My D Day

June 6, 1944 is now being remembered once again.  The citizens of Normandy, France, and dignitaries from around the world will again gather to pay tribute to the many brave men who lost their lives in freeing France from the Nazis.

My father was one of those G Is who waded ashore. His group of men landed behind the first assault wave, and thus escaped the slaughter of the men landing in the first wave.

So, I have a great interest in the D Day landings.This no doubt led me to what later happened.

I was teaching in a small high school where the superintendent of school believed that all a good teacher needed was a piece of chalk. And that is just all I had to teach a class in Military History. It came about this way.  A fellow teacher and football coach, who had once been a 2nd Lt. in the Army, had the bright idea for a class in military history. What he did in his class, I had not a clue. Long story short, he lost football games, and left the school district. That is where I came in. I was told to teach his class. And, remember, I only had a piece of chalk. What was I do do?

I decided that I would have my students thoroughly research the D Day landings, and that we would build a scale model of a section the the landing area.

So it was off to the library every day for some time. Notes were taken. Photographs were Xerox copied. One student managed to find a free 8x10 sheet of plywood.The art department was raided for for paint and brushes. Plaster of Paris came from somewhere. Thin sheets of balsa wood and glue came from a hobby shop. Very small plastic soldiers came from there too.

In time, the English Channel was painted with its dark depths, and the lighter tones as the water became less deep. The water had six foot waves that day, and this was reflected in paint.

Meanwhile some of the other students were building two landing craft, complete with numbers seen in photographs. Other students were working with creating the landscape, and German gun emplacements. The sand beach with all the steel obstacles were built and painted.  Many of the plastic soldiers were painted, some cut off short to make it look like they were wading.  It was very realistic-looking. Our scale was 1/72, and a tenth of a mile of Utah Beach.

When finished it was a masterpiece. Classes from neighboring buildings were brought over to look at it.  One of my student's father worked at Ford.  And so, Ford Motor Company donated glass to cover it. And we were informed that our D Day model would be placed in the lobby of the the high school.

When summer was over, and it was time to return to school, I found our D Day model smashed to bits, in the trash room.

That was the first semester of Military History. For the second semester, I decided that much could be learned from a study of the war crimes trials at Nuremburg. Again, nothing but a bit of chalk. Students researched the crimes of the Nazi men on trial. Then role playing became the order of the day.  Other classes visited us to witness the trials. I now think that maybe the superintendent was right when he said all a teacher needed was a piece of chalk. The following year the subject was not being offered.

          Aloha
          Grant

Memorial Day circa 1946-47

      More Letters From Paradise
            Memorial Day
The following poem was written many years ago, and I always thought that it should be printed somewhere.

            Memorial Day
            ca. 1946-47
Year after year the pattern remained the same.
It never seemed to rain on Memorial Day.
It wouldn't have dared.
Red, white, and blue crepe paper
would be woven in and out between bicycle spokes.
Streamers from handle bars looked nice too.
The few old veterans of Cuba
picked their way up the center of Main Street
surrounded by flags and men who had recently returned from Europe and the Pacific.
There may have been a Civil War veteran or two to lead the parade in a car.
I think so, but I don't remember for sure.
But I do remember that Jake was always there.
Jake said it was awful hot in those blue wool uniforms and that the bacon became rancid in the heat.
He never mentioned if he had killed a Spaniard.
There was a scramble for the hot brass shells
as they were ejected by the firing squad at the cemetery.
Why we wanted them, or what we did with them afterwards, I don't recall.

         Aloha
         Grant

Calendar Painting

      More Letters From Paradise
         Calendar Painting
Last evening while looking at the picture on the calendar hanging in the bathroom, I was reminded of other calendars.

Years ago while the snow had covered the road, and before the coming of the snow plow, I suddenly felt that I needed to go to the grain elevator, and have some corn ground for my chickens.The December day was dark and dreary, as I fought my way through the drifted snow. Upon my arrival in the  office of the grain elevator, I found a group of farmers huddled around the oil stove, warming their hands, and discussing what a difficult time they had in getting there. And on the counter there was a large bottle of whiskey, some paper cups, and  a large pile of rolled up calendars. The calendars were very large with bold printed, black and red numbers. No pictures, just advertisements for farm products. I sipped my whiskey and joined the farmers at the stove.

In December, I am given a calendar from the service station where I always take my car. It is only about four by five inches. No pictures, but only phone numbers, and the promise of good service.

I am very particular about the selection of my  calendar. It must have country scenes, and always a snow picture for December. These calendars are often hard to find, and so must be ordered. I remember reading somewhere that the French painter Paul Gauguin, painting in Tahiti, painted a snow scene as his last picture.

This month I felt that the picture was rather blah, so I covered it with a picture from an earlier calendar. There are several which are hidden behind the current calendar.

I like this painting very much. It shows a young boy with his back to the viewer. He holds a fishing pole in his hands. And he is fishing in a shallow stream. Near him are poplar trees. The artist has done an excellent job. He has pictured it just right. It is as if I had posed for the painting so many years ago. But the artist could not paint the deep silence, nor the smell of the poplar trees. Although I know it was there.

The painting does not tell the whole story. For the boy had left the house with his fishing pole, and had walked the path through the tall grass to the stream. He passed the log shed where Patsy, the cow, had once lived, and down the hill to the log dam. He walked  a bit down the stream and begin to fish, as seen in the painting.  He caught a small trout out of season, and returned with it to the house for admiration.  Next, he cut off the head of the trout, and slit its belly to empty its contents. The fish had pink flesh, because it was a native trout, not a planted one.    The boy then rolled the fish in corn meal, and placed it in a hot cast-iron frying pan. The pan had just fried some bacon. This is exactly how Hemingway  cooked his trout, in one of his short stories. When the trout was cooked, the boy opened the fish, and with his thumb and index finger, pulled away the back bone along with the ribs. He then sat down and enjoyed his fish.

