* With Kids **and the Flagrant Improper Use of Apostrophes
Las Vegas has quite a reputation, one that varies as much as the individuals who add to it with their own impressions of what may or may not have happened in the original Sin City. Those who do visit will neither confirm nor deny what happens there because that goes against the city’s (relatively) recently established mores. Since its inception, Las Vegas has been made no less notorious because most of its morphing reputation, however outlandishly you define it, is at least partially true.
Permit me a little history of The Meadows… Once Salt Lake City and Los Angeles were connected by railroad, Las Vegas evolved from a respectable watering hole into a solid Mormon farming community before it took a moral nosedive. Advertising to all the puddlers, muckers, and nippers building Hoover the Dam, the city’s local business owners partnered with a few Mafia crime bosses to provide the construction workers places to puddle, muck, and nip off the clock in such fine establishments as initially illegal casinos and disreputable showgirl theaters. Once the hydroelectric monstrosity was complete, tourists seeking recreation on newly created Lake Mead replaced the more ribald clientele and the first upscale hotels broke ground. Only decades later, in the heyday of the Rat Pack, Las Vegas shared a fallout radius (!!!) with government nuclear warhead testing sites until majorly upping the ante to become its glitzy contemporary self. Seriously, what other town could get away with offering Atomic Cocktails to sip while watching rising mushroom clouds from nearby nuclear blasts? (These explosions are best described here by Stephen Colbert)
My last two visits to Vegas were without kids (WOO HOO!). The first of these excursions was BC (before children) with a group of girlfriends with whom I went to college and was more in line with what I might associate with time on the Strip, to include time at a spa, followed by a Varsity Pub Crawl and then dancing the night away. My most recent Vegas escapade was with Flight as we celebrated our 6thAnniversary, complete with a helicopter flight into the Grand Canyon for a champagne snack, a Cirque de Soleil show, and plenty of great meals.
Neither trip afforded an appropriate template for kid-friendly activities and I had no idea of what to do there as a family now that nuclear blast observations are no longer an option.
In fact, I was rather befuddled by images I had conjured on what Keeper’s puritan reaction would be to seeing men handing out pictures of mostly naked women on baseball cards, first snapping them against their hands to call attention to their wares before pushing them on the sometimes unsuspecting public. Not to mention his environmentally conscious self observing the two-block radius from card distribution ground zero that is littered with these images failing to capture a would-be mark’s attention. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I want my children anywhere near The Strip, certainly not before they reach 21, and probably not even then.
Fortunately, I did not have to rely on my own devices. Google offered up some excellent recommendations on G-rated activities for our clan to check out. Flight also got some great information from a fellow pilot who lives in the area and I from our cousins who recently moved from Sin City. Surprisingly, there are plenty of things to do for those uninterested in drinking and gambling. Who knew?! CNN put together a pretty good list well after our visit and I was glad to see that we saw most of their Top 15 suggestions. Vegas was hosting the Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon on our window of opportunity, which maybe helped to offset the standard menu of debauchery.
After a morning of laying low and soaking in the amenities offered at our swanky RV resort (showers and laundry for all my friends!), we made a general scaffold for our night’s entertainment and trundled into town to enjoy a modified evening on the Strip. The first hurdle was to find parking, made especially challenging by the redirection of traffic due to the marathon. No kidding, we entered a parking garage through labyrinthian passages typically reserved for employees. Or maybe Mafia contract killers. No kidding, it was not until we popped out in a more official-looking casino parking garage that I thought our night on the Strip might not be going horribly wrong after all.
Shaking off that odd (although maybe perfectly Vegas) introduction to our evening, we got moving and steps into our stroll, we wandered into the Wynn to see their latest floral display.
I’m still not quite quite sure what the theme was, maybe Peacocks Meet the Hobbit in Autumn, but all I could think was “’Curiouser and Curiouser’ said Alice.” I suppose that’s par for the course for Vegas where over-the-top is the norm.
Not to be outdone by the Wynn, we meandered through the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace (shouldn’t there by an apostrophe in there somewhere?) and paused for a photo op in front of the knock off Trevi Fountain.
Flight and I concur that we prefer the original in Roma, but it’s not bad for a copy in a relatively newly populated desert. We then bolted through the casino to get to the other side. Despite our moving at a fast clip, Firebolt especially was captivated by the whirring and flashing lights associated with the ding-ding-ding of the slot machines and had to be led by hand to keep up. Yikes. That’s all I have to say about that…
Although we didn’t make it all the way down to the Bellagio to see the water fountains dancing, we did catch this more modest display before we went into the Grand Canal Shops on our way to the Venetian.
The highlight for our kids was IT’SUGAR (again with a jacked up apostrophe – Vegas, what gives?!).
Don’t let their expressions fool you, our kids wanted to drop a load of cash in that store. There were plenty of unusual treats to catch one’s attention, good or bad.
However, as we hadn’t played Craps, Blackjack, or even hit the slots successfully or otherwise, we told the kids they had to rely on their own funds, which maybe that explains their above dour faces.
Around the corner we found a chocolatier, ROYCE’ (sic). While the confections were divine (after sampling, we bought some to take with us), I still don’t get what the superfluous apostrophe is all about. It’s true, I do own this t-shirt:
Our rumbling bellies determined our next course of action and we found ourselves down the Linq Promenade in search of dinner. As soon as the kids saw “Pizza” on the menu at Barley and Flour, they proclaimed being near starvation and intended to move no farther. Fortunately, that restaurant was a good call and we were entertained by the Promenade’s light and music show while we awaited our order. After refueling we headed back the other direction in search of the Subaru.
Satisfied we had checked all the necessary boxes of appropriately seeing the Strip with kids and fresh with watching the first marathoners cross the finish line, Flight and I mused about running a race together. I surprised both of us when I was the one who suggested the crazy notion. I haven’t run a race since completing the Marine Corps Marathon in 1992 and Flight’s most recent was the Vancouver Half-Marathon in 2008. Even as the tentative words were emerging from my mouth, my body screamed at me to stop the nonsense. Or maybe that response was owed to the cupcake sampling at Sprinkles after our solid dose of flour and barley at dinner. Either way, it looks like we’re thinking about possibly training for a race (see how noncommittal I made that sound), almost certainly a short one at that, but who knows…
And yet I keep coming back to the understanding that what crazy notions spring forth in Vegas should probably stay in Vegas…
Veterans Day always resurrects an interesting mix of emotions in me, which is pretty much par for my staying (sort of) the Navy course. Upon watching me struggle with getting off of active duty for maybe the third time, Flight observed to me, “You really have this weird love/hate relationship with the Navy,” with the implication that I probably should devote some time to getting to the bottom of whatever that is and put it to rest. I have since gone through that emotional turmoil again to earn my fourth DD-214 (proof of active duty service) and haven’t yet made the opportunity to deconstruct that relationship, but until further exploring in a future post….
