Merry Christmas 2007

Casual Day/Xmas Lunch

It is civies day since we are having the office Xmas lunch---Having
gathered my outfit for this day last night and putting it thru the wash
cycle, I discover that my shirt didnt fit--rather, it was puckered as if
washed in alum and lemon juice, and taken on the appearance of having been in
the bottom of my closet instead of on a hangar. I immediately went into
Tourettes mode, let go of a few choice words while simultaneously pretending
I was Hulk Hogan as I ripped it from my torso. I went to the bedroom careful
not to wake my wife (this was a special sleep in day for her as the kids are
dismissed from school for the Holidays) and promptly retrieved another from
the floor of my closet. It did not fit nor! did it match but everything else
is in the laundry room--piled on the floor--and dirty.

My belt-the one I carefully rolled up last night and put inside my shoe so I
wouldn't lose it--I lost it. I made too much noise in trying to find it as my
bride was awoken from her "sleep in" slumber.
Big mistake.
I had rather tangle with a cobra snake than to wake up Household 6. As of
this writing I no not what pennance I will pay for this error in judgement,
but am not sure my groin can stand it.

The gas light came on when I cranked the car--typical. So off to the shell
Station to get gas. I got gas just a week ago and left the nozzle in the tank
and drove off with it. Lucky the fuel hoses have quick releases, purposely
designed with Retards like me in mind. At any rate, I overfilled my gas tank
trying to stop on a amount divisible by five or ten. You know, stopping on
like 35 dollars and 50 cents....so it went like this! --34,36,39,41.
48,49,51...98, 99 01. I couldn't get it to stop on a 5 or 10 had my life depended on it.

The end result---left a dollars worth of regular unleaded down the side of my
car and on ground, gathering around my penny loafers. At this time I realized
that this was he same exact pump i drove off from last week with the fuel
nozzle still in the tank . Being true to ones self--- about this time I would have cussed a blue streak, but inasmuch as it is the holiday season, I took a cleansing
breath--no amount of profanity would undo my morning so far that was
southbound like a snow ball bound for hell.

Wal Mart.
Hallowed is its name.
Open 24 hours a day. I went in and purchased a belt for middle aged
fat man. I picked one that didn't have a price tag on it. I went back to the
belts and found the price tag. Actually, the same belts didn't have the price
so I got the price off the belt that closely resembled mine and went back to
the cashier and told him. I Should have went to the diaper aisle bought some
depends undergarments instead, because the only thing I hadnt done yet was
piss in my pants.

The belt- size 42--needed size 36. I Still have to pull my pants up.

Now I am on the interstate, driving to work---am listening to xmas music
trying to be "effing" merry but knowing the traffic
that is ten minutes away and the white elephant gift I have'nt wrapped and the
two meetings that await me I can only hope for a speeding ticket and a
scorching case of hemmorhoids to make it a perfect morning.

By the way, Boss---am gonna be thirty minutes late.

Keep a good thought.

George L. Fisher


"Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to
prayer."

Mark Twain

WRIGLEY!!!

I MADE IT!

Thank you, Lord. There will be a little something extra for you in the offering plate this Sunday.

Bleacher Bums, Ivy, Old Style (4 of them) and actually saw George Will the columnist. Swear.

Not to brag, but I also went to a White Sox game and aBears exhibition game. 3 Sporting events in one week, topped off by a marvelous dinner at Mike Ditkas restaurant. Try the pot roast, it will make you hunch.

This may have been the greatest trip of my entire life.

Knucksie & Mans Best Friend-Then and Now

Mans best friend and I attended a baseball game last Saturday night and I thought it would be a good idea if we had our photo made in front of Phil Niekros statue--(Phil Niekro is my favorite Pitcher of all time) We had a picture made there about ten years ago, but then I could pick Joe up and carry him everywhere. I didn't have to pick him up this time. The Braves got the stem winding dog mess beat out of them by the Diamondbacks, but no matter. It is a wonderful thing to go to a baseball game with your son. I think the book of Deuteronomy addresses it in the bible. And of course everything is better with Mans best Friend. I could even eat liver if Joe was with me. Looking at the photos make me wonder where all the time went...in ten years I hope he will still want to get his picture made with me with Phil.

I wish I could take him to Chicago with me next week.

Tired and out of gas

I read my magazine and took a nap today. Naps are a wonderful thing and I take one about every equinox. This is what I aspire to when I grow up or retire--nap.

9 Days and counting...

My quest for tickets to any of the Cubs/Brewers series the week I go to Chicago has been resolved. After having gone onto the Cubs website and clicking and pointing for no less than 578 times to find available seating, i then found an 800 number to call and purchase tickets. Even that was painful and the seats are 4 different rows and one behind the other-not that it matters. I received the tickets to the game on the 28th in the mail and now have them in my greedy little palm.