This is the painting on my calendar this month. What picture is on yours?

        Aloha
        Grant

Pullman Car

      More Letters From Paradise
            Pullman car
It was just one of those things that sometimes happens, my mind turned to thoughts of Mexico, and along with it came the memory of an event. And, this event took place so many years ago.

I was traveling by train from a town in southern Mexico, up to Mexico City. And as many tales of that country include a woman, so does this this one.  I was not traveling alone, my companion was a woman. To include a description of her, to and tell how and why we were traveling to Mexico City, would not help you to better understand the event that happened.

Our journey was made comfortable, as we had accommodations in a Pullman car. This was far better than being forced to sleep in seats through the long night. Years ago when people traveled long distances by train, they would, if they could afford it, purchase tickets for a Pullman sleeping car. When the age of air travel arrived, the Pullman cars disappeared. Some were sold to Mexican railroads, like the one that we were riding. Seats in a Pullman car would be converted into beds for the night.

As the day came to an end, my companion and I decided to take a large bottle of white wine and two glasses to the rear of the train, and watch the sunset, while enjoying our wine.

We sipped the crisp-tasting wine, as the railroad ties slid noisily under our feet.
The sunset was swallowed up by the night, and we felt that though there was still some wine left in the bottle, it was time for bed.  I grasped the door handle, tried to turn the knob, and there was no movement, the door was locked. And, to the woman's credit, she did not panic. It looked like were stuck for the night on the platform of the last car on the train.

 By now most all of the passengers in the car were sleeping. There is a particular sound that a train makes, a sort of hypnotizing clickety-clack as the train moves along the track. The sound  of the train and the gentile  swaying of the cars makes it a perfect time for sleeping.

So the problem now was how to alert someone to come to our aid, and open the door. I quickly discard the idea of climbing up onto the top of the car, and then climb down, and open the door. It is often done in movies, but it would not be done by me.      

So I made our escape plan. The train made its usual noises, and what I needed to do was to make some noise that was not a train sound. So I took the wine bottle and began to tap loudly on the window of the door.  I tapped again and again, "Dum diddly dum dum, dum dump."

My efforts were not wasted, as a short stocky built man appeared in his pajamas and undershirt. We were saved.  I kept my foot in the door just in case. As a reward for his kind gesture, we awarded him the last of the wine, and gave him the honor of throwing the empty bottle down the tracks. Then we all retired to our beds.

The following morning at breakfast, there were whispers from behind many a menu, as the story was told about the gringo and his woman being locked out on the rear of the train.

If you ever have the chance to share a glass with a companion on the rear of a train, make sure first that the door opens from the outside.
            Adios
            Grant

Something Smells

A Progress Report on MaiTai aka Mr. Fuzzy

Mai Tai just returned from his first walk after having had surgery.  Very rapid recovery.   No complications.  Upon his return home, he ate like a horse.  On our walk he inspected many palm trees to see if any other dogs had left him a message.  Some did.  I had to tug at his leash as he was taking such a long time reading his message.  Maybe it was a short story.  Who knows?  He has learned to avoid stepping on monkey pods scattered all over some of the sidewalks.  They are sticky and of no use, as far as I know.  Tonto's uncle, Pat, who was born here, said that as a kid they used the sticky pods to glue tin cans to their feet.  He never said how they got the glue off their feet.

It's going to be 88 degrees today and we are without the trade winds.  So our walk was early while it was still cool.

The object of our affection is laying on his belly on the cool tile of the lanai.

Aloha,
Grant

Molasses Cookies

     More Letters From Paradise
        Molasses Cookies
I made a batch of molasses cookies today. You may know the kind I mean; round, flat, with strawberry jam in the center of each cookie. I haven't made them in a long time. As I prepared the dough, I thought of my grandfather. It was he who introduced me to these cookies. He would walk me down to a bakery where I became a true believer. I learned years later that he had lost some bakery stock in the great crash of 1929. That must have explained one reason why we went there so often.

My dough was shaped into a walnut-size ball, then rolled in granulated sugar. Then my finger pushed a hole into each dough boll.   Next,I filled each hole with strawberry preserve. Ten minutes  in the oven, and the deed was done. My grandfather would really have enjoyed these cookies.  Recipe on  request. From here in Honolulu on a bright sunny day...

       Aloha
       Grant  

Progress Report MaiTai

     More Letters From Paradise
      Progress Report Mai Tai*
          aka"Mr. Fuzzy"
We paws for a moment to give you Mai Tai's progress report. There are all kinds of dogs: sled dogs, bird dogs, etc. Our dog is a "Burr Dog," because he always sticks to you.
Today, we bought a package of Nyla Bone Healthy Edibles, DHA Puppy Omega 3, supports brain and eye development, turkey and sweet potato flavor.

What the package doesn't tell you is that it makes one hell ova mess! Orange all over Tai Tai's muzzle and paws. And orange stains on the white carpet. If this stuff supports brain in dogs, maybe the makers of these bones should have some for themselves. Needless  to say we will return the unused portion with our comments.

Mai Tai has attended his first puppy class, and another one is set for this Sunday.

Putting head in shower A (door closed)
Peeing on paper. A
Playing with ball or skunk A
Walking on leash B  (drifts left to right)
Chewing on everything D (Kindle cord $9.88)
Meeting and greeting new dogs B
Nipping C
Loving and being adorable A

     Aloha
     Grant