On the tip of the iceberg, I am very thankful to have served my nation (and still do wear the cloth of the nation, but only part time as a Reservist), yet I know that my Navy career has not been riddled with the challenges of many of my fellow active duty service members. Although I am honored when people thank me for my service, I’m also a little embarrassed because I know their thanks come with an assumption of the many sacrifices that come with serving, and, as I have had such a great ride and (mostly) on my own terms, I haven’t really experienced many of those assumed challenges, which means it feels vaguely disingenuous to graciously accept such words of appreciation. So wow, if that’s just the tip of the iceberg, Flight’s dead on (as per norm) and I’ve got some processing to do. Sigh…
I guess it was fitting that on Veteran’s Day we were in the Valley of Fire State Park. All the yin and yang of earth and fire gently sculpted into outcroppings as if to showcase their beautiful juxtaposition:
I have come to see my last active duty tour teaching at the Naval Academy as the epitome of a balanced, yet nearly bipolar, yin-yang existence. You can’t get much more yang than teaching tomorrow’s warfighters the engineering behind modern weapons, all while serving them as a healer and so manifesting yin. What an incredible chapter that was, but back to the journey at hand…
As repellant as Joshua Tree appeared to find me, the red rocks within the Valley of Fire instead called to me as though I was coming home. I was graciously invited to stretch my limbs and explore the valley’s chromatically striated nooks and crannies and, maaaaaaan, was I very happy to be welcomed among my rocks.
Because our timeline was anchored by when we could collect Flight at the airport, we made it to the Valley of Fire Visitor’s Center mid-afternoon, which turned out to provide the landscape perfect lighting for our exploration. We spent about half an hour in the modest Visitor’s Center to learn a little of the transformation of the native nomadic peoples who settled into the first agrarian societies, thus curbing their wandering for at least for part of the year. As their dependence on crop-tending grew, the Anasazi, as they have come to be known, relocated from low-lying caves to shelters offered by the higher rock outcroppings. Aside from the crops they grew, the native population relied on the big horn sheep, and we were fortunate to see some of their offspring, a few generations removed:
Our trek started by skirting some varsity-sized rocks.
The hike was pretty easy going and maybe half a mile from the trailhead brought us to these glorious sights:
To quote Keeper, “Because, why not?”
Although I was happy with how the rocks framed themselves in the above images (kind of them to line up so, no?), my favorite picture from that day was the one Flight took of WoodSprite skipping atop the formations looking not unlike Kokopelli dancing.
Regardless of where we find ourselves that child has the gift of a chameleon and subtly shifts to embody the energy of the local environment.
We made our way back to the Subaru and the monkeys posed for a picture with a sizable specimen of their favorite cactus.
As the afternoon waned into nightfall, we were favored with a beautiful sunset before we returned from the Valley of Fire to the energetic chaos that is Las Vegas.
After an afternoon spent among my rocks, my soul was in a much better space to resist the city’s relentless onslaught, although, frankly, no better prepared to dig into the 27+ years of my relationship with the Navy. Fortunately (and I am observing my reluctance to do so as I type this) that process will have to go to the back burner as we’re going for full immersion tomorrow in Las Vegas’ tireless throng, which means I’ll need all my strength to withstand the energetically tumultuous Strip.
At last I saw a Joshua Tree – on our transit through the high desert to Sin City.
Upon our arrival at the Las Vegas Motorcoach Resort, it felt as though we were let in on a little secret. Or that we got to peek behind the RV first class curtain. As Flight described, this particular RV resort boasted hundreds of campsites that were built up with variations of permanent outdoor kitchens and/or cabanas/bars, mostly catering to overwintering snowbirds. Our site was one without any of the additional trappings, but a strangely lush and most welcome change (for me) from the haunting and subtly vituperative silence of Joshua Tree.
Somehow as I was saying grace before our first dinner in our fancy new digs, giving thanks for our blessings and asking God to watch over both Flight as he travelled and came home safely to us and the remainder of our clan as we explored locally, I lamely finished by blurting out “as we head to Hoover the Dam tomorrow.” There was a collective pause as we each silently questioned my never-before-heard turn of phrase and then choked out a borderline irreverent “Amen” before rather unceremoniously dissolving into giggles. Flight assures me he and Keeper only chuckled.
Hoover the Dam? Where on Earth did that come from? Hoover THE Dam – who even says that?! No idea, but I guess I do. And I would say I’m by myself, but my entire family has now adopted the new title of this behemoth structure. I think it may catch on…
I called to check in with my parents to let them know we’d relocated to Vegas and I mentioned the kids and I would be checking out Hoover the Dam the next day after we dropping Flight off at the airport for his next trip. My father reminded me of a project he had given his students while teaching architecture at the University of Utah. He tasked them with converting the unused space on the face of the dam into a hotel with killer views and easy access to Lake Mead above for watersport recreation.
Unused space…
Killer view…
Pretty interesting assignment. However, as I am trained as an engineer and not an architect, my awe at (read puzzled by) being required to come up with the appropriate allocation of space on/within such a beastly structure stayed with me and steadily grew throughout our visit.
I (and hopefully the kids) learned a ton, not just how the structure was built (and I’ll show just how deep my enginerdiness runs shortly) but what necessitated its development. The electricity provided by the proposed hydroelectric plant was certainly a draw, but management of the water flow was probably even more critical. Not having grown up in the Southwest US, I had only a basic intellectual understanding that water shortage was a constant concern for Arizona, Nevada, and Southern California. What I hadn’t realized was that it was more so the unpredictable flooding of the Colorado River that made agricultural endeavors in that region extremely challenging. The dam served to regulate and manage the river’s surging tendencies in addition to providing electricity. Win-win (except maybe for the last 80+ years of restructuring the downstream ecosystems…).
Before construction on the dam could even begin, four tunnels had to be cored out of the surrounding canyon rock walls to redirect the river while the massive structure was being built. Once the river was diverted, the critical foundation had to be laid. All the squishy mud and silt at the river’s bottom had to be removed all the way down to bedrock, located up to 40’ below the muck’s surface. !!!
Now this is what gets me… The dam had to be poured in concrete bricks, with each one using pipes of river water running through it, supplemented by an on-site refrigeration unit, to cool it safely through its curing process (concrete releases heat while it cures). If they had poured the whole dam at once, the concrete would still be curing through 2070 or so. By using these bricks, the concrete (enough to pave a two-lane highway from NYC to San Francisco – !!!) could be safely in place and cured in just under two years. This gargantuan structure required the skill sets of many able-bodied men (and it was all men) and they were paid quite handsomely for their efforts:
You would have to pay me a heck of a lot more than 70¢ an hour to be a high scaler…
Um, no. No, thank you.
Check out the aerial cableway in the background of this photo:
This network of cables (actually it was ten interwoven cable networks) was required to move equipment and materials across the chasm during construction. The largest of these cables (3.5” in diameter) was capable of supporting up to 150 tons (or, um, 19 school buses – !!!). These were used to lift supplies at 120 ft/s and zip them to where they needed to be at twice that fast. I’m not making this up, it said so on a posted placard.
We opted to forego the additional tour of the plant spaces deep in the bowels of the structure. Truthfully, I have not gained significantly more interest in Electrical Engineering since I performed very poorly in those classes in college, but I was happy the museum spelled out the workings of the hydroelectric plants housed in the dam’s structure so that even I was the kids were able to break it down to: higher water above moves lower and the controlled flow of water turns a turbine whose shaft is connected to a rotor whose magnets spin by surrounding wires to generate electricity. And, if you do that on a large enough scale, you can energize all of Nevada, Arizona, and Southern California.
Duuuuude. That’s all I have to say about that.
Beyond the engineering feat of safely constructing the dam and the follow on magic of generating electricity, I was impressed by how the people-aspect of the project was managed. By contract, 80% of the workers were promised nearby housing, so “Boulder City” (a town of 5000 workers and their families) was developed out of the unforgiving desert. At the height of construction, Boulder City was the most populous town in Nevada at 7000 peeps and boasted churches, schools, and recreation facilities – WHOA!
