Back in this post, we celebrated the landing of NASA’s Mars Perseverance Rover launch and landing. NASA created a program by which the names of individuals here on Earth could be etched on a chip and sent to Mars as part of Perseverance. We submitted the names of the folks in the household and now our four names are among 1.2 million of our closest friends’ names on Mars.
NASA is at it again with their Europa Clipper mission scheduled for launch in October, 2024. Since I egregiously failed to include my sons, Jonathon and Andrew Wolfe in the previous mission, I made sure to not just add these fine gentlemen to the list of names destined for Europa, but gave them top billing in the gallery below.
From NASA’s website, “[The Europa Clipper’s] three main science objectives are to understand the nature of the ice shell and the ocean beneath it, along with the moon’s composition and geology. The mission’s detailed exploration of Europa will help scientists better understand the astrobiological potential for habitable worlds beyond our planet.
“NASA’s Europa Clipper spacecraft will perform dozens of close flybys of Jupiter’s moon Europa, gathering detailed measurements to investigate the moon. The spacecraft, in orbit around Jupiter, will make nearly 50 flybys of Europa at closest-approach altitudes as low as 16 miles (25 kilometers) above the surface, soaring over a different location during each flyby to scan nearly the entire moon.
“Europa shows strong evidence for an ocean of liquid water beneath its icy crust. Beyond Earth, Europa is considered one of the most promising places where we might find currently habitable environments in our solar system. Europa Clipper will determine whether there are places below Europa’s surface that could support life.“
It will be an honor to accompany the Europa Clipper to the outer reaches of our Solar System. It will be an even greater honor to be with the family for all time one more time.
Nate is spending a few days here and he likes to cook when he’s here. I try to help out and NOT be the nervous father when he lights multiple gas burners on the stove at once. Dude’s gotta learn, am I right?
Tonight’s recipe was macaroni and habanero cheese. Let that sink in a minute. Not just the plain ol’ Kraft Mac and Cheese. No, sir. Nate decided to go full-tilt with the habanero cheese he got at Giant Eagle last night.
Did it taste good? Yes. Was it hotter than hell? For me, yes. Mind you, I DO eat spicy food with some degree of regularity, but I’ve never crossed that line between the edible and any second-degree-burn-inducing cheese. And yes, I know there are lots of allegedly edible things that are far, far worse. I prefer not to think about. I already have nightmares and I certainly don’t need more.
He made a big bunch of it, too, so there’s leftovers. As George W. Bush would say, “Na Ga Da It!” (“Not gonna do it,” for the uneducated in historical Dana Carvey SNL bits or the extremely young.)
However, it DID remind me of an unfortunate encounter that Nate’s mom, Beth Geyer, had with habanero cheese back in June, 2016. Just thinking about her hilarious essay made me laugh all over again. I’m reprinting it below.
DW
Guest Blog – Evil Twin of theSub Divine -or- Chernobyl on a Bun
by Beth Geyer
Allow me to introduce you to this little asshole. I’d apologize in advance for the language but it’s already too late for that and I refuse to use the backspace.
My family’s pizza shop had this magical oven-toasted sub aptly named the Sub Divine. It was a glorious gold standard for hot subs everywhere. I miss it and every now and then I crave it so much that I replicate it at home. Usually with rousing success. I have, after all, 14 yrs experience making them.
I dropped the ball today, though. As I type this, my nose is still running and I’m positive I’m working through a mild stroke. Bear with me.
I looooooove spicy food. Love it. Always have. But I knew that if I substituted the shredded cheddar for habanero cheese, I better tread lightly. I thought I sliced it up thin enough for both pieces of bread (I had no sub buns) that I could avoid feeling like I was biting on Satan’s hairy undercarriage but failed spectacularly. In the picture you’ll see the delicious sandwich before I wrapped it in foil and baked it. Do not be fooled by it’s innocent look; I still can’t feel the roof of my mouth.
