Iron Peak

Number two son dragged my tired arse out on a great hike yesterday. Our original intent was to hike up to Ingalls Pass but a full trailhead parking lot and lots of people milling about caused us to come up with a "Plan B". The Iron Peak
trailhead is just down the road, and having passed it on the way up, we knew there was nobody parked there. Solitude being what the doctor ordered, we headed that way pronto.

You will notice from the trail description that this is a strenuous hike. This is an understatement, particularly if you have not hit the trail all summer. But, knowing what I was getting into, I plunged onward and upward. And upward. And upward. Twenty-seven hundred feet upward to be exact. The "100 Hikes" guidebook says that this is a four hour hike. That's almost exactly what it took us. I'm sure young son could have done it in much less time had he been unencumbered, he never even started breathing hard, but I wouldn't have wanted to try doing it in less time.

For me, besides being out with the boy, the highlight of the hike was a very clear cougar track in the trail. That it was in a section of trail containing elk tracks told the story. I've never seen cougar sign before, and let me tell you, it was quite a thrill.

The whole day was picture perfect as the view of Mt. Rainier attests. Any day vertical is a good day, but one spent out in the boonies with family is hard to beat. Was I tired at the end of the day? You bet. Had a few blisters and a couple aches and pains too. Would I trade a minute of it? Not a chance.

Retirement

Today, twenty-seven years and two days after I received my commission, I retired from the Naval Reserve as a Captain. I can't say that I'm thrilled to be retired. Quite honestly, I'd much rather be starting my career than ending it. 'Tis not to be though.

Here's a list of the commands that I've been associated with over the years:

Naval Nuclear Power School, Orlando, FL
Nuclear Power Training Unit, Idaho Falls, ID (S1W, for those interested)
Naval Submarine School, Groton, CT
USS Archerfish (SSN 678), Groton, CT
NROTC Unit, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN
Naval Submarine School, Groton, CT
USS Michigan (SSBN 727G), Bangor, WA (patrols 19,21,23,25,27)
NCSO Seattle
COMSUBPAC DET 320
VTU 2210G
NCSO Pacific DET 222
PERSMOBTM Bangor
VTU 2213G

In all that time, I've seen a goodly portion of the world. Not enough to satisfy my curiosity, but enough to know that I like it here better than anywhere else.

Looking back, I'd like to think that I left the navy better for my having been in it. I know that I'm better because of it.

International Talk Like a Pirate Day

In honor of the day, here's me pirate name matey.

My pirate name is:

Bloody Jack Kidd

Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Remembrance

The world changed five years ago today. The news came over the radio on the way to work and life would never be the same. A month before, I had relieved as the commanding officer of a Naval Reserve Personnel Mobilization Team and my gut told me that I would soon be back in uniform. Twelve days later my team was mobilizing itself and it would be twenty-three months before I returned to civilian life. We were comparatively lucky because we were able to stay close to home while performing our mission. Those we mobilized went throughout the world. Of the more than 2,000 people we processed, all but two went willingly. In all, more than 14,000 naval reservists answered that initial call, and over 5,000 are on active duty today.

It has been very hard for me to get through the day today as I remember what our country endured five years ago. The anger and the agony of that day still burn within me, and I doubt they'll ever go away. May God help me if they ever do.

Never forget.

A Confession

I am a Terrible Person. There, I've said it. In the eyes of my neighbors, I've committed the most grievous sin. I have killed my lawn. I could be a wife-beating, incestuous, mass murdering, racist, neo-Nazi serial killer and lived with my neighbors in peace, but this, apparently, is unforgivable.

Yesterday, as we were returning home, ironically from a trip for gas to power the mower, a woman we have never seen before stopped her car in front of the house and asked my better half why we let our lawn go. Bless her, my wife asked why it was any of her business. I have never been prouder of the dear girl.

"Because I drive by it every day and it's an eyesore" was the response. Now please note that we live in the middle of a desert. Shrub steppe, actually, but desert is close enough. If God had intended for grass to grow here, He would have provided more than our annual average of nine inches of rain. Also note that on the other side of the woman's car is an overgrown vacant lot, currently the home of construction equipment for my neighbor's next "good idea" and that apparently caused her no pain. Ah, but I get ahead of myself. The wife's answer was a classic that shall live in family lore forevermore: "Don't look."

