please send snacks

i'm pretty sure i said 3 months ago,

that i would update our 16 readers with some of my projects.

i forgot.

got busy.

with projects.

most recently,

sending RBD III some love in the shape of baked goods.

as usual,

i forgot to take photos.

but luckily for you curious readers my recipes all come from the web

so we can all pretend that what i made,

looks exactly as pictured.

week 1:  DIY Oreos

from http://www.annies-eats.net/

(side-note, i am not sure how to credit others photos and ideas etc while blogging, please don't get mad!)

these actually involved a pastry bag!

i know, can you believe it?

they are also OREO cookies...meaning, they need to be paired up.

so when i left the house for 20 minutes and came back to discover

23 cookies instead of the 24 i painstakingly prepared,

i was irritated.

at bml.

sneak.

:)

i rolled them into perfect little circles,

used the pastry bag to squeeze out the perfect amount of filling,

pressed them perfectly together -

and mistake #2...

left them on the table in a ziploc bag while i went to change the laundry.

so i came up to discover perfect p

smashing & slamming my cookies on the floor

desperately trying to open the bag.

i was irritated.

at perfect p.

precious.

hopefully they still tasted the same,

which was delicious,

to our navy friends.

 since it may be a while before one of the other siblings posts

(we are still waiting on bml to join the fun),

i'll leave you with this.

aunt t (ftd) ordered p man breakfast.

he loves her.

p.s.  sprout # 2 aka MLL is due to make her arrival in 19 days!

(and counting...please don't be late)

detour

taking a detour from our

investiture remarks,

and before we start in again on our

never ending travels -

we think you should read this

it will give you chills.

Hail to the Chief Part II

I am fairly certain that

O Captain, my Captain,

told us that the specific words were...

"Hail to the Chief cause he's the chief and he needs hailing..."

and so, to this day, those are the lyrics

I sing when I hear the tune.

Dads are never wrong,

right?

FTD captured the event pretty perfectly,

and the only real thing to add

is my adoration and admiration of

His Honor.

dear ole dad.

sweet little p thinks pretty highly of his Granddad too,

and insisted he be held while the new Judge

was taking his oath.

pretty sure Granddad didn't mind

(translation, loved every second of it, could hardly contain his joy).

p almost stole the show with his antics up front

which consisted of -

running away from his parents (a favorite new activity),

twirling his sweater over his head,

and throwing raisins all over the floor.

all of this was invisible to most of the crowd,

except the judicial bench.

awesome.

they really didn't seem to mind.

p got plenty of compliments,

but the real accolades were saved for RBD Jr.

much deserved, after a long wait.

i've said it before, but it deserves saying again,

we're proud of you dad,

we love you.

congratulations on your new title -

but to us, you'll always be:

dad

mr. skipper

granddad

pop pop

pops

mentor

friend

hero.

i'll leave the rest of you with some quotes that describe

the event, the family, etc.

from UF

"in all kinds of weather we all stick together"

and Psalm 16

 “Lord, you have assigned me my portion
and my cup. You have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen
for me in pleasant places.”

we are blessed indeed.

we missed you RBD III.

stay safe.

Hail to the Chief

Did you know that "Hail to the Chief" actually has lyrics? Two versions are on wikipedia (and therefore, must be truth). The words written by Sir Walter Scott go like this: 

Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances,

Honour'd and blest be the evergreen pine!

Long may the tree in his banner that glances,

Flourish the shelter and grace of our line.

Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,

Gaily to bourgeon and broadly to grow;

While every highland glen,

Sends our shout back agen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! i-e-roe!"

No wonder the words are never sung. So, we didn't elect a new President, but we did participate in a formal ceremony which bestows RBD Jr., the captain of our ship, as "His Honor". To be honest, I wasn't giving the investiture as much respect as it deserved (outside of the total thrill and excitement of RBD Jr. and the family) until I discovered how many people took time to come down to the courthouse and participate. We had district judges, magistrate judges, a judge from Louisiana. There were former law partners of RBD Jr, lawyers from the bar association, practically every person in the neighborhood and half the population of his hometown. It was such an honor to see the love and respect the community has for what he has achieved and their desire to participate in our celebration. 

It's kind of fun to participate in all the pomp and circumstance once in a while. There were moments of sobriety, as we acknowledged the absence of RBD III. Moments of adoration, as speakers praised the intelligence, commitment, and passion of the new judge. Moments of hilarity in old stories and really old pictures. Most of all it was pure celebration of a difficult and long journey.

