Hot Takes, Bad-Ass Dogs, Big-Ass Tanker: A Photoblog

There hasn’t been a whole lot going on in my life lately, hence the long break between personal updates. By way of explaining the photo, I broke out my DSLR Canon this morning to play with the macro setting. This inexpensive Timex chronograph is a favorite … I love those orange hands. Come October, just a couple of days away, I’ll be ordering a new birthday watch from China. Excitement and anticipation abound!

No, it won’t be a Trump watch. Of course I’m following the race, but only the broad strokes. While I expect Harris & Walz to win decisively, the media’s going to pretend it’s neck & neck right up to election day, and you know they’ve got an October surprise in the works to take the wind out of Kamala’s sails, à la the New York Times and Hillary in 2016. I’m steeling myself against it and hoping American voters will recognize it for what it is.

Speaking of following the broad strokes, that goes for other news as well. Reading headlines is about all I can do these days, with more than half the stories and articles behind them either paywalled or so saturated with ads and popups that digging out the content is an unpleasant chore.

Speaking of ads, Donna surprised me by signing us up for YouTube Premium. She decided not having to sit through ads on her sewing channels is worth the price. Of course I’m loving it … I watch Itchy Boots and Rail Cowgirl, so much better now without constant commercial interruptions, and just last night discovered a trove of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 movies. Between the two of us, we probably watch as much YouTube as Netflix.

So how’s the Gang of Three? Pretty good! Fritzi & Lulu are as bouncey-trouncey-ouncey-pouncey-fun-fun-fun-fun-fun as ever, and Mister B … well, he’s more like Eeyore in his retirement. It doesn’t show too much in the photos, but he’s losing weight in his old age (he’s 16 now) and from certain angles looks more like Mister Bones than Mister B. But! He’s always right there at breakfast and dinner time, and in spite of his wobbly hips still negotiates the doggy door when he wants to go out or come back in. The occasional indoor accident? Sadly, yes, but that comes with the territory.

The last KC-10 tanker flew into Davis-Monthan AFB on Thursday, ending 44 years of USAF service. Here’s a photo from happier times:

I remember the first time I refueled from one. It was by far the most enormous airplane I’d ever flown close to. And by close to, I mean right up underneath, close enough to count rivets. It looms over you. And that boom, twice as robust and powerful as the one on a KC-135, strong enough to pluck you and your jet up and put you right where the boomer wants you to be. It’s like being grabbed by the Death Star’s tractor beam. You almost feel you could take your hands off the stick and throttles and let the boomer do all the work of keeping you in position. Of course you can’t do that, but man, you rode solid while you were hooked up.

Another time, when my squadron deployed from Kadena to RAAF Darwin, I rode down on a KC-10 along with our maintenance troops, spare parts, and extra pilots, the difference being that as the designated supervisor of flying I was in the KC-10’s cockpit, there on the jumpseat with a headset and mic to help if any of our accompanying F-15s had an emergency en route. The tanker pilots were a couple of young captains, a man and a woman, and of course I watched and listened to everything they did. I couldn’t help noticing that they started only two engines, not all three, and taxied out to the runway that way. The closer we got to takeoff, the more I was tempted to ask if they had forgotten to start one of their engines, but didn’t want to look like a total rube and kept my mouth shut. Literally as we turned onto the active the woman copilot reached up and started the third engine, and I mentally heaved a sigh of relief.

That was fun. Even more fun, though, was flying one of our Eagles home to Japan after three weeks in Australia. Donna and Polly, along with other squadron spouses and families, were there on the flight line to welcome us back. Donna took this photo of me taxiing in, sleeves rolled up like the shit hot fighter pilot I was, and a friend took one of the three of us in front of the jet I flew home.