"Are you renters?" We've lived here for 15 years and owned it the entire time, but as my wife said, "It's none of your business." You should also know that for someone who drives by every day, she's not very observant. We've made tens of thousands of dollars worth of very visible improvements to the property and have had the same car in the driveway for ten years.

At this point the woman (I'm being polite here. The words hag, harridan, busybody, snoop, and of course, the b-word, all come more readily to mind.) indignantly told us that we were Terrible People, rolled up the window of her POC Buick and left in a huff.

Had I had more time to engage in conversation with her, I might have thanked her for noticing the "white trash" look we were going for, and let her know my plans to put an old transmission in the front yard along with a new bathtub Madonna. I could have also told her that she should be patient because the money from the basement meth lab hasn't started to kick in yet. Or, my personal favorite, I could have told her that I enjoy having the only yard in the neighborhood that can be seen from space. None of these are the truth. (Well, that last one does tickle me a bit.)

The truth is more mundane, and in large measure due to busybody neighbors like the one that accosted us. A number of years ago, when I had a wonderful lawn, my neighbors decided that our previously unincorporated neighborhood should become part of the city of Richland and voted to make that happen.

Not long after that first exercise of power, the same neighbors decided that all of our septic systems had to go because, gee, being on the city sewer system was just so much better. They voted that one in too, and here is where the story really takes off. The contractor they hired to do the job of installing the city sewer lines and hooking us up destroyed my irrigation system. The six grand that job cost, left me without any spare cash to relandscape what had been lush and green a short time before. As noted, without water, grass does not grow here and the lawn died a slow, agonizing death.

Since that time I've helped put two children through college. Between direct cash outlays and loan payments, over thirty grand has left my wallet to date, with expenditures of about $750/mo continuing until the loans are paid off. I suppose that someone who wasn't a Terrible Person would have told the kids to buck up, the lawn must come first, but I failed my neighbors and supported the kids.

The oven, stove, range hood, and even the kitchen sink have all needed to be replaced since the lawn died. A non-Terrible Person, would have sucked it up on hard tack and cold beans like a true Man-of-the-West, but I let putting food on the table come before the lawn. I have no shame.

When the hot water heater died, we could have just saved water by taking short, cold showers. Being a Terrible Person though, I let my family's comfort come before the greening of the lawn. Please, put me in the stocks and throw rotten food at me.

The washing machine also gave up the ghost somewhere in there and joined it's recently departed brother, the dryer, in appliance heaven, and darn if I didn't make the wrong choice again and let money go to their replacements rather than grass seed.

Then there was the 30th high school reunion trip, the trip to DC for a friend's wedding, or the trip to Minneapolis for the wife's step-mom's 100th birthday that a better person would have given up. Oh, and I can't forget the trip to Germany to spend a few days with our daughter. I'm a Terrible Person for giving those things a higher priority than the lawn.

I also mistakenly spent nearly two years out of town and away from the lawn. Someone who wasn't a Terrible Person might have found a way to do yardwork and avoid going when duty called me back into the Navy to command a Personnel Mobilization Team for the Global War on Terrorism.

My truck died while I was gone, and darn if I didn't spring for a used one to replace it. I didn't really need to be coming home to see my family on those weekends anyway.

I almost forgot the eleven grand for a new HVAC system this past winter. Someone who wasn't a Terrible Person would have stoically endured the cold and this summer's heat. Not me, I let my neighbors down again.

Now, adding insult to injury, my dear neighbors have once again decided that they knew best how I should spend my money and have passed another "neighborhood improvement." This time we get curb and gutter and sidewalks. Wow, how has the property ever survived the forty years since the house was built without it? Nine thousand, six hundred this time. Oh, and what if I had done the right thing and replaced the irrigation system? That's right, I'm sacrificing several feet of front yard to the new sidewalk, and would have lost the sprinklers again.

I guess the new roof will have to wait.

Disappointment

This has not been a good day on the electronic devices front. Palm seems to have misplaced the PDA I sent them to repair, and the cell phone I wanted to buy seems to have undergone a last-minute change rendering it unsuitable for us in the good ol' US of A.