I knew after the first bite that something was wrong. The pain was almost immediate and was soon followed by shaking. I breathed through each bite like I was in labor and powered through half of it with sheer will and the power of prayer. I’d spent too much time creating this masterpiece to give up like a little bitch.
Alas, after half of the sandwich disappeared, so did my will to live. It was me or the sandwich and I chose me.
My tongue isn’t currently working properly and after blowing my nose and washing my face with cold water, I was able to stumble outside for fresh air, mumbling “Nothing about me feels good about any of that”.
This mofo ended up just being a bunch of toppings encased wall-to-wall in pure hatred.
I couldn’t even tell you if it was good or not. I *think* I tasted banana peppers and pepperoni at first but it was short-lived. After that, all I could taste was hell fire and every mistake I’ve ever made in my life.
Probably the worst part of all of this is the fact that I’ll have to relive the pain all over again tomorrow.
Look at that sandwich…..it was a simpler time and I was but a 35 yr old girl full of hope and wonder. Now Satan himself is holding a Fight Club meeting in my stomach and no one is the winner.
The lovely and talented Beth Geyer posted this on Facebook [on June 9, 2016] and it had me laughing. Well done, Beth!
While this has already been posted to Facebook, I am reposting it here so that I can find it once Facebook has relegated it to the distant past.
This is the most remarkable thing.
Some weeks ago, Garrett was going through some Pokemon cards and came across this guy, Cresselia. Cresselia is described as “Those who sleep holding Cresselia’s feather are assured of joyful dreams.” Garrett read me the description and I said “I need one of those ’cause I don’t always have the most pleasant dreams.”
He took note of this.
This evening, he presented me with Cresselia in a protective plastic cover. He adorned Cresselia with graphics front and back. The back reads “You never did anything for me.”
Some background is in order here. When ever I did a favor for the boys, they’d thank me and I’d say “Don’t say I never did nuthin’ for you.” They’d respond in unison “You never did anything for me.” This became a nearly ten-year running gag between me and the boys. Garrett could not have chosen a more perfect phrase to include on the back. When I first read it, it was all I could do not to shed tears. Happy tears, of course.
Garrett gave me an incredibly thoughtful and personal gift with the perfect message. I am incredibly touched by this lovely gift and it’s going to be framed and placed in my bedroom to help keep my dreams pleasant.
I ran across this from nearly ten years ago. Since it’s Father’s Day today, I thought that I’d run this again since I still feel the same way.
Dear Dad,
A month ago today, when last we spoke, we exchanged handshakes and snappy salutes. I noticed again that afternoon, as I always do, your silver U.S. Army Infantry ring, worn and smooth from the decades of wear, never imagining the next time I saw it, it would be surrendering it to accompany you in your urn.
Supporting Mom during those first days after our last salute kept me busy. Just as our family always has, we took care of business first. Mom and I went through your briefcase and pulled out the important legal documents and tried to figure out which bills would be coming due and when. Don’t worry, though – all of us got Mom squared away so that she’d continue to have income without interruption. Really, you saw to all of that through your prior planning and dedication. For me, it was just phone calls to the Army and the Railroad Retirement Board. No sweat. Gotcha covered.
The hardest thing I had to do – ever – was to leave you behind in that beautiful place you chose for you and Mom down in Dayton. I was fine through it all up until I had to leave. I rode out with the family to the entrance, saw them off, and got back in your car (which I’d been using, and yes, I filled up the tank when I was done) and went back up to see you again. I walked up, perfectly composed and stood near the temporary marker. Yeah, it was cliché, but I came to the position of attention and saluted you one more time and started walking back to the car for the two hour trip back home.
Yeah, I lost it then. Pretty badly, too. I sat in the car for a time and struggled with the understanding that I had to leave and the anguish of leaving you behind. But what’s done is done, I suppose. I finally put the car in gear, took one last trip around the grounds and headed home in silence, except for the few phone calls I made to let people know that it was done.
I’m lucky that we got to talk in the hospital, albeit briefly, and even luckier that at various points in my life, I’ve stopped to tell you that you’d raised all three of us right. That I was proud of you. And I admired you. All three of we offspring feel that way, you know. Just sayin’.