Okay, okay, the last nerdly tidbit I found fascinating was that regardless of their size, dams are rated based on their “head,” or the height difference between the forebay (the reservoir above) and the tailrace (the river emerging below the dam) and that Hoover the Dam is only a medium head dam. That’s it. Great googlie mooglie!
Overall, we had an awesome field trip to get our STEM on. A bonus was that Flight’s trip would be bringing him right back to layover in Vegas, which meant we could plan our next local exploration to include him before he needs to crew rest (nap) to fly the redeye back to Boston tomorrow night. After we collect him, we’ll check out The Valley of Fire…
Probably my favorite gear is that put out by “Life is Good.” I have likely referenced my standard summer uniform several times, namely that of Tranquility skort ($9.99 each at CosctoCo – WOO HOO!) paired with a Life is Good t-shirt and flip flops or hiking shoes, depending on the day’s activities. One of my favorite Life is Good hats is shown below and mine was worn to being unpresentable.
This witty, outdoorsy “Get Out” is not at all the one to which I am referring.
If I could boil my Joshua Tree experience down to two words, it would be “otherworldly” and “unsettling.” The former descriptor is hardly a new assessment of the random boulder formations creeping out of the dry desert floor. I’m typically one who likes to scope out and perfectly frame any images I can capture, but I was so blown away by my initial impressions, I started shooting from a moving Davista before we even got to our campsite. I’ll do my best to capture the unsettling aspect in what follows.
After attempting to check in with the Ranger Station (a stickie note advised of their impending return), we moved on to snug into our Indian Cove site where we were surrounded by what looked to be haphazardly strewn smooth boulders. Instead these enormous drip-castle worthy rocks proved to be of ideal traction for bouldering, which, after a cursory set-up, Flight spearheaded with the kids. While they explored the immediately local rock formations, I was happy to just settle in and be present in our surroundings, so I claimed a camp chair and took off my shoes to soak in the energy.
And I couldn’t.
It was as though my skin was strangely insulated from earthing in Joshua Tree. ???!? For as much as I have traveled, there are some places where I have felt entirely at home (e.g. the Scottish Border Country) where others have rendered me mildly uninspired (apathetic even?). Furthermore, I know that this connection, or lack thereof, is entirely unique to the individual. For example, I know the Badlands wholly resonate with my cousin, whereas, even after taking my shoes off and standing solidly on the Earth there, I felt nothing, no movement in my being, not even a tremor. I find there’s something primal about our wiring that really ties us to some places and not so much others, but what is that really about?
Curious as to whether there is any scientific evidence that might demonstrate the why behind our being linked to specific places, I did a little research. I was intrigued to learn that there actually is a “wanderlust” gene that has been tied to feeling the restless urge to travel. Perhaps a cousin to R2D2, the DRD4-7R gene is only present in 20% of the population and linked to a need to move. It would appear that this gene has manifested strongly in both me and Flight (and hopefully our kids!). While I was delighted to learn that my biannual itch to relocate goes beyond being inculcated by the Navy’s demands to do so ever few years, I could find no scientific references to shed light on humanity’s connections to specific places. I guess I’ll just continue to wonder as I wander…
A sense of belonging or no, never have I felt an outright, “This is not your place,” that is until I got to Joshua Tree. Hidden deep within the roots of the ubiquitous cholla and beavertail cacti seemed to pulse a low-frequency, uneasy buzz as if to say, “Leave. You are unwelcome here. Disperse. You do not belong here. Go away. Leave…” Fortunately, I didn’t hear the sentiment formed into the actual words, “Get out,” or I would have gladly listened and obeyed. Nonetheless, Joshua Tree’s unvoiced repulsive chant was incredibly disconcerting.
And I was not the only one who heard its silence so speak.
While Flight found great solace in Joshua Tree’s quiet, Firebolt, WoodSprite and I all had wicked nightmares peppering our first night’s sleep in the Park. I awoke feeling edgy and not at all rested. However, since we were only going to be in Joshua Tree for two nights, we had to rally to make the most of our only full day in the National Park.
As the girls have become keen to earn as many Junior Ranges badges as they can on our travels, our first stop was at the Visitor’s Center where they collected their Junior Ranger books and we attended a Ranger-led talk about Search and Rescue (SAR). Since four of my five best ever P-3C flights involved SAR operations (you can read my post-mission summary of these events here), I was captivated by the Ranger’s discussion on how desert SAR is necessarily similar and different from similar evolutions in the water. Firebolt, our growing survivalist, was equally inspired by the talk.
A quick tour through the Visitor’s Center shed some light on the Park’s namesake. In case you were wondering, Joshua Trees are not even trees – they are a type of yucca.
The Visitor’s Center also houses the history of the Park. Although given that the Marine Corps oasis (HA!), Twenty-Nine Palms, is just outside the park, I was still surprised to learn that the surrounding desert hosted more than one million service members as they trained for deployment to North Africa in WWII. Also a surprise was how much WWI gear has been found throughout the Park, meaning perhaps military training may have occasionally encroached upon the Park property. Apparently, the older gear served to outfit the WWII warfighters of the day for training purposes. We in the VP Navy fly a variant of the 1953 Lockheed Electra and are fond (proud?) of saying that we’re all about “Protecting Tomorrow With Yesterday.” Glad to see not much has changed…
In addition to learning about the varied history of the area (e.g. local mining was largely unsuccessful with only two of 300 mines proving to be profitable – !!!, military training operations in preparation first for North Africa deployments then to the Middle East decades later, Hollywood’s filming efforts necessitate the management of over 100 filming permits every year, etc), we became acquainted with the area’s cacti.
Beavertail
Barrel
Prickly Pear
Jumping Cholla
Check out the kind and unassuming Beavertail (notice there are no spines), survivalist’s desert BFF Barrel Cactus (great source of water!), versatile Prickly Pear (good for managing blood sugar levels, high cholesterol, and wayward felines), and vicious Jumping Cholla (whose barbed spines are extremely difficult to remove).
Armed with our new cacti knowledge, we headed out into the park for a hike or two. But first we had to stop to check on our stinky clutch. All seemed fine, but the Outback is not to be trusted…
Our first hike was a short amble from parking to “Skull Rock.”
The kids had a great time climbing all over the “skull” and insisted on taking pictures from every perch.
We moved on to another trail, this one a “nature trail” with placards explaining some of the geological and botanical finds we might see. Some days my vertigo can easily be overcome with the mindful placement of (and thus anchoring) my limbs. Other days, especially in the wake of a poor night’s sleep, even the most attentive grounding can’t keep my world from spinning, which means being atop great heights on rocks haphazardly strewn with deep crevices gaping beneath seems to be entirely unwise. As such, I was happy to keep a low profile and capture the experience in pixels.
Keeper in his Zen place…
“Hey, Momma…”
The girls tucked in…
Onward!
Keeper especially took advantage of scaling every sizable rock he could find, but my favorite place on the hike was through a carved canyon where he struck an unusual pose.
This stroll through the canyon inspired a discussion about flash floods and how to best get to high ground should it start raining. And, on that positive note, we rounded out our hike and headed back to camp for a grilled dinner.
That night there were fewer nightmares in Davista, but I still awoke eager to depart Joshua Tree (as requested) and, unbelievably, to seek refuge in Las Vegas.
We stopped by the Visitor’s Center on our way out to swear in the family’s newest (repeat) Junior Rangers before making our way to the original Sin City.