My Palm TX has been suffering from greatly reduced battery life for a few weeks now, so I sent it in for repairs. Two days ago, they sent me an email saying that it had shipped:

SRO# - S1-XXXXXXXXX
ORDER TYPE - REPAIR
PART# - 180-10098-00 - Palm TX, Multilingual


Dear XXXX XXXX

Your recent repair order with Palm has been completed. The repaired device has been shipped to you at the following address:

XXXX XXXX
XXXX XXXXXXX XXX
RICHLAND WA 99352


You should be receiving the device within the next three business days via DHL. To check current shipment status, click on the link below.

http://track.dhl-usa.com/atrknav.asp?ShipmentNumber=XXXXXXXXXXX

IMPORTANT:
Package tracking numbers are pre-assigned at our distribution center. After you receive this email, it may take up to the end of the next business day for tracking information to become active in DHL's system. If the link above contains no information, check it again in 24 hours.

Note that it should have been picked up no later than the end of the next business day, i.e., yesterday.

This morning I checked the tracking site at DHL and found no information,
again, so I called them and asked why. The answer was that the package hadn't been turned over to them yet! This did not please me, so I sent an email to Palm. The response was that it had shipped and that I should check DHL's website.

Right. That's what I'd been doing, as I had made clear in my first email. The second email bordered on the uncivil, basically asking, exactly where was my device since neither they nor DHL seemed to have it. Amazingly enough, now that I'm home, DHL shows it was picked up about an hour after my second email, a full day later than promised.

Probably not coincidently, Celestica, the company doing the repair has a location just across the Rio Grand from Pharr, TX, where DHL says the device was to be shipped. Outsourced customer service strikes again. When will companies learn that success means underpromising and overdelivering, not the other way around.

Now, on the HTC MTeoR front: I was on the phone with a vendor this morning when her tech-support folks overheard she was talking with me about the MTeoR. A key selling point with this phone has been that it's a true worldphone with full coverage on all GSM 3G systems both here and abroad. It now seems this isn't quite the case. Being a tri-band GSM/EDGE phone and a 2100 MHz UMTS phone is a deal-breaker for me since Cingular uses both the missing 850 MHz GSM band and the missing 1900 MHz UMTS band. It's a shame, really, because the MTeoR, as described in HTC's literature would have met my needs very, very nicely.

On the plus side of that whole experience though, was a very nice email exchange about Qualcomm chipsets in HTC phones with Dovid at On the Go Solutions. Dovid starts his emails with B"H. I was curious, so I googled it. The Wikipedia entry the popped up says that it means, Baruch hashem (Hebrew "Blessed is God"). I share the sentiment. As I told, Dovid, I didn't get much Hebrew in my Lutheran catechism class.

BTW, if the quality of their sales and tech-support staff is any indication, this is a company worth dealing with, even if their prices are higher than most other vendors.

Have a Nice Day

There are few things in life that instantaneously push my buttons, but being ignored is number one on the list. It's particularly galling when done by people wearing smiley faces and vests that ask how I may be helped as they're walking AWAY from me.

Have a nice day was, therefore, the wrong thing for the poor girl at the local Wally World to say. I'd just been rudely prevented from using a self-service checkout by someone for whom I'm sure the job with America's number one retailer was going to be a career peak, and then told by the same neanderthal (truly an insult to neanderthals, I might add) to go through one of the regular check out lines because all the self-serves were broken with no evidence that this was the case. Normally, I take these things as the patient soul I try to be. Five minutes of backed-up checkout line later, with no additional checkers at any of the dozen or so empty lanes, and several people who should have known better on the staff ignoring the situation, I left the cart and merchandise in the lane and headed for the local Target. When the aforementioned PG wished me a nice day, which it most assuredly had not been, a switch in my head was tripped, and I went off with an improvisational riff on the rudeness and idiocy of the place. Had I spent more time in line, I might have been better rehearsed, but all in all, it was a good effort.

In contrast to Wally World, the staff at Target was polite, the merchandise much more pleasantly displayed, and the prices every bit as appealing. Guess who gets first nod for my future business?

Doin' the cell phone shuffle

The happy day is soon approaching when AT&T/Cingular will no longer control my life. August 5th is freedom day as my last two year contract expires. In reality, this won't mean much other than affording number two son the chance to leave for a carrier covering his area of the state more completely. It does, however, give me a perfect chance to reflect on the vagaries of finding the technology you want in our "competitive" marketplace.