The Oath

It is not often children get to see the dreams of a parent come true and the magnitude of the day was not lost on us. We're so proud of him. And I'll tell you what, the judge can write a good speech. Any one who needs to bestow kind words upon their family in public should hire him as a speech writer. I think we all held back a few tears. Either that or focused on hilarious little p, who entertained us as always.

Proud of Dad and Pop Pop



Missing RBD III



My initial reaction to the whole thing is pretty much summed up in the following email:
1. I would like to say that I called Dad taking the oath with p on his hip in advance of it actually happening. 

2. I was surprised that p didn't give Judge B a "high-five", though I suspect he would have had he met big P before.

3. LDL, you looked really good in that shirt.

4. RBD Jr, you looked just as good in the judge's robe as you did in the bath robe. 

5. RBD III, we really missed you!!

Hopefully the rest of the blogging posse will share their stories too. It was a great day for family, friends, and parties.

hooray for the 4th of july -

it's hard to know where to begin.

as usual, there really is never a moment

of peace,

among the brothers & sisters.

i blogged about our heavy hearts last time,

so i'll work on keeping it light.

before we said "see you later RBDIII"

some of us celebrated the 4th the way you should,

at a Washington Nationals baseball game.

we met up to say hello to an old friend,

switched our allegiances dating back to a 1991

opening day game at Camden Yards

to the Nats.

we enjoyed the ball game, beer, hot dogs,

and ice cream.  we all know from this post

that p loves ice cream.

as in, i never get to eat any.

and p and uncle RBDIII got some good quality time.

p started out really enjoying his

shoulder ride -

and ended up acting more like a sack of potatoes.

it was fun.  a good 4th of July,

my favorite holiday, except for the whole deployment thing,

that sucks (totally an appropriate word for the occasion).

some other photos from the holiday weekend...

i've also been busy with some projects,

which i will post about that since this one is getting

a little long.

besides, maybe it will give some other contributers

time to contribute.

things i am excited about?

july 15; winnie-the-pooh in theaters.

a beach trip, o-town family celebration,

a little "sprinkle" for sprout # 2 (who has been named!!  initials MLL),

and then waiting...to be a family of four.









five

yesterday, july 4th,

RBDIII left the country again.

this makes five deployments in war time.

how many do you think is

enough?

Stop The Bus

I heard Grace Potter and the Nocturnals on the radio in the car the other day. I never hear them while in the car. Part of this is probably because I don't drive that often anymore. Apparently that's part of the culture out here. Everyone loves their bikes, walking shoes and public transit. Well - that's an exaggeration. I don't know anyone that loves public transit as much as they love the idea of it. I'm one of those. Not driving to work is pretty awesome. Ideally, that's a whole 25 minutes you get to listen to news podcasts (I'm a fan of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me and Science Fridays) or read your new favorite book just plucked from the shelves of the public library. If you're careful, you can even drink your morning coffee on your commute, maybe do some morning meditation to prepare you for the day. Plus, if you're lucky like I am, you live a few blocks from the bus stop. This allows for some blood flow to start moving and gets you exercise in disguise. Ideally, it is 25 minutes of bliss before you put your noise to the grindstone and glue yourself to your non-ergonomic chair.

Ideally. You all caught that right? The adverb means –

1. In accordance with the ideal; perfectly

2. In theory or principle

3. In idea, thought or imagination

I'd like to call your attention to the word "imagination" which, when used as a noun is "the faculty or action of producing ideas, especially mental images of what is not present or has not been experienced".

My bus rides have never co-existed with the ideal. Usually I am squished between two large men and their briefcases or sharing oxygen with someone who hasn't ever seen a toothbrush. Once I was fortunate enough to listen to Justin Beiber for 30 minutes through the incredible decibel levels of a young man 3 rows behind me. the doors have been shut on me as people push for position, fights as to whether or not the line begins at this corner or that one, unsolicited conversation and sometimes an ab and leg workout from having to brace oneself against the various speeds and brake forces needed to combat the hills.

I swear I am going to ride my bike to work from now on. Oh wait. . .

Cyclists have a whole different set of issues to deal with during the morning commute. I can only guess that since most of these folks are smarter and more fit than I am, they've avoided rush hour and/or know routes that do not include the major arterials. Still, they try to turn and a bus runs them over. They stay in the bike lane and a car door opens and slams them to the ground. Cyclists are a different breed. I want to be like them. I want to ride with one pant leg up (just like I learned at Lee Middle) with a fancy messenger bag that lights up even in the day time. I want to wear those fancy clip-in shoes to help with the peddling without falling at a stop sign. Sigh. One day. One day I will be brave. For now I just have this idea that I would end up staring up at the crux of my route, whimpering like a lost puppy in the rain, begging for a time machine.