Every year after a week packed with birthdays and Halloween, we tend to spool down and intentionally take a breather before the Holiday season is upon us in earnest. This year was no different and, after Flight’s departure for work on All Saints’ Day, we didn’t venture terribly far from Davista for a couple days. That’s not true, we ventured some 100 yards down the line of RVs to the on-site Laundromat (free!) and back again (several times!), where we saw this gorgeous Great Blue Heron. That was the extent of our exploration until we were sufficiently restored.
On the third day post-Halloween, after book-intensive school activities were complete, I thought we’d add on to our growing knowledge base in Naval History and planned a field trip to the USS IOWA (BB-61), the magnificent warship that is now parked in the Los Angeles Harbor.
Keeper, who has occasionally threatened an interest in becoming a weapons systems engineer, was the most eager (behind me, of course) to visit the Iowa. Although, upon arriving at the massive ship, we learned that the first Captain’s dog, Victory, deployed with the crew and served as their mascot. As we are currently jonesing for a dog (dogs?) of our own, the girls thought this was pretty cool and they, too, were eager to follow “Vicky’s” clues throughout the tour thus earning their own set of “Vicky’s dogtags.”
My interest in seeing this big gas ship (HA!) has conflicting roots. First of all, I recognize that I am shamefully ignorant of how my surface Navy brethren and sisteren live aboard these gigantic steel beasts. Furthermore, I know that my personal assessment of my general lack of knowledge of the Surface Navy enterprise has at least evolved from a fierce sense of pride (only aviators who fly aircraft too large to land on a carrier crow about this ignorance) to a (probably more appropriate) modicum of professional chagrin. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have walked my Navy career path any other way and I am very thankful that my few “deployments” were to live solo in a one-bedroom suite at various Air Force bases where we took off from and landed on long, straight, non-pitching and non-yawing runways. Yet still… When I learned that the USS IOWA still hosted midshipmen training through my commissioning year, a (very small) part of my 23-year commissioned self was a little wistful about the missed opportunity. And then moments later I thought about who I was as my 20-year old self and reaffirmed that sailing from Annapolis to Bermuda and back again was a much better fit for then MIDN 1/C Me.
And, somehow, I am still drawn to learn more about the Fleet (albeit truthfully only those ships of yesteryear). Maybe it’s due to a WWII vintage Navy plot line I have kicking around my transom, but more likely it’s because I now know that there’s no way I might find myself squirreled away in the bowels of one of them that I’m more inclined to venture out to gain some professional surface Navy knowledge. I guess that in knowing that my Navy days behind me far outnumber those ahead (and maybe it has something to do with our current “deployment” in this 32’ land-yacht) I can’t help but entertain a morbid curiosity about how my brothers and sisters aboard ships have managed truly deploying aboard those enormous metal cans. No matter how I try, I can’t fathom preparing beef stew for 2500.
It’s all I can manage to meal plan for our flight of 5 and only then with a heavy reliance on the InstantPot. So, maybe I’m making up for it by soaking in as much as I can now as the opportunities present themselves, getting my Surface Warfare Officer (SWO) – geek on, as it were. Papa, you should be proud.
Here are some of the fruits of my recent research labor. First, this battleship has traveled the globe many times over at least as many decades. The mighty Iowa’s keel was laid down in the New York Naval Shipyard on 27 June 1940 and she was launched 27 August 1942. A year later (to the day!), she was tasked with her first wartime patrol in the Atlantic and then headed to the Pacific theater in early 1944. I was surprised to learn that my own number of transitions on and off active duty is more than that of the mighty Iowa’s (but only just), yet knew that her decades of naval service far exceed mine. This blew me away though: her ship’s company was designed to number 1900, but swelled to 2800 in WWII. I’m guessing that’s why the enlisted berthing in 1944 sported stacked racks four deep. !!!
We made our way throughout the ship, first taking in the forward 16-inch guns. Holy cow are they ENORMOUS!
Each 16-inch gun required 6 – 110 lb sacks of propellant (“smokeless gunpowder”, a total misnomer as it is neither smokeless nor a powder) to launch a projectile a maximum range of 24 miles. Keep in mind these projectiles weighed anywhere from 1900 to 2700 lbs. !!!
The three-gun turrets could position and fire each gun individually (thus “three-gun” and not “triple”) and required a crew of 79 men to operate each. Great googlie mooglie! If you, too, want to get your SWO (Surface Warfare Officer) – geek on, you can watch this 1955 training video on firing these awesome tools of diplomacy.
Later in her career the Iowa and her three sister ships (only four were built in the class) received upgrades in their weaponry to include anti-ship Harpoons, Tomahawk land-attack missiles, and four Phalanx Close-in Weapons Systems (CIWS, acronym pronounced sea-wiz) that resemble R2D2, and are so nicknamed.
She also boasted twin-mount 5-inch guns that required only (!) 27 men to operate, not including those needed on lower decks for projectile handling. Check out Keeper checking out the Harpoons and the higher mounted CIWS.
I always learned the R2D2 units were kind of a last ditch effort for any inbound missiles or aircraft that made it in through the Fleet’s air defenses. I’m not sure how comfortably I would rely on these rebel droid look-alikes, but they sure look like fun to shoot.
We finished our tour as the museum was closing and (in my head) I requested permission to go ashore. Not unlike Exactly the same faint ship aroma I had picked up aboard the MIDWAY only a week ago hung closely in my nostrils as we made our way back to the Subaru.
We stopped for a few pics before I respectfully bade her majesty adieu and, eager to continue our land-based travels, shook off any longing that my days afloat counter was stuck anywhere other than zero.
Let’s start with the day before, shall we… After we made a critical stop to round out costume ensembles at one of the Halloween stores that pops up for the season, we returned to the LA Disney enterprise for a second round of fun.
Flight covered the California Adventures pretty well and already gushed about his home state, so I’ll just add a few photos to supplement his post.
We checked out a few rides, most notably California Screamin’ for Firebolt.
While the older kids rode with Flight, WoodSprite and I took in King Triton’s Carousel.
Just as Flight holds firm on his spinning ride abstention, I try not to embark on a bumper car if I can avoid it. I was much happier to keep my neck from jerking hither and thither and instead snapped a few photos.
We then checked out Radiator Springs and, with a 120+ minute wait to ride and no FastPasses to be found, opted to try the new Cars ride on our next visit. We settled for Luigi’s Rollickin Roadsters, which had less than a quarter the time commitment and seemed entertaining enough.
Our day ended up back at Disneyland with a few nighttime rides before we retreated to Davista.
I always like to see how the pros decorate for reasons I’ll delve into shortly.
Halloween is the holiday I enjoy most. Not for the distribution of candy, not the trick-or-treating business, not the dressing up, but there’s something in the shift in temperatures from the last gasp of late summer to fall’s crisp clarity that I can’t help but celebrate. Oh, and the decorating is so much fun. Last year was the first year I was able to carve out some time to really devote to that enterprise and I, um, got a little carried away.
Who knew there was so many fun projects on Pinterest?! I really couldn’t help myself. It helped that WoodSprite’s birthday party was a couple days earlier and we had thrown a Harry Potter bash.
This year’s holiday was bittersweet and somewhat subdued, all of us acutely aware that we were not in a decorated sticks and bricks house in our known destination neighborhood for Halloween festivities and, for the kids, not trick-or-treating with cousins and friends. It has become a tradition for the kids to watch A Nightmare Before Christmas as they inspect their respective candy hauls and set to bartering to improve their lots. A little sad to be without this:
Or this:
However, an overwhelmingly bright spot in our 2017 Halloween celebration was dinner with our dear friends in Long Beach who kindly had us over for delicious pre-candy collecting eats. Our monkeys suited up and were unleashed on the locals.