For reasons more practical than technical, I wish to stay with a GSM carrier. According to the GSM association, 78% of the world's 2 billion plus mobile phone subscribers use GSM phones. This incredible market penetration means that if you travel at all, having a US carrier which uses the GSM standard can save you some significant grief. GSM's system is less spectrum efficient than the most popular system in the US, CDMA, but even that is changing in the near future.

That "near future" aspect is part of the problem. Virtually all of the current Cingular system is a second generation system, but this will be changing rapidly as they roll out 3G equipment and would result in the obsolescence of the phones they are currently marketing in my area long before I'd be able justify buying another handset.

My original intent was to wait until 3G rolls out here and then buy new equipment. My fiduciary duties as the FIBoD (see below) will be requiring me to bring the daughter's service under the umbrella of our family account. That will force me to a new Cingular contract and, at least for the wife, new equipment locked to a Cingular SIM. My current Nokia is easily unlockable, and has been, so I could stay with my present handset and just pop in a new SIM. The five years that I've had it though, have rendered it long obsolete, and I would dearly like to upgrade to a 3G handset that I'd likely be able to keep for another five years.

I've looked at what I want in a phone:

• quad band GSM for maximum portability
• true 3G UMTS/HSPDA capability with fallback to EDGE/GPRS
  
• Bluetooth connectivity
• IR connectivity
  
• good color display
  
• smartphone capability; i.e., email, IM, SMS, etc., and progammabilty
• reasonable camera

I can even tell you which model I think would nicely meet my needs; the HTC MTeoR. Only one problem, it's not offered here yet, and likely not to be for at least six months. It is currently available in Europe. I could order one from the grey-market, but since I do intend to stay with Cingular, would REALLY like to have one subsidized by them (and which could be unlocked later). Six hundred bucks is just a bit much for me though, even to get something this sweet. If you're interested in a full review of the MTeoR, go here. (note that this is not safe for work)

It amazes me that the country that invented the cell phone can't get a decent handset at the cutting edge of the tech, but that's the reality. By the time something comes here, most of the world would think it's already obsolete, and our networks are a joke. Sad. Simply Sad.

Signposts

One of my favorite movies, "It's a Wonderful Life" has George Bailey see what life would be like if he hadn't existed. Who doesn't have those moments when we wonder if we've made the right choices in life, or if we've made a difference anywhere? I know that I've been there from time to time, and Lord knows, life's taken a few swerves that I wouldn't have anticipated. The one thing that I've remained certain of through the years is that I married the right gal.

Thirty years ago today, these two kids of twenty tied the knot at St. Paul's Episcopal in Winona, Minnesota. The Reverend George Goodried was the officiant, and the service came from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. Reverend Goodried had baptized her, and there was no doubt in my mind that the wrath of God would be called down upon my head by him if any harm ever came to her. That was her mother's wedding dress, and while you can't see them, her engagement and wedding rings were my grandmother's. She was breathtakingly gorgeous. We were holding hands throughout the ceremony, and I'll never forget her swinging them back and forth slightly the whole time. The reception was at the church and just a very small affair, but wonderful nonetheless.

Now, three decades and as many kids of our own later, (all of whom are now older than we were when we married) we still feel like the kids we were then, even if we do look a bit older. (and where did all that forehead come from?) We've had our moments from time to time, but we're still holding hands, and Lord willing, we'll never stop. There's no greater joy in my life than making her happy and I've one simple goal, to make it to an even century together. I'm enough of an optimist to think we will.

Mom, George and Nana are only in our thoughts now, but the wedding dress is still with us, as are the rings. Anniversaries are important reminders of where we began, and they always point toward the promise of what's to come. May you be as blessed as we.

Firsts

My first blog post about my first trip to Germany. The wife and I were to have a four day trip to Bonn where our daughter had been teaching on a Fulbright fellowship. It didn't quite work out that way.

