Tag Archives: travel

Milkshakes & Memory

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It had been ages since my wife and I indulged in a milkshake, a simple pleasure we’d long forgotten. After running an errand at the local pharmacy, we spontaneously decided to stop by McDonald’s. The moment the creamy, cold beverage touched our lips, nostalgia washed over us. The familiar, sweet taste transported us back to carefree moments of our past. My wife, savoring every last drop, continued to draw from her straw long after the liquid had disappeared, her contentment evident in her lingering smile.

During my freshman year of high school, I often relied on milkshakes as a quick meal replacement. These creamy beverages provided a satisfying blend of calories and temporary fullness, perfectly suited to my slender teenage metabolism. At a lean 130 pounds, I could indulge in multiple milkshakes without concern for immediate dietary consequences.

During my time in Da Nang, an unexpected craving haunted me: milkshakes. The mess hall had spoiled us with exceptional cuisine—diverse, well-prepared meals that defied the challenging circumstances. Yet, amid the culinary abundance, milkshakes remained conspicuously absent from the menu, leaving a sweet void in my dining experience.

During my R&R in Sydney, I embarked on a personal mission to savor a milkshake each day of my six-day stay. However, my culinary expectations quickly deflated when I discovered the local interpretation of a milkshake dramatically differed from my own. The beverages served were more foam than substance, with an airy composition that seemed to be at least 70% empty space, leaving me utterly underwhelmed and craving the rich, substantial milkshakes I knew from home.

Upon my return to the United States, two vivid memories stand out: savoring a creamy milkshake and enjoying a slice of pizza, though not in a single sitting. Curiously, the details of my actual arrival remain a blur. I can distinctly recall boarding the initial flight, spending a memorable week exploring Okinawa, and then embarking on the return journey. Yet, the specifics of landing on American soil—including the location—have completely escaped my recollection. The peculiarity of forgetting such a significant moment puzzles me, leaving me to wonder how one can simply lose track of such a pivotal experience.

So many little things I remember as if it were yesterday. My return from Vietnam is completely blurry. I sit here pondering, just how can this be?

EV Update

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As an electric vehicle enthusiast, I’ve been sharing my journey with my Nissan EV since its purchase two years ago, offering insights and real-world experiences to help potential buyers make informed decisions about sustainable transportation.

For electric vehicle enthusiasts considering a purchase, my experience offers valuable insights. The car delivers impressive performance, though its practicality depends on individual driving habits. As a retiree with limited daily mileage, I find the 200-mile range sufficient for local trips. However, potential buyers should carefully evaluate their driving needs. Extended daily commutes or frequent long-distance travel might challenge the vehicle’s battery capacity, especially when climate control systems are in use. Extreme temperatures can notably impact range, so it’s crucial to factor in heating and cooling requirements when assessing the car’s suitability for your lifestyle.

Electric vehicle efficiency varies significantly with temperature. In mild conditions, my car achieves an impressive five miles per kilowatt-hour. However, during a recent cold snap of twenty degrees, the range dropped to just 1.5 miles per kilowatt-hour. Short trips compound this challenge, as the cabin heating system consumes energy before reaching the destination. Personal comfort settings play a crucial role in energy consumption. While I maintain a cozy 75-degree interior, those who can tolerate lower temperatures around 68 degrees will experience improved overall efficiency.

Unexpectedly encountering a nail in my tire revealed a critical flaw in my vehicle’s emergency preparedness. The absence of a spare tire, even a compact temporary one, coupled with the lack of a jack, left me stranded and vulnerable. This realization has prompted me to proactively address these shortcomings before another roadside mishap occurs, ensuring I’m better equipped to handle potential tire emergencies.

The vehicle comes standard with an air pump and liquid sealant, featuring a surprisingly efficient compressor that can rapidly inflate a tire from 37 to 42 psi in just 2-3 minutes. However, a notable drawback is the requirement to have the car running to power the cigarette lighter outlet. During a recent cold spell, I needed to adjust the pressure in all four tires, which unexpectedly drained a significant amount of battery power. The process seemed unnecessarily energy-intensive, potentially consuming double the electricity required. As a result, I plan to purchase a standalone electric pump that can be plugged directly into a wall outlet for more convenient and efficient tire maintenance.

A compromised bead seal renders sealant application futile and prevents the small pump from effectively addressing the problem. I’m seeking recommendations on acquiring a compact spare.

Something a Little Different, Please?

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As the evening radio crackled with another traffic report, I caught the familiar refrain of a roadway collision: “Accident on Goodman Road and Interstate-55.” The precise location blurred in my mind—was it at the intersection or along the highway? Such announcements have become so routine that they barely register as noteworthy anymore, a sobering reflection on road safety and daily commuter risks.