Inspection and bartering still ensued, but with fewer trades due to fewer than normal traders. And, instead of A Nightmare Before Christmas, game six of the World Series served as the soundtrack.
Looking forward to loudly playing “This is Halloween” wherever our 2018 celebration calls home…
When I was teaching at the Naval Academy, midshipmen would often ask me about my experience in the naval aviation community as they were wrestling with whether or not they wanted to Fly Navy after graduation. While there are plenty of positives to cite, I would always share the one drawback as well: “Living by the Flight Schedule.” Although it was kinda fun as a junior officer not knowing what I’d be doing any given day until 1800 the night before, the inability to plan anything eventually wore on me. I definitely wouldn’t prefer to live that way now, especially given Flight’s schedule and with three monkeys in tow. Even after explaining how challenging it might be (e.g. your best friend asks you to be her maid of honor in eight months and you can’t commit to it until maybe a week prior to the wedding, if then…), I would still get a unconvinced eyebrow raise from most midshipmen until I shared the following sea story.
Back in the day our squadron was on “surge” status, which meant we were within the six-month window prior to deployment and, if our assets were needed anywhere in the meantime, we should be prepared to pack our bags and go. It just so happened that a new Russian submarine, one on which our Navy had yet to collect any intelligence, had just pulled out of port and was near enough to Alaska for us to trap, or record its acoustic signature. As the “surge” squadron, we quickly launched to establish a detachment site in Alaska to run a “flap,” which meant we would schedule round the clock operations to maintain overhead tracking of this target of interest while we simultaneously gathered data on its gear aboard.
Motivational P-3C picture from a Google search – awe-inspiring, no?
For those of you unfamiliar with Navy P-3 squadron (VP) operations, such a flap requires three aircraft to be airborne at any given time (one crew on top of the target, one flying home having just turned over with the “on station” crew, and one flying out to relieve the crew “on station”), another crew pre-flighting a fourth aircraft to launch shortly and another crew debriefing their mission, along with all the maintenance and crew rest requirements in between. As you may imagine, there are a lot of moving parts (literally) and all operational planning must have redundancies built in to account for some of these parts not functioning as advertised (usually due to operational wear and tear). This particular flap was such a big deal that the whole VP community was salivating at the opportunity to participate. No kidding, squadrons based in Hawai’i wanted in on the action – even squadrons who were currently deployed to Japan (where we would be deploying in a few months) were scrambling to see how they could be part of the flap back home.
Curious as to what my crew would be tasked to do the following day as the squadron geared up for this detachment, I popped into Schedules to see if that had yet been decided. As of 1400, we were on tap to go to Oahu the next day for about a week so that one of the Hawai’i squadron’s crews could get in on the submarine action. Sweet! I had this vision jump into my head and was suddenly far less interested in the submarine…
After mentally reviewing my packing list (did I have to pack my sandals and/or my flip flops in addition to flight boots?) and being seasoned enough to know how quickly things can change, I stopped in Schedules again just to double check the ever evolving “rough” (schedule draft) before I departed for the day. I learned that Hawai’i was off the table. Bummer. Instead, my crew was staying home while I was navigating a logistics run up to Alaska. “Well, that’s sounds considerably less fun,” I thought to myself as I headed home and went about my plans for the evening.
When I got home from Scottish Country Dance Class at 9ish, there was a message waiting for me. “Call the duty office ASAP.” Oh geez. That’s never good. I made the call and was told, “Pack your bags. You’ve got a 0800 preflight for an 1100 go. Your crew is flying to Japan tomorrow. We don’t know for how long, so pack for three weeks.” Um, what?! Roger, Semper Gumby. So I packed. And we went to Japan. Two months early for deployment. (Spoiler alert – it was only for ten days). Yikes. At least I got to do some pre-deployment reconnaissance… Like I said, that crazy inability to plan even tomorrow due to shifting world events really got old after a while, however it did prepare me well for life as an airline family in general and for this deployment in particular.
One of the privileges of being married to an airline pilot is that we are able to travel fairly easily, although we must be extremely flexible when we do so. Often we can fly to most places we’d like to go either for free (with Flight’s company) or deeply discounted on other airlines, but always, always, always as standby passengers (meaning we’re never sure we’re actually on a particular flight somewhere until we’re airborne and the plane’s wheels are in the well). As such, our plans must always be malleable enough to accommodate changes and we will travel to the airport with plans G, H, I, J, and K in mind (typically we’ve already moved through a few plan modifications by the time we get to the gate), because we expect things will continue to rarely go as planned. Being in that practice has set us up well for this current deployment, which is far more like an extended flap than I had first realized. We have easily rolled with any schedule changes necessitated by events well beyond our control (e.g. wildfires ravaging Oregon) or additional requirements due to our own self-induced drama (see Captain Crunch).
Our general flight plan has been to make a wide sweeping counterclockwise trek circling the United States as we chase mild weather. We pulled chocks in Maryland and got on the road at the end of July, only nine days after committing to actually doing so. Early into our travels we found that locating campsites last minute, especially those in desirable locations, was rather tricky in the summertime and nearly impossible on summer weekends. It became especially critical to lock in sites at those key times as well as reserving places that readily fill up regardless of the season and, fortunately, Flight has been all over that. Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons in late August come to mind, as do several choice California coastal towns throughout September and October. Aviation-trained to be Semper Gumby, our trip has flexed to meet those critically scheduled campsites while making the best of a few other destinations loosely along our planned route.
Another variable for our route planning is Flight’s work schedule. Unique to the airline industry is Flight’s ability to continue to work from wherever we are on the road, as long as we are near a reasonably sized airport so he may commute to Boston to start his work trips. Additionally, his seniority in the company is such that we can usually plan his schedule around our intended path (taking into account where we might find commutable airports near by) or, once his schedule is published (typically a month out), we can modify our travel route to make his commuting to work a little easier, if necessary. We’ve also been very fortunate in that Flight has had several weeks of vacation over late summer/early fall, meaning his work schedule has been relatively light. Starting in November it’s going to get real and our travel tempo will need to shift to accommodate his more frequent commutes and absences so we can maximize what we get out of this experience as a family.
How do we plan to make it so? Great question, I’m so glad you asked. If Flight has a trip, we can plan to stay put a little longer so he can still see some of the environs. Wherever we are, we do research on the top ten things we’d like to see in the area, discuss what his priorities among these are and try to schedule our “Field Trips” accordingly (e.g. we plan to drop Flight off at the Las Vegas airport and the kids and I will head directly to the Hoover Dam to study agriculture, water maintenance and hydroelectric plants without him, and he’s good with that). Amazingly, we are handling the planning and execution of our macro schedule reasonably well, yet, as with any deployment, the manifestation and impact of the human factors aspect can’t truly be known until you’re actually executing flap operations.
In aviation “human factors” is the term encompassing all aspects of being human while doing things a human was not necessarily designed to do, and includes everything from crew rest to mid-mission bathroom accommodations to what might be taking up mental real estate and can’t be compartmentalized to post mission impact (e.g. PTSD). When planning an evolution from an operational perspective, it’s easy to solely focus on how to best accomplish a mission without taking into account how the completion of said mission (or failure thereof) might be experienced by those executing the flight schedule. Flight and I have been guilty of doing just so, although not intentionally in a “Suck it up, Buttercup” kind of way. Instead, it has been mostly due to our not knowing exactly what we were getting into. Don’t get me wrong, that’s part of the fun of this whole adventure, but really we didn’t know what we didn’t know. We probably still don’t. Again, part of the challenge and joy of this nomadic lifestyle.
