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Just as the swallows return to the cliffs of California’s Mission San Juan Capistrano on March 19 every year, the Resolutionists flock to our gyms on or about January 2d to shake off a year’s inactivity and “get in shape”. Large gymnasiums offer a peek into a cross section of Americana, and this show around the first of the year never disappoints. If you have never participated in this ritual, consider this writing as a guide as to what to expect.

First, the Resolutionists are fairly easy to spot. Some will have dusted off their 40 year old Converse canvasses while other will have opted for brand new high end Nikes or Hokas. The older folks will suit up with knee high black socks and a few, presumably thrifty, folks will have sorted through their drawers at home for a pair of their High School gym shorts or the well worn, baggy sweat pants that see double duty as lawn cutting attire. A word here. Aging folks begin to sag in places not usually seen in public, so if grandpa suits up in his old gym shorts, his well worn boxers will do little to support his activities, if you get my drift. By the same token, folks who have added serious poundage should avoid Lycra and spandex like the plague. The failure to heed this advice can be quite startling for everyone in the gym, young and old alike.

Resolutionists are social animals. They will congregate in small groups around the less challenging machines, always those you can sit on, and discuss medical issues, doctors and diets. These conflabs can tie up machines for quite a while, thus denying circuit trainers and serious gym rats access. The younger Resolutionists will invariably push, pull or lift far too much weight given their protracted inactivity over the past year, and usually take a day or two off to heal before returning. They are also guilty of moaning, grunting, snorting and clanking weights, presumably to impress their conflab mates awaiting their turn. Newbies will be sporting huge water bottles and sports drinks, although dehydration during their grueling 20 minute workout is usually not an issue. They will also have enormous, new gym bags filled with protein bars of every description. Resolutionists do not go hungry, nor do they present at 0 dark thirty, like the regulars, preferring the magic hours between 9 and 10 AM.

There are a good number of folks who eschew new shoes and gym attire, preferring their street pants, jeans and ordinary shoes. Their husbands or wives kicked them out of the house in response to medical advice telling them to exercise more and/or lose weight. Many were startled into reality by their new clothes from the big and tall shop. The cold image in a full length mirror is also a well known catalyst. They will likely not make the Resolutionist minimum training period of an entire month, instead choosing the obvious, grim, reality as inevitable.

Staring in gyms is considered poor taste, but who can avoid watching a Resolutionist tackle a machine while relying on horrible form and a predictable lack of knowledge as to the benefit of a particular device. They will have their brand new earbuds on, jamming to their favorites while they wail away, oblivious to form and repetition. They have many televisions at their disposal, but these are usually in the aerobic sections, to be avoided at all costs. There are a number of personal trainers in my gym…..but they cost extra, even though they are worth their proverbial weight in gold. Resolutionists also love the walking track, but abuse the privilege by coveying up to share their lives to date, creating navigation issues for the regulars.

The upside to the appearance of the Resolutionists is that a few will break through and actually become active in the gym, replacing the folks who have timed out for various reasons. God bless ‘em as it is never too late to exercise and help modify the dismal image of an over weight, sedentary American population. Our lives have become an existence wrapped in convenience, where you can have nearly every conceivable need met without leaving the confines of your car. The gym is a great place to shake our convenience addiction…..and at least they are making the effort. Welcome, Resolutionists. We look forward to your return every bit as much as the Swallows in California!

Have a great week!

SR

Noise can be a loud, unpleasant, unexpected or undesired aspect of living. The presence of sound through the stethoscope of a physician is an unmistakeable sign of life and the absence of such the unmistakeable sign of death. A beating heart creates sound, not noise. Noise pollution and carelessness have resulted in my personal reliance on cutting edge hearing assistance necessary for normal discourse in life. Read on and I’ll share my limited knowledge of noise, considered the second biggest environmental threat to our health behind the pollution of the air we breathe.