I rarely comment on local issues, but the situation at this interchange has become unbearable. The frequency of daily accidents is alarming, with collisions occurring with such regularity that it seems this might be the most dangerous intersection in Mississippi. The consistent pattern of crashes demands immediate attention and intervention from local transportation authorities.

At Interstate 55’s junction near Goodman Road, the highway configuration is notable. Southbound traffic flows through three lanes, with three lanes concluding at or adjacent to the Goodman Road overpass. The northbound direction features six expansive lanes, providing substantial capacity for travelers moving in that direction.

The Goodman Road bridge spans seven lanes, with one dedicated to eastbound left-turning vehicles, somewhat facilitating smooth traffic flow and efficient transportation. Much of the traffic turns north towards the hospital or the Lowes store. To help, the one lane splits into two.

The intersection’s complexity stems from its proximity to multiple major destinations. Surrounding the junction are two shopping centers to the north and another sizeable retail complex to the southeast, with a large hospital positioned to the northeast. These locations generate significant traffic congestion. Drivers navigate multiple turning patterns: some aim to head south on Highway 55, others seek to access Walmart via Goodman Road eastbound. Conversely, northbound travelers on 55 may need to transition to Goodman Road’s eastern route, while those bound for the hospital must strategically cross multiple lanes to make a timely left turn.

The interchange’s intricate design forces drivers to navigate multiple lane crossings, often catching unfamiliar motorists off guard. Many travelers may not anticipate the complexity of the roadway ahead, potentially leading to confusion and increased risk of traffic disruptions.

The complexity of daily travel is heightened by the necessity of crossing the interstate, a challenge that impacts numerous motorists. My personal experience illustrates this inconvenience: my medical provider is located on the opposite side of the highway, and nearly every destination requires navigating this infrastructural barrier. I am sure I am far from the only one with this problem.

The daily commute transforms into a nightmare as rush hour descends. What begins as a manageable journey quickly deteriorates into a traffic standstill. By late afternoon, Interstate 55’s three southbound exit lanes funneling onto Goodman Road become a sea of motionless vehicles. Most evenings, the interchange resembles a parking lot, trapping drivers in an endless, frustrating gridlock. Vehicles on the bridge remain stranded, unable to exit due to massive backups extending in both directions. By 5 PM, the southbound exit lanes stretch into a serpentine line of brake lights, extending one to two miles, testing even the most patient drivers’ resolve.

A persistent issue has been unfolding before my eyes, and I find myself questioning whether others recognize its significance. The extent of apparent indifference is startling, leading me to suspect this neglect might be deliberate. As the familiar saying goes, “out of sight, out of mind” seems to be the prevailing attitude. Despite the problem’s escalating nature, there appears to be a troubling absence of proposed solutions or meaningful discourse addressing its underlying complexities.

My words might seem futile, but if shared, they could gradually propel our solution forward, much like the slow crawl of rush-hour traffic inching toward its destination.

I Thought It Was a Little Mistake

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I forgot to tell the doctor that my wife was low on two of her medications. No big deal. We went back today, and he wrote the prescriptions for them. We then headed to Walgreens. As I was entering the store, I saw a well-displayed sign: their pharmacy was closed.

There ought to be a linguistic term for this peculiar incongruity—something akin to an oxymoron, but manifested through actions rather than language. Consider the irony: a pharmacy store chain store without a pharmacy seems as absurd as a McDonald’s with no burger inventory. The dissonance is palpable, a logical disconnect between expectation and reality.

I glanced down at my watch, a sudden urgency washing over me. While numerous Walgreens dotted the local landscape, only one remained open around the clock. Given her critical medication shortage, I knew I couldn’t risk waiting. The catch? This particular pharmacy was located in Memphis—a city I habitually steered clear of—yet tonight, it seemed to be our sole lifeline.

We embarked on our journey, my apprehension stemming not just from navigating Whitehaven, the Memphis neighborhood notorious for its frequent media appearances, but also from the anticipation of a prolonged wait at the sole open pharmacy—a scenario all too familiar from past experiences.

Navigating the congested highway, I felt the weight of my earlier error intensifying with each passing moment. The surrounding vehicles seemed poised to exploit my vulnerability, their drivers laser-focused on potential opportunities to alter my trajectory. In this unforgiving urban landscape, lane discipline had become a forgotten art, with each motorist operating as if turn signals and careful observation were mere suggestions rather than essential safety protocols.