You’d be horrified to know that I’ve been posting photos of you throughout your life on the Internet. Yeah, that computer thing you keep hearing about that you wanted no part of. So yeah, you’re getting your dose of the internet now in spite of your revulsion for computers and technology.
I’m doing it anyway because I’m still proud of you.
Even with all the accomplishments I’ve enjoyed, the one thing I will never be is as good of a man – as good of a person as you were. You wrote the book on leading by example, not by intimidation. Cooperation, not confrontation. Thanks. I ‘preciate that. Your sterling example has served me well over the years, even though I know I still fall way short.
I have been telling people for years that when I look in the mirror or hear your words escaping my mouth unexpectedly, that I’m turning into my father.
Just so you know, I’m perfectly OK with that.
Miss you,
Dan
Here’s a quick shout-out to Andy, Jon, Garrett, and Nate – four of the best kids ever. I miss you all, gentlemen.
I posted this in late May on Facebook. I’m reposting it here so that if Facebook loses it I can find it here.
Last monday, I got to spend time with Nate and Garrett after a two-week absence. Knowing that I would be leaving again a few days after, I created a poster for them. When I got to the house in Ohio, I sat everyone down and presented these to the boys to post in their rooms, should they want to.
The text reads:
“Some things that I hope you have learned from our 10 years together.
Allow yourself to take care of yourself. A lot of people don’t. They put everyone else’s needs before their own. It’s okay to put some people before you, but not all of them because then you are left with nothing for yourself. It will save you a lot of grief in the long run. Always take care of yourself.
If you can choose kindness, always choose to be kind. There are few things in a person’s life that are more important than kindness. Sometimes it’s easy to be unkind because we think it will make us feel better. I’m this way sometimes, and I hate it because it never, ever makes me feel better. Not even for a minute. So, if you can choose kindness, always choose to be kind.
Let the people around you know that you care. It doesn’t just have to be the ones that you love most deeply, but anyone for whom you have any affection at all. Make sure you tell them that you enjoy their company, love them, or that you’re proud of them – whatever is appropriate for your feelings about that relationship. People make assumptions about your feelings, and they shouldn’t. Let the people around you know that you care.
Always set the example. People learn a little bit about you from the words that you say. They learn much more about you from the actions that you take. In fact, I’m sure you know the old saying that “actions speak louder than words.” That’s absolutely true. Kids will watch you and learn from you. Your friends will watch you and learn from you. Make sure you give them an example worth following. Because the truth is, actions are really the only thing that matters. Always set the example.
You will succeed at these things because you are, at your very hearts, good people. Like me and like everyone, you’ll fail sometimes, and sometimes quite spectacularly. What counts isn’t the failure, but how you conduct yourself afterward. Don’t let one incident define you. As long as you take care of yourself, choose kindness, let the people around you know that you care, and set the example, there’s not a single situation that you can’t come back from.”
Here’s another in a series of posts I’m going to make when I find some of these treasures. Some will be captioned, others will not. The only criteria for posting in this series is that:
a.) I’m in the photo or…
b.) … I took the photo.
In the summer of 2017, Nate, Garrett and I went on a biking tour of the National Mall in Washington, DC. We stopped at all the sights – and there are many. Here’s some select snapshots from the trip including the Lincoln Memorial, The White House, The Ohio column at the World War II Memorial and the Capitol.
Here’s a video of the ride. It’s 15 minutes long and the battery gave out, but it captures the event.
I was sitting at a soccer game last year and turned my head to see this dog relaxing on the sidelines. Glad I had my good camera with me!
The solar eclipse in August of last year swept across the United States. Prior to this event, no solar eclipse had been visible across the entire contiguous United States since June 8, 1918; not since the February 1979 eclipse had a total eclipse been visible from anywhere in the mainland United States. The path of totality touched 14 states, and the rest of the U.S. had a partial eclipse.*
The boys and I road-tripped to South Carolina to the home of Lisa Shuler, who graciously hosted us for the event. This is an edited version of the photo I took at totality. The only change was to add color to the corona, as that’s what most people expect. However, the actual corona was pure white.