We accept noise as the necessary byproduct of living in an industrial world. We pay little attention to its effects on our lives, failing to note that noise contributes to cardiovascular disease, diabetes and overall mental health. Noise also is the single biggest contributor to hearing loss, something that my experience with artillery, sporting arms, handguns, concerts at our State Fair, traffic on busy highways and power tools has exacerbated significantly. Today, I damn my carelessness and pay the price with a set of the finest, digital hearing aids that exist. In short, I did not respect noise and noise returned the favor by disrespecting me. It is no wonder that in the “golden years” I prefer the solitude of a quiet river or deep lake cove to the hustle of urban life. Sound, from which noise is generated is, as mentioned, an indicator of life. There is a difference between the soft drone of Appalachian instrumental music, the voice of a child or the burbling of a river shoal and a late model Mustang or raucous growl of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. That difference is vitally important, but we don’t seem to care. It is at this point in life that I have developed a deep appreciation for sound and a hatred of noise.

European researchers have discovered that noise contributes to some 48,000 new cases of cardiac disease a year and negatively impacts the sleep of in excess of 6.5 million Europeans. In America, the last meaningful research on our love affair with noise pollution was done in the ‘80’s. We are too busy worrying about global warming, gender confusion and waging war to be concerned with noise and it’s impact.

What are we, as civilized denizens of the world doing about this problem? The late Amar Bose, an electrical engineer and researcher founded a little start up back in 1964 to tackle the practical implications of sound. His company, now owned mostly by MIT is at the fore front of noise cancelling technology and sound management. Bose sales are now in excess of 3.5 billion annually. The signs that we are concerned are everywhere from sound walls on our highway system to the new generation of silencers for personal firearms. The headphones I flew with were “noise cancelling” as are the headphones I wear at the gym each day. I don’t pick up a power tool without reaching for noise mitigation technology. Airplanes are required to rely on noise abatement procedures at major airports in an effort to curtail the damage sound causes. Still we are fascinated by noise. Automobiles and motorcycles rely on noise as a selling feature. We love our fireworks, each shell burst another nail in the coffin of overall health. We attend concerts and are blasted out of our shoes by decibel levels that are as damaging as physical blows to the head.

Here is the take away. Learn to appreciate the occasional sound of silence. Make it a point to understand the difference between sound and noise. Treat your hearing with the same respect you reserve for the things dear to your life. Embrace noise cancelling technology. As much as possible, return to nature where gentle sound is the norm. Accept the realization that noise represents a danger to your well being, whether it be a siren, gunshot, circular saw, or the overpowering roar of a car modified to make more noise.

Sound is a beautiful thing, indicating the presence of life. Noise hastens our demise and leads to everlasting silence, the absence of life. Believe it!

Have a great week!

SR

This week, I dusted off my food critic hat so that I might share another gastronomic find in Missouri’s Ozarks. We love to venture off the beaten path in search of mom and pop places where the recipes are stored in the heads of folks who eschew boxed stuff. You know, food that is processed to the point of adding water and pre-measured spices in the name of consistency and, honestly, mediocrity. Such is not the case at an eatery in St. Robert, Missouri, just outside the main gate to Ft. Leonard Wood. Here is my take on this wonderful eatery where the main ingredient in every recipe is love. The restaurant is named “Honey Chile’ Please”.

Kimsha Rosensteel, also called Ms Honey, flat out knows her way around a kitchen. The food at her restaurant is “southern cuisine”, translated, the food is what graced my grandmother’s table in rural South Carolina when I was growing up. There is no trickery or adulteration of heavily processed stuff out of a box, instead it is comprised of honest meats, breads and side orders that are spiced to perfection and delivered hot and savory. Her cakes and desserts are mouth watering creations, reflecting her top ten finish in a World Cooking Competition where she put her culinary skill on the line. I chose her catfish, collard greens, red beans and rice topped off with her sweet potato cornbread. Ms Honey has a gorgeous smile, evident as she troops the table making sure each patron is satisfied with her offering. Others at our family table enjoyed the unbelievable chicken fried steak and thick pork chops with a variety of sides. You will not leave this table hungry and will be back. This is a no frills eatery, with OSB table tops and sweet tea, just as it was and hopefully still is in the Deep South.