My trip to the store was uneventful, a fact for which I am grateful. The wait time passed quickly, and during our browsing, one detail stood out dramatically: the heightened security measures. Compared to my usual Walgreens, this store seemed to take precautions more seriously, with numerous items securely locked away. Despite being less than 10 miles from the store I usually visit and crossing a state line, the difference in security protocols were striking, suggesting they might experience more significant theft challenges than my familiar shopping environment.

On the positive side, the folks at the store seemed friendlier and more professional than where I usually visit. Didn’t expect that.

Gambling & Way Back When

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I can’t remember precisely. I can only approximate it as it occurred near the time Bill Clinton began his campaign for president, in the early 1990s, perhaps a year or two earlier. Suddenly, a number of people decided we, here in DeSoto County, needed to have a casino or three.

The media’s sudden shift was unmistakable. News broadcasts and radio programs flooded the airwaves with glowing narratives about the potential casino development. Their enthusiastic messaging painted a picture of transformative benefits, promising enhanced educational infrastructure, improved roadways, and a tourism renaissance. While the specific architects behind this narrative remained unclear, the coordinated messaging was impossible to ignore.

In general, I could tell that those behind it all were from north of the state line. It immediately brought to question to me, why don’t they stop trying to run our county? What business is it of theirs whether we have or don’t have casinos.

A grassroots resistance swiftly emerged, primarily mobilized through religious institutions. While avoiding direct electoral guidance, these groups plainly conveyed the potential consequences of their ideological stance.

In the contentious debate over casino development, local churches warned that out-of-state businesses would exploit local economic potential, siphoning profits away from the economy. Casino proponents initially promised local investment and economic revitalization. However, the churches’ predictions proved prophetic. Tunica County permitted it and today, every casino in the county is owned by eway outside corporate interests, rendering the original assurances hollow and leaving the local economy largely unbenefited by the gambling industry’s presence.

In a resounding display of community resolve, Desoto County residents decisively rejected the proposed initiative, voting against it down twice with overwhelming majorities. Faced with such resounding opposition, the proponents ultimately redirected their efforts south to Tunica.

Over the years, the expansive business venture appeared to flourish, with grand casinos emerging and thriving, until recent challenges began to surface and test their previous success.

The other day, I heard that one of the casinos is closing its doors and the rest are having problems. There are not nearly the TV ads from Tunica casinos. My best guess is that the gambling crowd has decided to go to the casino in West Memphis, Arkansas, which is closer. If the pattern continues, the city of Tunica will be smaller than when it first started.

There is one advantage for me and the folks here in DeSoto County. We don’t have to put up with Memphis drivers as much. They’ll be crossing the bridges across the Mississippi instead.

Encouraging Waste

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If I want a large drink, why am I encouraged to order over twice the fries I want? Then, of course, I toss half the fries.

It is a mindset that is difficult, nearly impossible to overcome. I have tried many ways. I order them separately, with a small fry and large drink, and the response is, “Would you like the meal…?” I have even tried to tell them to charge me for the large combo and give me the small fries. Some agree and give me the huge fries instead. Then of course, half of them end up in the trash. I must admit, they are determined.

Tonight, I decided on a new strategy. I ordered one large meal, one sandwich, and a large drink. My logic was to share my fries with my wife. There would still be more than enough.

Not just once, not just twice, but the employee suggested the meal three times seemed indignant that I would actually want my food my way.

Communication often proves challenging, especially when nuanced preferences seem to conflict with standard procedures. Despite my repeated attempts to clarify my specific order—emphasizing that I want a large drink but not large fries—I encounter consistent misunderstandings. The service staff appears bewildered by my non-standard request, wearing expressions of confusion and handling my order with apparent reluctance. It feels as though my deviation from expected patterns disrupts their typical workflow, making what should be a simple transaction unexpectedly complicated.

From now on, I’ll confidently state my order with clarity and conviction. “I want large drinks and regular fries. This is straightforward, and I expect to be understood immediately.” If asked to repeat myself, I’ll simply walk away.

Will the US Ever Become CA?

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At first glance, this scenario appears improbable, even unthinkable. Yet, a careful examination of California’s historical trajectory over the past several decades reveals an underlying inevitability that cannot be easily dismissed.

In my early childhood, my family relocated to California, initially settling near San Jose before moving to Garden Grove, a modest city south of Los Angeles. At that time, the population was barely fifty thousand, and Garden Grove High School stood alone as the sole secondary educational institution. As I approached my high school years, the city’s growth became evident, with four high schools emerging. Today, Garden Grove has expanded to a vibrant community of 172 thousand residents, reflecting the dynamic transformation of this Southern California suburb.