Flight and I did know that this deployment would affect each of the kids (and us) differently, but as to just how we had hypothesized at length before we departed and most of our musings were not quite correct. Keeper is at the age where he is feeling every aspect of our year on walkabout most acutely. However, given the transitional phase of adolescence, that may have been the case anyway. He has been holding strong to online connectivity as that is the main tether to his friends back in Maryland. When we are without that social lifeline, he feels its absence most. Because we all live in such close proximity to each other, Flight and I are keenly aware of any of Keeper’s shifting moods and are working to meet him wherever he is, which often necessitates giving him some space and allow him to retreat to his “room” and close his “door” (curtains) until he’s willing to read us into his state of mind. Probably sounds a lot like parent-adolescent behavior anywhere. So we’ve heard – we’re not sure as he’s our first to reach this transition.
Firebolt is an interesting mix of opposing characteristics. While she is above and beyond our most social member of the family, she has recently self-proclaimed her shyness, all the while chatting away with any kids we encounter which, unfortunately, has been fewer than we’d hoped. In her daily existence, she seems to prefer to live life far from the edge, yet will surprise us by being the first to volunteer for a crazy hike like Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park – !!! She is a most compassionate and caring individual and feels everything deeply, but has an almost hardline justice streak and can quickly get her Scottish ire up when her sense of fairness is breached. Firebolt seems to be taking to our travels well, constantly reading and singing, but when pressed rates the experience with a lukewarm “okay.” I guess time will tell on how she chooses to remember our trek.
WoodSprite is just a sponge, soaking in every experience, as well as being a constant source of entertainment. She is one funny kid and I think we’ll probably see her on stage at some point. No kidding, I have a deadpan video from last year of her saying, “Live, from New York, it’s Saturday night.” We often overhear evolving improv between her and Firebolt and are blown away by their witty repartee. When I think back to my own memories from the Kindergarten years, I can produce distinct snapshots of people and some places, but the storyline behind each of those is likely more based on family narratives instead of my own fuzzy recollections. As Flight observed at two months into this adventure, I too am hoping that WoodSprite will fondly recall this journey as a joyful play list of family memories.
One of the unforeseen positives of this adventure is that the kids have really grown close. Believe you me, there’s still plenty of sibling picking at each other in the back of the Subaru (makes us very thankful for the motorhome during long transits!), but they have become very good friends who kindly support and encourage each other and play together well. I am thrilled with that unintended side effect of our travels.
Probably the most significant oversight we made that Flight has already touched on in his summary at two months in has been our lack of involving our kids in the planning and execution of this deployment. We started out pretty well getting their inputs as we prepared to go (see here for a run down on our departure), but, as soon as we got on the road, the training and operational plans have been unintentionally kept between me and Flight.
One of the common recommendations I’ve read in raising children is to be sure to give them rules and boundaries so they feel safe and can therefore thrive. We have neglected to define our kids’ daily existence by failing to appropriately manage their expectations. Shame on us. In our defense, we are just now figuring out exactly what we are doing with enough lead time so that we can coherently communicate those plans to the rest of the clan. It has also helped that we have transitioned to the academic year and can routinely give them more concrete assignments to focus their mental energy. I’ll give another (better, I hope…) update when we’ve made it through the transition and I can draw some conclusions on how the roadschooling adventure is going in earnest.
To better help us communicate the big picture, we purchased a small dry erase board calendar with a stretch of corkboard at the bottom and it is now firmly posted on the outside of the bathroom door. Although it may seem odd, this location is the center point of Davista and has now become a Combat Information Center (CIC) of sorts. Posting pertinent scheduling info has been a huge improvement for everyone involved – I’m not sure why it took us so long to figure that out.
In addition to having a picture of where we’ll be in the upcoming weeks, the kids know when it’s a travel day, how long we’ll be underway while driving, how long we’ll be at any given campsite, etc. The not knowing had made a tricky existence for them – they’ve all expressed how much they now appreciate having a map and a list of where we’ll be when, so they can plan appropriately, although I don’t know what exactly. Maybe their calendars are thick with social obligations on which I have yet to be briefed.
One thing I have noticed is we have had to modify most family rules, or I should say we’ve had to provide more specific guidelines because non-compliance has far greater potential for catastrophic outcome. One such example: not putting laundry actually into laundry bags can interfere with the slide’s operation as we expand or retract our port-side wall and break our house. That would be bad. Another would be not putting the lid to the commode (the toilet seat is a given) down means any towels or articles of clothing drying in the bathroom now has the opportunity for a swim in the bowl whether we are driving or not. Not necessarily catastrophic but certainly gross. Closing all cabinets and drawers is critical not just so we don’t bonk our heads or shins, but the contents of which might (proven) become projectiles as we wind our way down any road.
One last observation before I close (whew, this is a long post!)… One aspect of daily life has become far more efficient out of necessity: our ability to plan what we eat and eat what we plan. While living in Maryland the concerted effort to efficiently meal plan was usually overcome by the ease of running to one of the nine grocery stores nearby after wastefully throwing out what wasn’t used in time. Now that we’re on the road, everything needs to be thought out well before we’re at a campsite, which is sometimes located in the kingdom of Far, Far Away. Some observations:
The offered hook-ups at intended campsites drive much of our meal planning efforts. Whether or not we’ll have access to electricity to: run the Instant Pot, the microwave, or the electric hand-mixer will dictate much. If so, great, those meals are good to go and will pepper our upcoming week’s menu. If not, will we be able to run the generator? If Generator Ops are feasible, we’ll try to minimize that necessity. If Generator Ops are a no go, then, alas, we must grill or use the indoor stove-top or oven. Or leave our kids with grandparents to luxuriate in Healdsburg’s newest culinary mecca (unfortunately cost prohibitive to repeat more than almost never again).
We are getting much more adept at grocery shopping for our space limitations, then planning for and making the most of any and all leftovers. The few items we’ve had to pitch before using include mushrooms (I just don’t trust them when they’re moldy and Flight and I are the only ones who might eat them…) and avocadoes (I swear it’s tricky to get good ones in some states).
Water limitations (both what we can carry to Far, Far Away and how large our grey tank isn’t as it catches all the post dish-washing drainage) are not something I previously had to consider. Sorting out what pans to use to cook meals depends on whether or not we have a readily available dump receptacle at our specific campsite. If not, tidying up after meals requires reliance on skills I learned at Girl Scout Camp. (e.g. Boil water in the lone pan/pot used for cooking, add soap, and then wash the other dishes in said cauldron, before dumping the wash water outside and allowing only the rinsed soapy water to go down the drain and into the grey water tank).
So, overall how is our flap going? Pretty well, all things considered. From an Operations perspective, I am stoked that we have now roped the kids into the experience as we try to make the most of our travels. Sure, we can always improve how we do business, but I’m hoping our constant (sometimes obsessive) self-assessment will inform the ways we better move forward. As we continue to streamline processes and roll with the impact of our human factors, we may just figure out how to live on the road, at which point, true to our Navy training, it will be time to shift gears and assume a new posting. What that might look like is a discussion for another time…
Just as Flight had opened his birthday gifts yesterday at the breakfast table, so did WoodSprite. As much fun as it was to see her brother and sister delight in what they had picked out for their younger sister, I only snapped pictures of WoodSprite’s joyful reactions. I think these just about capture it…
Starting off as close to opening time as we could manage, which brought us through the gates at 9:45ish, we made our way through the park counterclockwise. We first had to stop for a photo op.