To illustrate the grace of this lady, you may remember a terrible traffic crash back in December that killed her mother in St. Robert. Her family, responding to this tragedy from Texas, was then met by a suspected drunk, wrong way driver in Springfield, on the James River Freeway, that killed 3 more of her folks and injured the other 5 occupants of their SUV. This unspeakable tragedy was assuaged by her trust in the Lord and resulted in a predictable setback in the workings of her restaurant. Beginning in January, call before you come, and be prepared for a varying menu as Ms Honey loves to shake things up in the kitchen. Her Facebook page will keep you clued in as to what’s cookin’ at Honey Chile’ Please. We have added this place to our destination eateries. I think you will, too.

I’ll close with this thought. Fast food today is predictable and with your eyes closed, all taste the same, processed and chemical laden. Not here my good friends, this is the real thing. My grandmother Cooke is smiling from her chair in Heaven……with her wooden spoon in hand and a pot of greens simmering close by. She would have loved Ms Honey as they share a great love for the kitchen and happy diners.

Have a great week!

SR

Yesterday, Sharon and I settled in to watch Grandson Lucas Tyler Mosher graduate from Missouri S&T where he was awarded his Bachelor’s degree in Aerospace Engineering, Summa Cum Laude. His effort to achieve perfection was thwarted by a single “B” in an accumulation of straight “A” marks. The slide from perfection was in a group think project in aircraft design. Forgive me, please, for raw unabashed pride in watching this kid grow from a tyke building sandcastles to a brand new rocket scientist, and freshly commissioned 2d Lieutenant in the US Air Force. Smile with me as we hand the country over to young men like this to protect the America we love.

The events began on Friday night with the Commissioning Ceremony where I was welcomed into a purely Air Force event in order to offer the first salute to the Lieutenant. This old Army Sergeant could still snap off a crisp salute to earn the silver dollar. (It is an old military tradition that is worthy of explanation at a later date.) My readers know that I am an unashamed advocate for all uniformed services, and the Air Force did not disappoint. They signed 3 very capable and competent officers in this ceremony. Very capable……

The graduation was impressive. The flowing robes of academic greatness wrapped around some of the finest minds in America constitutes the faculty at this school. Hard science and mathematics on a level that defy the ordinary person (me) were clearly evident. Missouri has much to be proud of with this University. The folks graduating yesterday are the product of an academic discipline that can not be faked. Education in any form is a beautiful thing, but few disciplines offer the opportunity to challenge new problems and horizons as does engineering in it’s raw form based on physics and absolute mathematical outcomes. These folks are ready for problems we don’t know about yet and breathtaking advancements not unlike the evolution in communication we have seen in the past few years. The building seethed with cerebral energy.

Thanks for indulging my grandfathers pride. The goal of every living being should be to leave the world a better place when their tour on earth is over, rather by accomplishment or lineage or both. My challenge to Lucas was simple. Live your life in such a way that when you are my age, you can sit back with a good bourbon, few regrets and pride in the wake you have left. I also reminded him that even a great University cannot prepare him for dealing with treachery and human frailty. These are lessons learned in the trenches of life…..where he is now entering. Good Luck Lucas and thanks for making us proud. As long as I am alive, I’ll be there for you……bet on it.

Have a great week!

SR

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place”. Nobel Prize winner, George Bernard Shaw

America’s political system began its transformation from English Common Law to the mess we call a Democracy back in the country’s infancy, specifically the years 1692 and 1693. It was during these years that over 200 ordinary folks were accused of witchcraft, a still undefined affliction, that led to the hanging of 20 folks, mostly women, out of 30 people who were “convicted” of witchcraft. Countless lives were ruined by these illogical accusations with a number of additional people languishing in prison where some of them died. These aberrations in human behavior were brought about by the Puritan traditions transported to the new land by early European settlers. Out of these trials and early lunacies arose our government, which is essentially intact today. There are parallels to be drawn by this exercise in establishing and maintaining a government and what we are now living through. Let me explain.

In New England, during the witchcraft era, a couple of school aged girls along with a handful of adults who escaped the hangman’s noose by professing to be witches (confess, and you were spared execution) disrupted the Colonies by accusing folks of witchcraft with no scientific evidence to support their contentions. A trial was held by a self appointed judiciary, various testimonies were solicited and if you were not a particularly popular citizen, you ended up riding up a hill outside of town and were slowly strangled to death at the end of a crude noose. The confusing combination of church and state led to the separation of these entities that exists today in our Democracy. It was an exercise in abject hysteria, where facts and evidence had little if any weight. People were swept up in the lunacy of the day, decisions were made and necks stretched as a result.