During my teenage years, a popular sentiment circulated: families would visit California for a vacation and ultimately choose to make it their permanent home. This notion wasn’t merely a baseless rumor; I personally witnessed numerous acquaintances who, after experiencing the state’s allure, decided to relocate and embrace the California lifestyle.

Its reputation speaks volumes, rendering further explanation unnecessary. A brief encounter would swiftly illuminate the circumstances, and I’ve already delved into the underlying details previously.

However, lately, people have started going the other way, rapidly, to the point they lost a U.S. representative. There was no way I could have imagined that just 5 years ago. I should have. I left the Golden State over 40 years ago. Although there is much I miss there, I have never regretted leaving the crowds and later, the political climate.

As I consider all I’ve observed, I am starting to see many parallels between CA and the US. Right now people come here and then stay. If not for immigration laws, there would be far more here. And eventually, it too would become crowded. It would lose many of those things that draw people here. Conceivably, all those who decided stay, might decide to leave as have those from California.

I mean, who wants to live in a country that is run by tyrants who call themselves communist? I don’t think I will live to see it. However, I am beginning to think my sons will. I’m beginning to think my generation will be the first generation to leave a worse country than we received. And, by the way, a worse and more dangerous world.

The Theory of Rain

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During my military service, I was assigned to Naval Air Station Memphis, located in Millington, Tennessee, a suburb north of Memphis. The region was notorious for its generally predictable weather patterns, particularly its tendency to rain at the most inconvenient times. My fellow service members and I frequently discussed the frustrating meteorological phenomenon where clear, sunny skies would suddenly give way to intermittent rainfall starting Friday afternoon and persisting through the weekend.

As a sergeant, my crisp class C dress uniform demanded immaculate presentation. That day, which had begun with brilliant sunshine, transformed into heavy rain just prior to time to secure. Approaching the exit, I paused, studying the rain through the window with a mixture of resignation and frustration. Experience had taught me the harsh reality of local weather patterns – this downpour would persist with stubborn determination.until I was in my car.

An attractive lance corporal approached from behind, her footsteps light and purposeful. She halted, a wry smile playing across her lips. “Don’t worry, sergeant,” she quipped, her tone laced with playful reassurance, “you aren’t made of sugar and you won’t melt.”

I gazed back at her, taken aback by her unexpected comment. With a hint of irritation, I responded, “My priority isn’t personal comfort. I’m focused on preserving the integrity of my uniform.”

The rain cascaded around her as she burst into laughter, stepping into the downpour with carefree abandon. Her practical work attire, unlike the dress uniforms, meant she cared little about the water’s impact on her clothing. An instant later, I abandoned the shelter of the building, stepping into the deluge. Within seconds, my clothes were drenched, clinging to my skin. Predictably, the rain ceased its assault the moment I settled into my car.

Actually, rain almost anywhere does seem to arrive at some of the most inconvenient times. This particular uniform was hardly the only one that was soaked, just maybe the more frustrating.

Nonetheless, over the years, I did come up with a theory about rain—one that held true even during the hard rains in Vietnam. You can only get so wet. After that, the excess simply falls off. As uncomfortable as it may be, it cannot cause real harm.

While I appreciate staying dry, I’m not alone in my sentiment. Recently, I learned the Marines have updated their regulations, now permitting personnel to carry umbrellas while in uniform. Such a practical change would have been welcome decades earlier, offering us marines much-needed protection from the elements during outdoor duties.

Did it Ever

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During my time repairing computers, chance put me in the city of Detroit, about 1980 plus or minus. I suspect the city is not what it was then. The Dems have driven a lot of jobs out of the city since then. It is the sort of thing they like to do.

Anyway, I had never been to Canada and decided to go across the river just to be able to say I had been there. I entered Canada via the Ambassador Bridge and returned through a tunnel.

For the short time I was there, I parked in a lot under the bridge and looked back at Detroit. As I did, I received quite an education. I met a Canadian who filled me in on some history my teachers never told me.

The Canadian city of Windsor stood as a pristine Canadian gem, worlds apart from its neighboring Detroit. The city exuded an almost cinematic charm, with immaculate homes and meticulously maintained streets that seemed too perfect to be real. Unlike the gritty urban landscape across the border, this tranquil locale appeared carefully curated, as if designed by a meticulous set director rather than emerging organically from urban development.

The Detroit River, a remarkable waterway spanning approximately 30 miles, connects Lake St. Clair to Lake Erie. This international boundary between the United States and Canada is surprisingly compact, narrowing to just over a quarter-mile at its most constricted point. During the harsh winter months, the river’s surface transforms into a solid sheet of ice, creating a stunning and dramatic landscape that showcases the region’s extreme seasonal changes..