The standings today show the Cubs and Brewers both tied for first in their division, so these games will be important.

I totally forgot there's another team in Chicago called the White Sox, so we have adjusted our flight schedules so we can catch the 1:05 pm game on Monday. Haven't gotten tickets yet but will order this week. The Sox are not even close to being in a pennant race so tickets should be an easy find.

In the meantime I am also doing research on the good places to eat and drink in Chicago. I plan on giving my lower gastrointestinal tract a severe workout.

Only one thing potentially hangs in the balance, and that's Hurricane Dean.

Reading in bed...is it possible?

I don't know why I attempt to read in bed. Most times I am unsuccessful at anything if my body reclines past 60 degrees except snoring. But as is with most of us, the only time I can think about doing some reading is when I hit the sack. Not that I don't already have two bookcases filled to the max, but my bedside table now has several tasty titles--The History of American Beer, The Reagan Diaries, The Baseball Encyclopedia, Zemkes Wolfpack, Paula Deens autobiography, and several others....Its pretty pathetic. I rolled over the other night after having gotten sleepy from my reading only to see this "Mount Everest" on my nightstand, capturing the image with my cell phone camera for posterity.

Where for Art Thou, Mans Best Friend?

My Best buddy and teen aged son Joe I have not seen in three weeks.

Inasmuch as I had to go to Annual Training at Ft. Stewart, that took me out of the loop for two weeks. On Friday before I was to arrive home, Joe calls and tells me "Hey Dad, I'm going to Mexico Beach with Colton on Saturday and will be back next weekend."



Bummer.



That has left me stuck in a houseful of Women all week. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The girls have kept me busy and I have been able to show them a little attention. I finally found out what the youngest ones name is (Lyndsay) and what grade (6th) she is in. The oldest one I discovered is a pretty good cook and has done a good job seeing to keeping the house in a good state of police. I believe her name is Amanda.



Anytime one of our little chickens leaves the roost, I miss them. And the only time I can ever get a good night sleep is when I know all of em are under one roof. Makes me wonder whats going to happen when they all get grown and leave for real.


School starts on Monday. Summer for these guys is done. When their summer is over so is mine.


I am heartbroken for them. And me.

It is now Saturday and I am like the RCA Dog waiting to hear my masters voice.

Chicago Bound 27-31 August

Rejoice, Dear Hearts!

Presently I am scheduled to attend a Fiscal Law class in Chicago at the end of the month. I have opted to wait until I get to town to try and obtain tickets to the Cubs/Brewers series. I went on the Cubs site to order tickets and all that were available were single seats--having contemplated my possible dilemma with co-worker Jeff, he says they just HAVE to hold back tickets to be available on game day. That makes sense to me. After all, even though the hallowed ground of Wrigley certainly will be filled to capacity, but its the Milwaukee Brewers, for gods sakes. they are the "margarine" of baseball. I really can't say much as my Braves are currently on "sick call" their own selves.

I have been pretty fortunate in my quest to see the Major League Ballparks--I have been to Montreal, where the fans all hollar OUI, OUI! instead of HELL YEAH!; Camden Yards in Baltimore, where a guy who sat in front of me made the terrible mistake of wearing white pants while having a slight case of hemorrhoids....(cleansing breath)....Atlanta, of course (to include game six of the 95 WS win for the Braves--Veterans Stadium on Philly, and Dodger Stadium in LA. Bostons Fenway Park still eludes me insofar as game attendance, but i did get to tour the place. My pals Joe Joe Hoffman and Tim Britt called me from there during a game just two weeks ago, a trio I had to miss due to performing duty at Ft. Stewart. But with some good luck thrown my way, I will even the score by making it thru the turn styles of Wrigley Field.Once in Chi-Town, I plan to go "native", have a Chicago Hot Dog and pay homage to his holiness, Harry "HOLY COW" Carey.I may even attend that Fiscal Law class.

Wrigley Field. HOOAH! I get goose bumps just typing the words.

If I have to sell plasma or donate an organ, I will make it to Wrigley and have my photo taken therein. It is my destiny. GO CUBS!

I KNOW WHO I AM

Going thru some "artifacts" recently I came across some letters from when I got mobilized for possible deployment during the first Gulf war--the nephew of my best buddy, Guerry "Aquamarine" Bruner, then a wee little fellow, had taken the time to draw me a picture and sent it to me--in those days there was no Email and Al Gores Internet was still in the works. you had to rely on the U. S. Postal Service--and even then, getting mail in the California Desert was a monumental task--but it was what we all lived for.
Of course, Guerrys nephew is all grown up and probably has long ago forgotten this picture he drew for me. While I recently rediscovered the picture I have never forgotten the title. It is who I am. I remind myself of this from time to time when I get down or feel like poor mouthing. I ain't ever going to be rich or famous, but I won't starve to death. I am glad it is the Army, too. The rest of the branches are all well and good and I love em all, but its like my hero, and high school ROTC instructor SGM (Oscar Sapp, Jr) said--The Air Force gets the Glory, the Navy gets the Money, the Marines get the uniforms, and the Army gets the WORK.