Enter today’s political environment. (Disclaimer: I love this country and have devoted a great deal of my life to the maintenance of order and the protection of our population.) The same lunacy of early Salem, Massachusetts is on display today. The political system is rift with a sprinkling of honesty, a smattering of facts, and great illusion designed to maintain a hold on power. In Salem this lunacy resulted in the death of innocent people, whereas in America today, it’s is resulting in a remarkable decline in a country that has no worldly equivalent. The issue is not the politicians, rather the people that set aside common sense and clearly evident circumstance to select our leadership based on party affiliation rather than actual performance. We have a President who insists the economy is good, lies about his involvement with a corrupt son, lines his pockets with foreign money, and opens the border to anyone with even a casual interest in escaping their current, abysmal circumstance to come to America where life is good. He is obviously physically and mentally in decline. In spite of this, folks cling to a misguided sense of party loyalty in the face of overwhelming evidence in favor of change, whether it be Democratic or Republican in nature. In 1692 we strangled folks, in 2023 we are strangling a country.

In what civilization could folks be so entrenched in the hysteria of the day they hung their neighbors? The same question can be asked today, hundreds of years later. What would possess persons of normal intelligence, with a vested interest in America, to join the 30% of the population who believe we are being led by a capable individual whose administration is not plagued by failure at every turn? How can a working American believe the economy is doing great when he or she can barely put food on the table? How can a working American believe the border “is secure” when well over 2.4 million people have walked into America with little or no process?

I don’t have the answer to these vexing questions and neither did the people of Salem when they kicked a ladder out from underneath their fellow citizens when rational thought should find the process abhorrent. In another time, folks who succumbed to the lunacy of Salem, walked up the hill and watched a hanging. Clearer heads prevailed and this stupidity was put to an end. Don’t be an observer as the country swings in the wind, like the folks were in Salem when the rope tightened. Instead, be change agent by entering the voting booth with a clear head.

Have a great week.

SR

This story is about twisted revenge. It involves license offices, which may be disturbing to some people.

I have a history with the inefficiency of license offices, not pretty but colorful. You go there to be disrespected, scorned and challenged by clerks who are apparently recent graduates of a 30 minute training session that earns you a degree in advanced provocation. If I live long enough, I will see a Governor appoint a Director of Revenue not as a political favor but instead to increase efficiency and a sense of public service. Hear me out.

Yesterday, I strolled into a local fee office to renew my Real ID driver’s license. I needed two items that displayed my home address and either the post card from Revenue or my still valid driver’s license. See the irony here? The actual license or the post card is one form of ID and then something else, but you can’t use both. Separately, they are fine, together not so much. I felt the urge for a shot of Irish Whiskey beginning to overtake my sense of fair play. Long story short, I had my registration certificate, and half a dozen other items with my home address, but not the magic document. I left, drove home and cleaned out my files grabbing a handful of documents. I was civil but pointed when exiting the office, and thought I had better try another location. At location #2 I breezed into a room full of people waiting with their number in hand, obtained my number and sat down. I quickly surmised I was number 11 in line for the single clerk working the driver’s license folks. Cue a second shot of Shanky’s Irish Whiskey. The clerk would have rather been in hell than working his/her job ( I’m pretty good at sexing folks, but here had no clue). I talked a bit with a nice couple who seemed to have been waiting for half a day, decided I was not going to wait and stood to leave. A second Gentleman, who had been home twice for documents, was waiting to obtain a title for a truck. The first gentleman stopped me and offered me a ticket that would make me second in line for the clerk. I was puzzled. He told me he always takes two tickets and offers one to pregnant ladies or folks who were exasperated. He had me nailed, as exasperation was written all over my face. (It is why I am not a poker player, my emotion is always on display). I took the damned number, was called up next after them, and made the transaction. The clerk had little interest in my supporting documents and suggested the card and license was really what told the story.

Situational reasoning skill set in. There were countless folks who had been cooling their heels for the better part of an hour, in walks this jean clad old man, barely sits down and is already on his way. As I walked out, I felt the stares, and could hear the murmurs of “how in the hell did he do that” rippling through the crowd. I became a little unhinged when I heard a lady suggest that I must be a local politician. That hurt as I have never been so scorned or accused. Somehow, I ran the gauntlet and made it out alive.