Pax and I walk a lot. So much so that when I told my trainer (the JCC gives you one free session probably hoping that you'll love it so much you'll sign on for eleven hundred hours of personal training.) that I walk probably4 miles a day he scoffed at me. I don't know if he thought I was over or under selling but I did not appreciate it. Anyway, walking is dangerous too but I got myself a neon windbreaker that is just as functional as it is cute (super functional and cute boys). The neon helps with visibility but it doesn't keep vehicles from creeping on me in the cross walk as if I should be sprinting across. Heaven forbid they have to wait to make their turn. I was walking the street the other day - not jay walking - and had a little white man light telling me that it was safe for me to cross. At the same time, oncoming traffic had a green arrow, signaling it was okay for them to make a left turn. Say What? Some one is going to lose that battle and it's me against 2,000 pounds of steel. I concede and am left in the median crossing my fingers for an especially thoughtful motorist to slow long enough to make like a gazelle.

Commuting. It's dangerous.

Relief

September 11^th, 2001 started as a good day. I was a Midshipman 1/C at Annapolis, and Tuesdays and Thursdays I had the first period-and-a-half free, which meant I could sleep in a little bit. I walked out of my room around 0845 to make my 0900 class and saw a large group of people in the wardroom watching television. Seeing the first tower billowing with smoke, I thought some terrible aviation accident had happened and continued to make my way to Rickover Hall where my Coastal Engineering lab was held. Shortly after my arrival the lounge televisions reported that a second plane had hit the South WTC tower and later that a third had struck the Pentagon. Soon after, all the midshipmen were sent back to Bancroft, non-essential personnel were told to go home, and the Yard was on lock down. There was an initial scare that Annapolis may be a target, possible retaliation for our missile strikes against Al-Qaeda’s training facilities. People traded phone calls with home, and the phone banks were left open for our friends with families in New York and Pennsylvania.

There were two common sentiments coursing through the Brigade - especially the Senior Class of 2002 whose class motto was “In Harm’s Way” – anger and excitement. We were going into the arena.

The excitement did not last long and the anger only grew. We strove valiantly but erred and came short again and again. Friends and classmates died in training, died at sea, died in the desert of Iraq and died in the mountains of Afghanistan. Friends and classmates came home from battle old before their time, physically and mentally scarred to a discourse more about the critic and a population further removed from the pains endured by the doer of deeds. Our faces were marred with dust and sweat and blood.

Those of us who made it back safe time and again and most of those who served in further rear echelon jobs were also worn out, but only worked harder to ensure our friend’s sacrifices were remembered and meant something, if not to the struggle as a whole, at least to us who knew them. Back-to-back-to-back sea duty, hard fill billets, hard ship duties and individual augmentations met mostly by volunteers who felt they needed to contribute more - all in the name of their friends and classmates. Some of us felt personal responsibility to spend ourselves in a worthy cause, that there was to be no quitting, no “easy” job until the wars were over, not while we had friends and classmates still enduring hardship.

May 1^st, 2011 is relief. Relief that it will not be in vain, that justice has been served and that America can still achieve its goals, no matter how sobering they may be. Relief that the end is in sight. Relief that it is not going to be regarded as a loss.

Our Global War on Terror has been wrought with missteps, miscalculations, poor planning, distractions, and missed opportunities. There is no effort without error or shortcoming. I am proud this opportunity was not missed, that nothing distracted our leaders from making the “green light” decision. I’m proud of the intel section, the surveillance, the pilots and crewman and the shooters, those who strive to actually do the deeds. Of course, I am extremely proud that some people I have supported in other missions and from my home service made this a reality and no longer a chase for a ghost – the strong men who did not stumble.

The struggle against extremism is far from over. One only has to read the newspaper to see that other regions are ripe for terrorist exploitation and we must always remain vigilant, hopefully more so than we as a country have been in the past. But just as the leader of Germany’s demise was the beginning of the end of the last global struggle, hopefully the Al Qaeda leader’s death will be a substantial step toward the end of sacrifice for those who know the great enthusiasms and the great devotions - our current military personnel and their families. Here’s to our daring knowing no failure and the future triumph of high achievement.