This is an oldie but goodie. I shot this in 2009 at the Dog Paddle in our community pool. At the end of summer upon the closure of the pool to humans, the pool is open for one day for dogs to come splash around and enjoy the water. These two were observing the action from a comfortable distance.
* Most of this paragraph was excerpted from the Wikipedia Page.
Here’s another in a series of posts I’m going to make when I find some of these treasures. Some will be captioned, others will not. The only criteria for posting in this series is that:
a.) I’m in the photo or…
b.) … I took the photo.
#alternativefacts: I am neither in nor did I take any of these. Unless that’s not true. Then maybe I did. Or not. Click on any photo to enlarge in a new window.
This has been posted on Facebook before but I was surprised to learn that I’d not put it anywhere on this site. This is my Dad in 1949 right about the time he started working for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad in our hometown.
F-Tower was the railroading equivalent of an air traffic control center. Dad routed trains through a complex network of five different railroads traversing Fostoria. This was his professional home for 30-plus years, not counting his multiple times on active duty in the Army. He retired from the B&O on December 16, 1980.
I have no idea how to credit this, but it looks like a publicity shot perhaps for the new electronic traffic control system at F-Tower.
Last post, I showed you photos of the pups that have blessed me with their presence over the years. This one is also Addie, the Wire Fox Terrier, with my Mom in 1952 in Germany before he, Mom and Dad returned from duty in Europe.
My guess is that Dad took this one.
I miss the days when you got photo prints with the month and year on it. Makes it easy to identify.
This was taken at the Camillia Apartments in Columbus, GA while Dad was stationed there for the Infantry Officers Advanced Course. We lived there for a number of months, but as I was just three at the time, I have virtually no memory of being there. That’s my sister, Bobbi Jo and my Mom in the photo with me. I suspect Dad took this one, too. He was quite the shutterbug.
When I went back to Fort Benning for Airborne School, I had the strangest, spooky feeling when I walked through certain areas of the post, as if I had been there before, but had no real, solid memories. When I went there again with BJ in 2003, I warned her that she’d have the same spooky experience and she didn’t believe me until it happened.
This one was among my Dad’s photo collection so I suspect this is his. It’s a guess, but I’d bet substantially that this is from the old Cleveland Municipal Stadium. A quick photo search on Google seems to indicate that this is the case.
That’s Chief Wahoo up there, by the way, who remains the mascot for the Cleveland team, for better or for worse. This article talks about what happened to this neon Chief Wahoo when the Indians moved to then Jacobs Field.
We told Andy to smile at a family photo and this is what we got. That’ll give you an idea of what Andy’s all about.
This is undoubtedly a day for great celebration.
Today is my son, Andy’s 30th birthday.
Well, technically it’s a celebration of the anniversary of the day of his birth, which was October 26th, 1986. But you know what I mean.
30 years old. Damn, you’re old. You’re over the hill now.
Andy was born at 9:03pm at the long since demolished old U.S. Air Force Regional Hospital at Elmendorf Air Force Base, so the party doesn’t start until 9:03 tonight when it’s officially official. As you may know, Andy still lives in Alaska and really loves it up there. Like anyone’s hometown, it’s home to him and that’s as it should be.
While October 26th is the recorded date of arrival, it was very nearly a week earlier.
About two weeks before Andy made his grand entrance, the whole family got sick with the flu. I mean REALLY sick. Violently so. At two years old, Andy’s older brother Jonathon probably got the worst of it, constantly throwing up, ingesting replacement fluids so that he didn’t get dehydrated, and then barfing it up all over again before he could blink. I remember him crying and crying and crying because he was so ill.
I was equally stricken, and for a week or so, I was in the same boat as poor little Jon was, but I swore a lot more.
Their Mom, Deborah, was also horribly sick. Same symptoms, same threat of dehydration, and even more swearing, except that she was probably the sickest of the three of us because she was puking for two.