My original number was 403 and providence stepped in and reduced it to 392. After all, I had spent the better part of the day working to renew a license that I went through hell to get in the first place after my birth certificate had been rejected by another office who had never seen one that looked like it (I was born in Japan, US parents, a grave misfortune in the birth certificate world) That fiasco required a call to my Representative, who called the Director of Revenue, who then called the fee office and my license was issued.

License offices are the subject of much ridicule and the basis for thousands of comedic skits every day. I am not proud of jumping the line…..but, in my defense, had no whiskey or a Rx to help me through the experience. My final word…..the detached, bored, irritated, challenging reputation that license offices endure are…….well, deserved in many circumstances. The rules that Revenue promulgate defy logic but they are the only game in town. Finally, the two ticket trick is humorous….and has been welcomed by pregnant ladies and now, an old man tired of bureaucracy. Would you take the ticket……? 😉

Have a great week!

SR

A couple of old men, Taz and SR, manned up to help the Salvation Army on Black Friday this year, only my second experience, ever, venturing out among the hordes of shoppers on this busiest shopping day of the year. We were under the supervision of Sharon who provided her bell ringing expertise and unique ability to relate to the little shoppers as they proudly ante-upped for the benefit of the less fortunate. How was it, you ask?

It was cold, with a sharp north wind to keep folks on the move. Generally, there were slightly fewer contributors, with significantly larger donations this year. We suspect the time of day, 9:00 AM, may have had something to do with the response of folks, who reminded me of the crushing crowds at a State Fair concert many years ago. Folks were on their best behavior and seasons greetings flowed like warm maple syrup. The demographics of our contributors was interesting with folks who appeared to be less economically advantaged again outspending the Lexus crowd significantly. I have never seen such numbers of folks shopping, with the unbelievable crowd augmented by bus load after bus load of Canadians debarking and entering the fray.

Tazzy was again a hit, flirting with the ladies with wild abandon. Note to bachelors who are enjoying little success on the dating scene; get a yellow Lab, put a cute bib on him, and sharpen your date book pencil. Taz is gold. I am guessing the patrons at a huge outdoor sports store would tend to love dogs, never more obvious, as evidenced by Tazzy’s popularity. All the while, Tazzy’s dad developed an even deeper appreciation for the Lycra pant trend this year…….wow.

Mr. Morris was prepared. His store was wonderfully staffed with a number of enticing offers on tables set up in the wider aisles. While there were a good number of people who came for the experience, there were also cartloads of merchandise being expertly wheeled through the store and lot. We also noted that folks with armloads of goods still took the time to visit with the Johnson crew and contribute.

This was our third year behind the bell and, God willing, we will be back at it next year. The generosity of Americans, living through the worst inflationary cycle in decades, is a beautiful thing. We intend to work Black Friday again next year, as the crowds are fun, the atmosphere festive, and the desire to help folks out never more evident. For us, being a bell ringer is not an obligation or chore rather it is a super rewarding experience. The Thanksgiving/ Christmas cycle is off to a great start and Bass Pro is a wonderful venue if you like to people watch and mingle among folks who share your enthusiasm for the great outdoors.

A final note. To those wondering, I have a feeling Mr. Morris covered his expenses yesterday. In fact, I would be willing to guarantee it!

Have a great week!

SR

The end of a remarkable streak of decent fall weather is upon us. The weather prognosticators are saying it is going to be cold and wet next week, which is a little late this year. It is to be expected as is the beginning of the cold and flu season which, according to the experts, is off to a booming start about a month earlier than usual. When you are 30 something, this is hardly newsworthy. When you are 70 something you tend to pay closer attention as these seasonal afflictions can be quite serious. I’m in the latter group and a trip to a local food trough, the Golden Corral, prompted a little research into the business of getting sick. It wasn’t pretty.