Almost the same picture, right? The Disney version is 1/100th the size of the real one in Zermatt. How do I know such things? While I’d like to say it’s because I’m really good at surveying on the fly, it’s actually right there on the Disneyland website.
WoodSprite is way more animated than Flight, maybe because it’s this princess’ birthday?
Actually, mine was five days ago, it was the other princess’ big day. And a big day it was. Pretty much an ideal 6th birthday celebration, at least from this more seasoned royal person’s perspective.
As we made our way through Fantasyland, we first stopped at the Mad Tea Party to get our woozy on. Everyone except Flight that is, he obeyed the “Guests who are prone to motion sickness should not ride.”
We then rode Space Mountain which was appropriately “Halloweened up” and now called “Ghost Galaxy.” I don’t know what that means to you, but to the folks at Disney it was an odd combination of caricatured demons and the Bodies exhibit. Not scary really, just strange. Both Firebolt and WoodSprite made it through the ride (WoodSprite is sitting next to me) without much fuss, other than both commenting on its weirdness.
Still scratching our heads following our Ghost Galaxy experience, we meandered over to the Buzz Lightyear ride and delighted in reminding Keeper that at two he bailed out of the line just as we were about to get on in response to the enormous animatronic Zurg. He didn’t know Zurg was part of this adventure and that clearly exceeds his comfort level – Nope. WoodSprite, four years older than that had no such concerns and gleefully rode with me.
Matterhorn Bobsleds it is! Initially Flight had fed me some insider gouge about which line to wait in because Disneyland newbies don’t know any better. We learned said insider gouge has been overtaken by this cool thing called the internet (look it up, it was created by Al Gore). Apparently that was back in the day when the overhead sky cabs still passed through the Matterhorn and the bobsleds ran around it. WHOA, what?! Although I don’t know when that was overhauled, here’s a pic from 1959:
That seems pretty trippy and probably not in the best interest of safety. Clearly envisioned and engineered by the same generation who gave the thumbs up to the ironing board…
Needless to say both Matterhorn lines were impressively long and we made our first attempt at a FastPass to assign a time to our Matterhorn Bobsledding adventure. The girls saw a face-painting station right next to FastPass stations (brilliant layout Disney), which wasn’t yet peopled by cast members. We vowed to come back after riding the Matterhorn.
To pass the time, we sauntered over to “it’s a small world.” Sadly, (that’s from our girls’ perspective, not mine – I was giving thanks), that damnable ride was closed as it was being outfitted for the upcoming holidays. WoodSprite, however, found her perfect gift (my parents and my sister’s family had combined birthday giving forces to provide her spending money at Disneyland) at the store nearest the end of that ride.
Not at all resembling Brave’s princess in coloring or temperament (HA!), WoodSprite hardly surprised us when she picked out Merida’s bow and arrow set. Although it took measurable mad logic skills to provide enough clear and convincing evidence to obstinate WoodSprite, I was able to get her to see the wisdom of returning to this particular kiosk to purchase her gift at the end of the day so she wouldn’t have to carry it around the park all day. I say I as I was left to my own creative devices in persuasion tactics as the men folk were busy texting each other.
Kidding! Flight was busy FastPassing us to our next adventure after the Matterhorn and Keeper was probably watching a youtube science video.
Apparently the Matterhorn’s Yeti doesn’t approve of Stanford or peace symbols because he hollered at the girls every time he saw us, much to the distress of said princesses. To spool down from that adventure the girls faces were indeed painted:
Woodsprite opted for a Halloween spider and Firebolt went with a sparkly princess something or other theme. To further decompress, we rode the canal boats through Storybook Land.
That was a first, and probably a last, for both me and Flight, but the girls seemed to enjoy it. The painted face and Storyland bliss lasted for about 20 minutes until we rode Splash Mountain.
I must confess, I think Song of the South may be the only Disney movie I have not yet seen. Aside from the references in Fletch Lives, I am wholly unfamiliar with this storyline and was mostly perplexed by the ride. Until the end – that was AWESOME.
For most of us.
Most notably NOT for the birthday girl.
However, her spirits were noticeably improved after her smudged spider was restored to its pre-Splash Mountain glory.
As the day wound down, we made good on our promise to get WoodSprite her new archery set.
She happily toted her new weapon to Downtown Disney where we met Flight’s parents for her birthday dinner at Rainforest Café. Flight and I did our standard search for the best campsite by looking at all restaurants’ menus. I’m not sure how we managed it, but we talked WoodSprite out of several better culinary experiences, each she had already agreed to, thinking the Rainforest Café would be a better birthday dinner venue for a 6-year old. Shame on us.
Although dinner was palatable, conversation was certainly made trickier by the live music competing with the World Series – apparently the Dodgers were making a fine showing and the crowd streaming by was sharing in the enthusiasm. Ah, well. We made for the Lego Store in Downtown Disney and I found the next a propos project for our family:
Unfortunately both the cost and the number of (small) pieces were entirely prohibitive for our current lifestyle and we left empty-handed, but thoroughly pleased with our stop.
On to bed…
But wait, there’s more…
We popped over to Disney California Adventures to catch the World of Color light show – a perfect way to round out WoodSprite’s birthday.
Now to catch a few winks before we return in the morning to start anew…
Every year Flight and I do the same dance. I ask him, “How do you want to celebrate your birthday?” and his response is always the same, “I don’t.” “Oh, come on. What do you want to do for your birthday?” “Ignore it.” I don’t get it. What a great opportunity to celebrate life with those you love. So what if the mileage keeps ticking upward, I like taking the time to take stock of my blessings and joyfully affirm where I’ve been and where I’d like to go. Along those lines, I was pretty stoked to celebrate Flight’s latest birthday with some of his long time friends whose connections to Flight predate mine by decades.
I returned the birthday favor and made a lovely brunch with the family. No, wait, that didn’t happen. Flight instead ran out and collected some good local eats that we all enjoyed while he opened birthday presents. Regardless of my role in the unwrapping activity, my favorite aspect of opening presents is seeing the joy blossom on the giver’s face when the recipient embraces their newest possession. Nowhere is this delight more pronounced than with our kids.
WoodSprite was beside herself excited for her father’s birthday. All the way back at Caspar Beach she had gone with her siblings to the RV Park’s store and purchased a bracelet for Flight with her very own money. The self-acknowledged Worst-Secret-Keeper-in-the-World, WoodSprite could hardly contain herself while Flight opened her special gift and fought not to spoil the surprise all the way until he ripped the last of the home-decorated paper away.
While we were in the Beach Cottage at NAS North Island, I oversaw Firebolt making her gift for Flight. We had made a trip to Michael’s to pick out an unfinished frame, appropriate pink and blue paint for decoration, and small wooden letters that spelled out “DAD.” Once she had finished the frame, we printed out a picture of her and Flight during a Marine Biology class. Firebolt was at least as delighted as Flight with her creative present.