We showed up at the airport at o-dark-thirty on the 23rd of June, bags in hand, ready to go. Delta and Continental had other ideas. After playing around with computers since '71, I thought I'd just about seen it all, but the airlines had a new one for me. Somehow my e-ticket number became unlinked from our confirmed reservation. Had it not been o-dark-thirty, I might have had the presence of mind to call the roaming gnome and retrieve the number, but that would come later...much later. (the gnome, by the way, resides on the sub-continent and has some training issues) The poor gal at the Delta counter was on hold with her own help desk for the better part of an hour trying to figure out how to proceed with us. Their answer turned out to be kicking the can down the road by selling us another ticket on the following flight out of town (having missed the one we were ticketed on) in the hopes that we could sort it out later. No problem, Mr. Mastercard fixes all such dilemmas.

No problem. If only. No, the Delta dispatchers arranged to have the flight crew for the aircraft we were to take to Salt Lake City arrive in Pasco too late in the evening the night before to satisfy the FAR requirements for crew rest. There was, of course, no backup crew at the end of the spoke. After delaying the flight past the time we could have made our connections to Bonn, the flight was cancelled and deadheaded empty to SLC. Needless to say, we were not the only unhappy campers that morning.

After returning home, and retrieving the ticket number from the gnome, we returned to the airport, twice, waiting for the line of angry customers to clear so we could fix our issues. The third time was the charm, and armed with the ticket number and the confirmation number, the nice folks (really) at our local Delta counter were able to fix things. Oh, boy, did they fix things.

The next morning we got out of town with no problems at all, made our connections to Newark, and found that we'd been seated in First Class for the long trip across the pond. Believe me, this beats the back of the bus hands down. It almost made the previous day's difficulties worthwhile.


Landing in Bonn early Sunday morning and meeting up with the daughter, we proceeded into Bad Godesburg where she'd been teaching and booked ourselves into the Hotel Kaiserhof. We couldn't have found a more convenient place to stay. Right across the street from the train and subway stations, and only a kilometer from the daughter's digs, it was ideally situated for us, and a nice place to boot.

It's at this point that I should mention that the daughter was not feeling well when we arrived, complaining of a sore throat. I should also mention that since she was returning to the States the same day we were, she was no longer covered by her health insurance. Keep that thought in mind.

Most of my first day was spent crashed recovering from jet lag and the sleep deprivation caused by departing before the sun rose in eastern Washington. The wife and daughter did get out and have a good time together, and they eventually managed to roust me out for a walk down to the Otto Kuhne Schule where she'd been teaching. Nice place. I don't have a picture of it, but I was touched by a small garden memorial to "unser gefallen".


We continued our little excursion down to the Rhine. It may be difficult to see, but yes, that is a castle in the background. I was struck by the overall similarity to our home in southeastern Minnesota. Low hills, about the same size river, lots of water traffic, and of course heat and humidity. It was not the most pleasant of days to be out walking, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.



Monday was our major expedition day. We headed into Cologne on the train to see the sight. The Dom. The reason to see Cologne. Here's a quick photo of the wife and daughter in the plaza between the train station and the cathedral. The folks in red were Swedish football Fans. This was during the octo-finals of the World Cup and the whole country was nuts.

You do not want to know how many steps it takes to get to the top of the Dom's towers. Trust me, it's a lot, particularly since the spiral staircase is narrow, steep, and has two way traffic. It's worth doing. Once.

That was pretty much it for Monday. Tuesday was rainy and we stayed around Bonn. We also made sure the daughter got in to see the doctor, paid of course by the limitless funds of the now First International Bank of Dad. The verdict: tonsillitis. A raging case. The pharmacist was also paid from the same source. Tuesday also saw us making a pilgrimage to the fine folks at the DeutschePost. You see, daughter had accumulated nine months worth of invaluable stuff which had to be either shipped or carried back by Mom and Dad. We had each arrived in Germany with a small carry-on. We each left with an additional bag. The post got the remaining six boxes and more cash from the FIBoD.

By this point in the trip I was very, very happy that Germany has earned a reputation for fine beer. It's amazing how many of life's ills are cured by a good dose of a well-crafted Pilsner.

The trip back was uneventful, although the whole trip was in cattle-class and one loooooong leg was behind a teenager who never did figure out that the lump in his seat-back was my knee. Such is life, I suppose. I'd love to rant on the subject, but it's late and I want to hit the xbox before bed.