Given my extensive medical training (none) and generally fearless attitude (dangerous) I gave thought to just where these pathogens lie in wait. I have concluded that if you are interested in getting a good case of flu or snot slinging episode of the common cold, there are three places where this result can be all but guaranteed. I am likely turning into a germaphobe, but as they say, my work on earth ain’t done yet. I am not about to get into the discussion relative to vaccines, but in this house we religiously take the annual flu shots as well as pneumococcus vaccine. The only comment about Covid I am comfortable making is that it remains America’s 3rd leading cause of death, with old folks leading the charge.

First up on my short list of pathogen palaces are gas pump handles. Everyone touches them and gasoline is not on the list of effective antibiotics, contrary to common misconception. Pump handles are just plain nasty and folks have to buy gas, sick or well. I glove up when pumping gasoline and diesel, more to combat dragging the scent of the stuff into my vehicle than as a antimicrobial tactic. Many times I (and you) have seen folks (men particularly) gag and cough up a wad of God only knows what and spit on what-ever is handy at a pump island. Pumping gas and handling the filthy wooden handles of washer squeegees is a good way to become intimate with the latest flu bug or rhinovirus crawling around.

Next up are shopping cart handles. Another great place to share microbes with your sick neighbor. I suppose I am viewed as a fussy old reprobate when I seize the opportunity to use the ever present antiseptic wipes that give you a fighting chance against the coughing and gagging human Petri dish that just got through wiping his/her secretions on the handle. Remember, sick people have to eat, so they share their misery with the next cart handler out of necessity. A recent study concluded that 70+ percent of cart handles are contaminated with E.Coli, salmonella and campylobacter microbes as well as flu and virus pathogens, de-jour. Closely behind the carts are the touch screens we have been accustomed to at self checkouts. The danger here is apparent. Convenience for you and disease causing microbes.

Finally on my less than inclusive list of pathogen palaces is the neighborhood buffet, particularly the big eateries like the Golden Corral we patronized yesterday. The prices here are such that it is a popular place to showcase our gluttonous inclinations while we share microbes with the hundreds of like minded folks who seek nutrition at a bargain price. When you grab the spoon in the vat of brown beans, you are grabbing the resident microbes of that little old man, who is alternately blowing his nose and wiping his hands on his opposite sleeve. I don’t want to talk about what other places this guy has touched before transferring his collection of antibiotic resistant bugs to that handle where they have been incubating in the warm vapors of the steam table.

By now you get the picture. There are 7 states where the flu is in full bloom, primarily across the southeast, and the real experts are predicting a robust season for funeral directors when this stuff migrates to the rest of the country. In closing I should mention the 6 READILY available antibiotics that stand between you and misery. They are soap and water, bleach, hydrogen peroxide, heat, steam and alcohol. Surprisingly, gargling with hot salt water has shown at least marginal effectiveness against microbes. Be kind, be thoughtful and be defensive when frequenting one of the pathogen palaces mentioned in this article. I love my readers and would hate to see you succumb to a bug that you could have easily defensed against with a little extra effort. To do otherwise is to flirt with misery or, God forbid, the local mortuary staff at the “caring and dignity” shop down the street.

Have a great week!

Veterans Day provides the perfect opportunity to catch you up on the state of affairs in the America that you fought and bled for. Please pass my warmest regards to the other veterans in your company in the Holy Valhalla that you call home. Without yours and the others tremendous sacrifice, I would not be providing this sit-rep.

We are struggling a bit, sir. The Navy, Army and Air Force are falling dramatically short of their recruiting goals with the Marine Corps just meeting theirs, although they are falling short of officers to lead them. I could offer an indictment of the nations youth but that is a small part of the problem. We do not enjoy the service oriented society we once coveted and owned. As you know sir, the service is a little short on instant gratification, thus fails to attract folks who would rather sit back and enjoy a government that is hell bent on providing them with every need up to and including a free education.

I recall your absolute devotion to the rule of law and belief in the chain of command. You trusted your leadership and civilian oversight to provide a clear mission and the ability to carry it out. Given your concerns with the prosecution of your last war, Vietnam, you would be appalled at the feckless state of affairs now, with a commander in chief who utters “don’t” to our enemies and then lets them shell our troops at will with precious little response. Simply put, our military, still the best in the world, enjoys a timid reputation and general lack of respect from our enemies, who are banding together with an eye toward our ultimate destruction. You set the table, Colonel, our government today isn’t filling the plates.

