Beating the Drum, Slowly
My Father’s Day was lovely, as, I hope, was yours.
"When I do not want to say things in real life I often say them here." — Mimi Smartypants
You really never leave
My Father’s Day was lovely, as, I hope, was yours.
That, right there, is where I spent the first four years of my flying career: Vance AFB in Enid, Oklahoma.
Donna’s at her annual sewing guild retreat, partying with friends, free from the demands of kitchen, hearth, husband, and dogs.
I’m not sure what’s up with this Phoenix Driver patch.
You probably think I’m being immature. Have you met any fighter pilots lately?
I have a German Caboose, it is quite a swell affair and I live right in it, so I am always at home.
Journamalism these days!
Anything else, at this point, is speculation, and we’re not supposed to comment until the facts are known. Well, the further I get from the long arm of the Air Force, the less I’m inclined to observe the pieties, so I’m just gonna jump in the speculation canal with both feet. Up to my neck.