open and a box of eggs would be pulled out along with a milk bottle.  The kitchen cabinet would open and a bowl came out.  Eggs would be cracked and poured into the bowl.  Now a little milk.  Milk bottles clink nicely.  A silver drawer would open and a fork would be pulled out.  Soon there’d be mixing sounds.   Now, she’d go back to the fridge and yank out some butter.  There’d soon be the sound of a butter knife tapping on the frying pan I set out the night before.  I could hear a fork clinking on the pan to help melt the butter.  The Frying pan was hotter than warm but, cooler than dangerous.  Soon, I could hear the bowl clink along the rim of the pan as the beaten egg was poured into cook.
     All this time Sunny might be singing or humming to herself.  She’d then go in to the living room and turn on the TV to watch cartoons.   Now, the stove wasn’t that hot and an egg would take about fifteen minutes to cook maybe longer.  Between cartoons, Sunny would check on the progress and scramble the egg some more.  Eventually, it would be done.  I’d hear a dish come out of the dish drain.  Then I’d hear the fridge open for some ketchup.  Some mornings I could even hear the plurp plurp plurp sound that the ketchup makes as it leaves the bottle heading for target…..egg.   The cartoons played as Sunny carried her breakfast into the living room.
     Life was good and I could sleep in a bit.
     Happy birthday Sunny, You’ve always been a sweetie.  I love you and your brother a lot.

Doc South

SUPER SCHNOZZ STRIKES AGAIN

Basset Hounds have great noses.   The next time you see a good old low riding hound, check out that schnozz they got.  Consider it the ultimate tracking device.  Look at how it’s always scrunching.  Note that it’s always moist.  It’s funny to see but, a hound nose is always moving back and forth like a radar antenna.  It’s almost like an eye but, it’s a nose instead.  In fact, I just snuck up on Millie our hound.  She was taking a nap.  I quietly stuck my finger right near her nose with out touching it.  I was about three inches away and very quiet.  At the two inch mark, Millie’s nose started to twitch.  She was still asleep and motionless.  Just her nose moved and nothing else.

     Earlier today I found a bag of old cookies.  Mostly, it was crumbs and a tiny piece or two of broken cookies.  I took them outside and threw them in the yard for the birds.  Sadly, the cookies were just heavy enough to sink beyond sight into the fresh snow.  The birds would never see them. ( Remind me to buy some bird seed tonight while working at the A&P.)
     I got busy with the woodstove this morning and, forgot about the cookies.  Millie had to go out for a puppy squat.   When she’s looking for a place to go, she’ll spend quite a bit of time sniffing for just the right spot.  Heaven only knows what she’s hunting for but it really seems to be a very important decision she’s making.   I was kind of surprised that this time, she marched right over to a new spot.  She pulled me there really hard.  She has a way of getting low to the ground and shifting into low gear for traction.   I stood there waiting as she sniffed a few more times.  Then, all of a sudden, she started eating the snow.  She’s not normally a snow muncher so, I was a bit surprised.  Then, it hit me.  She was chewing the snow at that particular spot because it had cookie crumbs in it!  She had found the visually invisible spot where I had thrown the cookie crumbs and watched them disappear below the snow surface.  She had smelled them the second she walked out our front door and marched right to the hidden cookie crumbs.  Once there, she took one confirming sniff and started to gobble cookie crumb snow as fast as she could.  I guess she had a cookie crumb sundae.   Dogs are amazing.

WHAT DOES THE LITTLE MAGNIFYING GLASS DO?

I’m glad I’m not a hothead.  At least, I’m not much of a hot head.  I guess now and then, I pop my cork just like anyone else.  But, I’m so glad I didn’t do it yesterday.  Here’s what happened.

     I was having trouble with my Gofundme account.  I couldn’t get on to it from the public access point.  You know, the way anyone who might want to donate to my station would use.  Oh, I could get into the site from my private client access or maintenance, point ok.   What was bothering me was, that if I tried  to get on the page just like you guys might do, I couldn’t do it.  I reasoned that if I couldn’t get there, maybe you couldn’t either.  I tried and tried but, no soap.  It was driving me nuts.
     So, I emailed the tech department at Gofundme.   They work by way of email back and forth.  I sent my best technical explanation of what was going wrong.  They emailed me back wanting a description of what I was doing.  I don’t know squat about computers but, I tried my best.   I was using all the high tech words I could think of in my reply.  Naturally, I had no clue of what I was typing.  It’s all greek to me.
     Mostly, my complaint was that I pretended that I was a potential donor.  I’d log onto the site and click into the search window.  Then I’d type in Doc South and click on the go to button and then, nothing would happen.  It was as if the page froze up.  No matter how often I hit the search button, nothing happened.   We went back and forth maybe five times.  The tech people we’re very nice.  Me, I was going nuts but never said anything rude.  I just kept saying how I could get into the site and something must be wrong.  The tech people said that they’d try to enter the site’s donor page and got right in.  I was really getting frustrated, not mad, just very frustrated, mostly at my ignorance.
     Finally, one of the girls wrote back and asked what I was clicking to go to the site?  I said that I was clicking on the go to button.  She asked me to describe it.  I said, “Well, it’s that blue square with the magnifying gl ass in it.  I type in Doc South and click on that square.   She, as nice as possible, “Doc you’ve got to click on enter”.
     “Enter!!! I wrote back.  What does that do?”
     “Try it and see Doc.  Type Doc South in the box and press the enter key.”   I carefully followed her advice and wouldn’t you know it, She was right.   Very Right.
     I wrote back begging her not to laugh too hard at me in the break room.  She said she’d be gentle.
     I’m still wondering what the blue square with the magnifying glass does.