While this topic might seem mundane at first glance, history enthusiasts may find the upcoming details surprisingly compelling and engaging.

During the Prohibition era, both Canada and the United States banned the consumption of alcoholic beverages. However, Canada distinguished itself by allowing the production and sale of alcohol, creating a lucrative opportunity for cross-border trade. The strategic decision was likely motivated by economic potential and the desire to capitalize on the United States’ restrictive policies.

Ambitious Canadian winemakers faced a significant challenge: transporting their carefully crafted wines across the international border, with the imposing river presenting a formidable logistical obstacle to their cross-border business aspirations.

How-some-ever, given the profit and given the lack of morality, they would and did find a way. During the warm weather, all it took was row boat, a pair of oars and the courage to run the gauntlet of the law at night. During the winter, it was easier. They put treads on pickups and just simply drove across the ice, lights off.

Now, everyone knows that if guns were made illegal in both Canada and the US, guns would go away—until making them became legal in Canada again.

Do you suppose someone, anyone might want to make them and sell them to American criminals? Then, of course, only the police and criminals would be armed.

That is… until the Dems decide to take the guns from the police, too.

Improbable, you say. May I remind you, they once wanted to do away with the police?

As for me, if this were to happen, I just might decide to go to Detroit and invest in a rowboat. I suspect I would have some company. There just might be a few gun shops set up business close the the worlds shortest river.

and not so much as one of the guns would be serialized.

So Why Did I Settle in the Mid-South?

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Rarely do my readers contemplate this nuanced inquiry. The essence of the matter lies in the delicate interplay of timing, misguided decisions, and a subtle lack of understanding.

During my military deployment in Japan, tragedy struck when I learned of my brother’s sudden death. Typically, such news guarantees emergency leave, but I faced several unexpected challenges. A significant strike had shut down the gates at Kadena Air Force Base, creating logistical hurdles for arranging transportation. Resolute in my commitment to my family, I was adamant getting their own flight.

While the Marines covered my ticket to San Francisco, I had to pay my way from San Francisco, CA to Fort Smith. I was also responsible for all my family’s transportation costs, which significantly depleted our savings. Reflecting on the situation, remaining in Japan for the duration of my service would have been financially prudent. Completing my term there would have resulted in discharge at MCAS El Toro, near Disneyland, and presented numerous advantages. Had I followed this path, I would have saved considerable money, returned to familiar territory, been surrounded by family, and quickly secured an electronics job, leveraging my years of experience in the field.

Once in Fort Smith, I applied and received permission to get out about a month and a half early, rather than have them send me back to Japan or elsewhere. I went to Memphis, where I had been stationed for a few months of training. It wasn’t my home stomping grounds, but it was the next best thing. There, after a short time, I received my discharge.

At that time, in the mid-1970s, Memphis thrived under Republican leadership, boasting a vibrant urban landscape and a robust technological sector. Four prominent computer companies maintained substantial offices in the city, creating a dynamic professional environment. During my job search, a pivotal moment in pop culture history unfolded—the unexpected passing of Elvis Presley. I collected several newspapers documenting the momentous event, a potential treasure trove of memorabilia that, if preserved, might have yielded significant financial value today.

After joining the company, a disturbing incident occurred when someone threatened my son with a knife on the school bus. Concerned for our family’s safety, we quickly decided to purchase a home in Desoto County. However, we soon realized we should have chosen a location even further from the urban center. The neighborhood’s character seemed to be rapidly changing, mirroring the challenges of nearby Memphis. Our sense of security was further shaken when an intruder broke into our home while we were present, brandishing a .45 caliber weapon – a scenario unimaginable just decades earlier.

Relocating to the pollen capital of the United States proved to be a significant misstep, given my severe allergies. Prior to Dr. WW Taylor’s comprehensive patch test, I was unaware of the extent of my allergic reactions. During the twenty-minute examination, I rapidly failed the test, prompting the doctor to remark that he had never encountered such an extreme case of allergies in his extensive medical career. My ignorance of my own health condition led me to make this ill-advised move, which would ultimately have substantial consequences for my well-being.

Hours after the medical examination, a chilling realization struck me: had the Marine Corps known the full extent of my severe allergies, my entire life trajectory would have dramatically shifted. I would have been disqualified from service, sparing me from deployment to Vietnam. Instead, I might have remained in California, living a completely different existence. Such thoughts of alternate destinies can consume one’s mind, spinning elaborate scenarios of what might have been.

Aren’t you relieved that some mysteries remain unspoken?