Taking care of Jon was hard enough when he alone was sick, but when Deb, Jon and I all got sick at the same time, there was hardly any energy to do much beyond the basics for any of us. We were expending all our energy just being sick. It was a miserable ten days or so for the three of us.
The Sunday before the Sunday Andy was born, I came downstairs after finally getting Jon to sleep. I discovered Deborah sitting motionless on the couch in the living room of our quarters on 520-B 7th Street at Fort Richardson, dazed with what the Army calls “the thousand yard stare.” Actually it was closer to two thousand. Just looking at her, you could tell that the lights were on, but nobody was home.
“Deb?” I asked tentatively. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” She replied weakly, speech slurred, “but I think I’m starting to have contractions.”
“Are you sure?” I asked stupidly full well knowing that she knew what contractions were better than I did.
She rolled her eyes and looked at me with an unusually weak look of disdain. “Let’s just sit here for a couple of minutes and see,” she added weakly and went back to being really out of it. Her demeanor was so weak that it genuinely scared me but she was the boss so we waited a little while. When her condition didn’t improve and the contractions increased, she said that we’d better go to the hospital. So we packed her up and got her off to the emergency room at Elmendorf.
She was immediately brought in and given IV fluids to counter the dehydration from which she had been suffering. Once she got sufficient fluids in her, the contractions weakened and eventually stopped and after a time, she was released to go home with strict orders to hydrate.
During the next week, the three of us finally got well enough that we were getting back to normal. The next Sunday, on the 26th, Andy arrived. No problems, no complications. Just a happy, healthy small redheaded human.
After all the commotion at the hospital, two-year-old Jon, sufficiently recovered, came over to meet his brother. Deb and I thought ahead and pre-positioned a toy car in the hospital room that Jon could ride around on as a gift from his new brother, hopefully mitigating the attention that Andy was about to get. It worked and they’ve been virtually inseparable ever since.
Jon and Andy, circa 1988.
Some weeks later, Robin Baizel, one of our friends who had appeared in a stage play that Deborah and I worked out in Eagle River, Alaska, came over to meet the new human. When Deb brought Andy downstairs, she started laughing, pointed at him and then at me and said “Oh my god, it’s a clone!” I just remember her laughing so hard that she could barely choke out the words.*
Charlie on C-SPAN.
In 2004, he and his brother came to promote me to colonel at the Pentagon. Attending the ceremony were the two general officers from Army Public Affairs, many of my colleagues and friends, and one Charles Krohn. Charlie was a very accomplished member of the Senior Executive Service and the senior civilian in Army Public Affairs.
After the ceremony, Charlie came up to me and said “I was really impressed with your younger son.”
“Andy?” I said.
“Yeah, the redheaded one” he confirmed. “He’s a pretty heads up kid. He and I talked for quite a while and he was able to hold his own with me. Very impressive!”
That’s Andy. From the time he was little, he was always able to mix it up in whichever group he found himself.
Me, Andy’s Step-mom, Janice, brother Jonathon and the birthday boy at the Pentagon in 2003.
I was proud of him then and I’m proud of him now. He handled himself adeptly during his Mom’s recent illness in South Carolina, spending every day for weeks at the hospital with her, while in his spare time, assisting Deb’s family in the aftermath of Andy’s grandfather’s death just days before.
So that’s the story of how Andy almost arrived a week early. It’s also the story of why I always get my flu shot. (You should, too.)
But the real reason for this post is that Andy, you’re 30 today. It’s one of those milestones that make you think you’re old. And you are. Very, very old now. Ancient. Almost decrepit. Make no mistake about it. On the upside, you’re never REALLY old until you’re as old as me. Or Methuselah. And if you get to be as old as he was, think how much interest will be in your 401k!
Happy birthday, sir! Enjoy this great day!
Love you, dude!
* Quick sidebar — Deborah Ginsburg, Andy’s mom, remembered Robin’s exclamation more accurately than I did and the verbiage contained herein was corrected to so reflect. Thanks, Deb!