I recall sir, seeing you actually cry when President Kennedy was shot down in Dallas, given his devotion to our military, in particular your old airborne and special ops units. Our President today has little regard for our troops and airmen, evidenced by his utter disregard for them in Afghanistan, and reluctance to engage an enemy that hurls rockets and artillery at our troops in the Middle East.

Israel is under siege. Our streets and campuses are filled with folks who think the Israelis should roll over and not respond to the butchery of a sect of folks bent on their destruction. The superb Israeli Army is on the move with small unit tactics in a hellish environment, seeking out the Hamas subhuman elements and destroying them on sight. This sir was the essence of your very being. Commanders like you, who led from the front and stopped only when the enemy was reduced to a crimson smear on the landscape are at work, but not enjoying the support of an American youth who has absolutely no concept of fighting and dying for their country.

So it is in the early winter of 2023. Your family misses you but you sir, would not enjoy the state of affairs that exists today. My prayer is that you continue to welcome the Americans who have fought, are fighting and will continue to fight for the preservation of a great nation. Rally your heavenly troops Colonel, enjoy a cup of mess hall coffee and rest assured that we still revere our veterans, perhaps more so today than when we faced an earlier segment of society that cursed our return from yours and my last war. Soon enough, I’ll join you in Valhalla, where our concerns will melt as our military brethren remember the good times and great battlefield victories. Good day, Colonel and God Bless.

Have a great week.

SR

This is a time of international melding, a self coined term that describes the shift to technologies that reflect a product or culture that is no longer uniquely American in origin. The world stage dominates the news and, for me, it is time to come home and talk about things that are not adulterated by the international veneer that seems to coat much of our landscape. One such iconic consideration is the Harley Davidson motorcycle, as American as it gets.

There is risk in life. Smart, old folks at some point in life began trading risk for longevity, usually as a result of declining physical and, sometimes, mental capability. For me, the precise date of this recognition occurred on Friday, May 24, 2019, when I handed the keys to a beautiful Harley Davidson Street Glide to it’s new owner in the Steak & Shake parking lot in Lebanon, Missouri. It marked the end of my days of throwing around a behemoth of a motorcycle in parking lots and matching wits with our increasingly careless motoring public. It has occurred to me that I also dispensed with the single most American possession that I owned, a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Harley Davidson’s are manufactured in America, period. They enjoy a unique sound, feel and look that is often challenged but has never been surpassed. They are built by American craftsmen and women in spotless factories in places like Milwaukee, Wi. and York, Pa. I toured the York operation and came away with a feeling of awe. There was pride evident at every station in the production process. One must remember this is a motorcycle design that has been around a long time, dated in some respects but modernized in many others. Harley has seen hard times, but under the leadership of a German born and trained CEO, Jochen Zeitz, has awakened, realizing greater margins and profitability from fewer total sales. A huge challenge is the rising age of riders and difficulty attracting a younger and more diverse genre. Their foray into the electric motorcycle business was a short one, with the Livewire project spun off into a mostly owned subsidiary. It did not take Harley long to realize the shortcomings of battery powered motorcycles, unlike the automobile industry that is losing billions chasing this under ripe, politically driven technology. The challenge that Harley faces is the ability to stay relevant without losing authenticity. That folks, is no small challenge.

One of the endearing aspects of Harley ownership is the infinite customization potential of each machine. Harleys are a canvass, and the pride stricken owner can and often does make the bike totally unique. There isn’t much you can do to a Japanese or German bike, evidenced by their thin catalogs as compared to a Harley where the catalog is, literally, two inches thick. Harley has also embraced the mantra of “United we ride and not divided we ride”, their challenge to the social polarization we are currently being swallowed by.

My closing summation here is this. Harley Davidson motorcycles are generally big, loud and meticulously built by craftsman who are now part owners of the company. They are not adulterated by foreign (major) components, built entirely in America and reek of leather, steel, oil and gas. They announce their presence with a patented sound and hormone driven panache’ that has not been emulated. When you walk that fine line between risk and the reward of the open road on two wheels, they are indeed a uniquely American way to do it. I was a part of this culture at one time, and am better for the experience. Long live Harley Davidson.

Have a great week!

SR