Before we left San Diego, Keeper and I had made a run to Whole Foods, allegedly to purchase groceries, which we did, but it was also conveniently located next to a Paper Source where we could find a few perfect gifts for WoodSprite (her birthday is the day after Flight’s). Inspired by their vast supply of colored business-card sized cardstock (and size-appropriate envelopes), Keeper asked for my assistance in creating a scavenger hunt for Flight solely inside the RV. With only a few suggestions, Keeper created poems to communicate ten clues, one on each business card leading to the location of the next. It was tricky to hide them where they could still be found, yet out of plain sight until the time was right. Opening the first one at the table, Keeper led Flight on a merry chase through Davista, which culminated with a one-dollar coin prize that the two have been exchanging for birthdays, Father’s Day, allowance payments, and missing teeth for at least a dozen of these events. A great start to a non-celebratory day.
We popped over to see some close family friends where Grammy and Papa were staying. The afternoon was filled with football, food, friendship, wine, and water toys. Keeper and Flight went out first on the paddleboards.
Keeper didn’t make it too far out before turning back, perhaps not realizing all that went into such a venture. Most impressive was Flight’s paddleboarding with a beer, which wasn’t knocked over until he came back (so he says). He maintains the solo event happened when he knocked into Keeper’s paddleboard afloat in the marina and, as I did so witness it, I’ll give that to him (it was his birthday).
Most unnerving was that he took WoodSprite out sans lifejacket for a “quick” paddle. Papa and I were equally concerned by their delay in returning and we launched the Duffy to find them. I got a visual on our wayward paddleboarders just as we got underway and we returned to the dock.
We launched the Duffy in earnest for a birthday sunset cruise completing our day with more delicious eats, excellent wine, and even better company.
I don’t know about Flight, but I sure enjoyed a very, merry unbirthday. Now we just have to gear up for WoodSprite’s big day (tomorrow) at Disneyland. A Sunday, perfect weather predicted, the last weekend before Halloween, surely there won’t be eleventy billion people at the Disney mecca…
The day after my birthday was thick with more of the same beaching activities before one of my Academy classmates joined us for dinner. Because it is Fall and we had pumpkin to use, I made one of my favorite autumn dinners, Creamy Pumpkin Prosciutto Rigatoni. It was lovely to catch up with my friend on decades of life and we vowed to reconnect again soon.
The following mid-morning, Papa and Grammy joined us after having spent much of the wee hours driving. One of the main sights right in downtown San Diego is the USS MIDWAY and we thought that would be a great thing to take in. This was an easy sell for Papa who had repaid his NROTC Scholarship to Penn State as a Navy Surface Warfare Officer (SWO) and easy-going Grammy agreed.
On our way to the carrier, I saw this:
Only in San Diego…
We met at the imposing MIDWAY and, after a round of hugs, trundled off to see the museum. This incredible ship was commissioned just eight days after WWII’s conclusion and remained the largest warship afloat until 1955. We were going to walk around, touch, and experience Naval History – how cool is that?!
Try as I might, I couldn’t get the kids to get as excited about seeing the carrier as I was. Maybe it was the extreme heat that threatened to melt our shoes to the flight deck and the docked vessel we were aboard relied on movement for ventilation. Or possibly it was the omnipresent smell of naval aviation (somehow all aircraft of a certain vintage reach the same malodorous bouquet…). Or perhaps it was the scent I closely and unfavorably associate with my only eleven days of being haze grey and underway while on a midshipman cruise (and revisiting that particular aroma aboard a pier-side museum is close enough for me, thank you). Or, really, any combination thereof might have served to put a damper on their enthusiasm, as noted once we moved passed the flight simulators on the hangar deck when they seemed less than gung ho about the day’s enterprise.
Papa, however, was thrilled, as was I. Steps into the museum, he found pictures of his former ship, the USS BRINKLEY BASS (DD-887) that was part of a display parked next to one of the aircraft that was used to evacuate thousands of Vietnamese children following the fall of Saigon in Operation Babylift.
While Papa read more about what his ship had been up to since his departure, Flight and Grammy observed the kids popping in and out of stationary cockpit simulators.
I was sucked into learning more about Operation Babylift as a dear friend from my recruiting days was one of those rescued. After Papa’s cruise down memory lane, I saw that his step got a little jauntier as we continued to bathe in the smell of the Surface Navy.
From the hangar deck we climbed to the Flight deck and looked at many retired aircraft.
In case you don’t speak Keeper, that look reads, “I’m so stoked to be here, Mom.”
Ditto for the girls.
Papa asked me what the things on the edges of the tail fins were on this fine Navy missile:
I told him he should ask someone who taught the Fundamentals of Navy Weapons Systems at the Naval Academy, because I didn’t know. Now, if you asked me what a Mk-46 torpedo looks like, I’d… I’d tell you… I’d probably still have to Google it, so distant is my time from the mighty P-3C that said prime mental real estate has long since been reallocated, probably twice.
While on the flight deck, I did learn something beyond “Call the Ball,” which I remembered only from watching Top Gun countless times in high school. When a “Shooter” (see below) goes to launch a jet at night, the signal to launch is two arcing taps to the deck with a flashlight.
“Why two, you ask?” I didn’t, but the docent briefing us did and immediately followed up with, “Well, what if the Shooter dropped his or her flashlight? With two taps there’s no ambiguity on a launch.” Yikes, I could see how only one tap as a signal could easily make flight ops go horribly wrong, especially considering my own tendency to suffer from the dropsies. I pondered those implications as I meandered aft. Clearly visible from the receiving end of the flight deck was a fine example of 90,000 tons of diplomacy still in operation.
Pretty cool to see her parked across the harbor from the fantail of her more diminutive foremother as she readied to get underway…
At last we made it to the tower where Firebolt easily assumed the Air Boss chair (no surprise there).
And, equally unsurprising, WoodSprite took no time sliding into the MiniBoss seat. And then they swapped seats…
On the bridge, the girls took turns at the helm and we made our way back down to the hangar deck by way of a couple of ready rooms (where aviators enjoy downtime between missions).
As our kids let us know they were done (see above), my knees simultaneously proclaimed, “Great googlie mooglie are there a lot of ladders (stairs) aboard this boat!”
Preparing to go ashore at last, we found ourselves back on the Aloha Deck.
Kidding, that’s from The Love Boat. It was really the Poop Deck.
HA! Holy cow, the Poop Deck’s not a real name either.
Actually, it is.
Unless it’s not.
Indeed the Poop Deck truly is a Naval Architecture term – it’s French, look it up – one that my inner seven-year old enjoyed sharing with our kids, especially when I was gleefully rewarded with many giggles. But, as that’s nowhere near where could debark, most fortunately that was not where we found ourselves. I marveled not for the first time of the day, “Man, is this boat enormous!” Had I not had arrows pointing me towards the exit and kind docents gesturing the way out, I’d probably still be walking around the MIDWAY.
After a most enjoyable visit to the aircraft carrier, we headed back to the cottage for more beach time.
Aside from others’ entertainment witnessing my standard sinus cavity rinses as I got thrashed about in the surf, the most delightful sight was, despite his lack of sleep, Papa’s excitement at seeing yet another Navy warship pull around Point Loma to favor us with front row seats for their conning operations – or whatever it is they do on those pointy, grey things.
Since the P-3C is far too large to fly off a carrier (thank goodness), Flight and I take great delight in trading gentle barbs with Papa who insists we were never in the real Navy. As I headed back to the ocean for more thrashing boogieboarding, I vowed that, despite having thoroughly enjoyed visiting the carrier today, I’d use my time in the ocean to rinse the pervasive ship smell out of my hair. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think that Papa’s probably right…
Flight of 5 