WINTER IS ABOUT FINISHED….HERE’S PROOF

I know that we’re all freezing our fannies off right now but, take heart.   The icy blasts will soon be a thing of the past just like corsets and button hooks.  How do I know?  Well, I’ve been noticing things.  For instance, yesterday, I was broadcasting from my home studio.  I was ready to switch from one record to the next.  I had my hand on my mixing board control panel ready to make a flawless segue from the old song to the new one.  But, the mixing board surface felt funny.  It was odd.  It was something that I haven’t felt in a long time.   The surface of the board was, oddly enough, warm.  I got so taken with that new sensation that I kind of forgot to switch songs.  I kind of made a mess of things but, I didn’t care.  That little bit of heat felt so great.  I let it pulse up my fingers.  Gosh, it felt so good.

     Then a sense of dread hit me.  Mixing boards shouldn’t be that warm.  Something’s wrong. My brain started to whirl.  Oh no!  I just paid the oil bill.  I don’t have any money for a new mixing board.  I’m ruined!!!  Sadly, I looked at the old board and felt really bad.  Besides not having the loot for a board, I really hate throwing out an old piece of equipment.  To me, its like kicking an old friend out into the street.  It would kill me to stick that old mixing board in the garbage can.   It served me so well.  We’ve been through thick and thin together.  We’re pals.
     I put on a long sad song and, checked to see if there was anything I could do to make the board more comfortable in it’s final moments.  There was a lot of dust between the slider control bars.  I started to slowly wipe the dust away with my fingers.   As I did so, I was remembering those old times when before an important gig, I’d be sure the board was immaculate before we, “sent it to the crowd.”  Honest to God friends, I just about lost it right then and there.  Then it hit me.
     The board wasn’t hot all over.  It was cool on the left, warm in the middle.  The edges were cool to the touch.  The top surface, off to the left, was just fine.  I felt a glimmer of hope.  Maybe it’s fever broke!!  Maybe, it’s going to be OK!!!   Still, the middle shouldn’t be so warm.  Why is it warm???  I looked the board over some more and, there it was.  I discovered the culprit.  There, on the middle of the control panel,  shined a tiny little sunbeam.
     Friends, it was the smallest of sunbeams.  It came into the room from a little hexagonal window on the far wall in my studio.  Without my noticing, it crept onto my control board and worked it’s magic.  It didn’t take long at all, before the panel surface was quite warm.  The little sunbeam moved slowly, from right to left and eventually a person could warm their cold hands on the control panel surface.   I did just that.  The warmth, weak as it might have been, felt great.  I put on a happy song.
     As, I rubbed some of that heat from one hand to the other.  I couldn’t help but marvel at the warmth that came from that one very small sunbeam.  It wasn’t much bigger that a postcard.  All by itself it did quite the job of removing the cold from my icy control board.
     I looked around the room.  From the larger window on the far wall, an even bigger sunbeam was shining into the room.  It was busy warming a sheep skin rug.  If we had a cat, she would have been there purring like crazy as she fell into a nice warm nap.  I looked outside.  Sunbeams, were busy glowing on acre after acre.  Sure the wind was howling and it was cold as can be.  But, if you we’re to go investigate, you’d see how the snow was falling away from a dark stone warmed by the sun.  You’d see how dark twigs that fell from trees in the wind are now using the heat from the sun to knife into the packed snow on your walk.  I noticed icicles that formed off the roof, and were sheltered from the wind were dripping water.  The sun was starting to work.
     Oh, it’s starting.   The completed  chores are very subtle at first but, the work has begun.  Every day now, the sun gets a minute or two longer to work it’s magic. It won’t be long now.  Ahh!!  Feel that warmth.  Pass the hot chocolate.   No, wait, I’ll have a lemonade.  Extra ice.

ROBERT STEAD TELLS OF GALLIPOLI

You may have seen the movie long ago.  I think it starred Mel Gibson.   Here’s a chance to learn more about yet another tragic battle.  The battle to control the very narrow strait between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean Sea during the tragic days of WW I.    A movie could not do this justice.  It’s even quite difficult, in an hour, for Robert to get it all explained.  But, he did his best.  You will find this to be quite enlightening and  it may start you going on your own research.

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