Thats me.
George, the guy in the Army suit. I have always thought it would be a good title for a Book. Now, if i can only string enough words together to do that.

One Weekend a Month, Two Weeks a Year my @#$% !!

I recently completed our annual training at Ft. Stewart. One of the highlights to our two weeks was sling load training, whereupon we learn how to hook up pieces of equipments to be flown to another place on the battlefield. High mobility, fast, flexible, and it beats driving.

Our Training Officer had initiated this several months before when we were doing all our planning, and I had made a bet with him that he wouldn't be able to pull it off. Being a bit pessimistic I had thought that our aviators would have other missions for the birds, and we would be at rock bottom of the priority list. I had gone so far (letting my mouth overload my narrow a**) as to bet Bob that "If you do it I will kiss your a** on the middle of the Parade Field at Ft. Stewart"---

I didn't take a photo of THAT EVENT but here's a photo of our training the day it happened.

Bob and the boys in the OPs shop got their Kudos and the entire 148 "Wishmasters" Battalion knew of the bet--we all had a good time with it and I still owe everyone a photo of me "puckering up"....

They even let me take part and HOOK UP the HUMMVEE to the Chopper...the blast from the blades of the Chinook almost blew me out of the Hummvee, but one of the soldiers had me by my belt loops and yelled to me over the noise of the chopper "Don't Worry, Sir--I got your Back!"

Such is the way with all those wonderful soldiers I am allowed to serve-they are magnificent. I am just fortunate enough to have a window seat.

THE PERFECT DAY--5 JULY

I had an absolutely wonderful day on the 5th---heres how it went.

Slept in until 0730 without having had to get up and go tinkle the previous night.

I Got coffee, and for a few minutes gave thought to where i was two years ago on the 5th of July--crying my eyes out as i said goodbye to my family and headed to Iraq via Ft. Drum, NY.....this Juy the 5th was to be a lot better.

I went and got Mans best friend JOE and we went and played 18 holes of golf. I actually made par on one hole. Joe even said i did good. Pretty good kudos from a 15 yr old teenager.

We went to the greatest Hot dog joint on Earth, NU-WAY. We both had two all the way, a hamburger, and fries, with Medium coke with Flaky Ice. Our meal was magnificent! It made me hunch.

I went home, and took a two hour nap--uninterrupted.

Sue came home and cooked supper--Ravioli.

There was no need to put the moves on my wife and attempt any extra liberties in the budoir, not after having the day I had, so i read some of my book (The History of Beer in America) and drifted off to sleep.

Two years ago I had cried myself to sleep. This time I went to bed grinning like a opossum.

UPDATE ON ALL THINGS FISHER

Since the last chronicle----my lord...where does the time go?

WORK. not much to report there, i still go there, and I still have a job, thank goodness. My Duties on the weekend have sufficiently taken care of any spare time. I aint complaining, and am glad to do it. I also thank my lucky stars i wake up in Macon every day as opposed to Iraq or New Jersey.

--I bought a new car--a 1990 BMW convertible. I know, mid life crisis. But it cost 1500 bucks, which is a lot cheaper than a bass boat. I LOVE it and i listen to the stereo just as loud as it will go--when i drive it I am 18 years old and a High School Senior--woo-hoo!

--Winnie Poops ears that got pierced--well she didn't look out for them as prescribed so they closed back up-she now gets to try it again when she is 13.

--Winnie Poops is currently attending a day camp. she takes her lunch everyday. While the other kids are taking their lunch of a PBJ and some chips, my little Redneck girl, and chip off the old block, has been taking a can of vienna sausage, saltines, and hot sauce. Swear. I will draw the line if i see a can of skoal in the back of her jeans--

--Sue and I bought a treadmill. It looks great in the basement just sitting there idle.......

--ADVENTURES IN TRAVEL. I have had a few trips recently--New Hampshire back in March. It was cold up there, and i almost never made it because of snafus at the Atlanta Airport, which resulted in me sharing a hotel room with one of my buds from work and all we had between us was one pair of drawers and a toothbrush. After making it to New Hampshire, I went to a Hockey game there and was the only person in attendance wearing shorts. I showed those Yankees how we do it in Dixie. We also took the rental car and ventured into Maine to eat Lobster, which is one thing i can check off my list of things to do before i die. the lobster was delicious but I haven't started paying against the principal yet. I also got to go to Illinois (Springfield), where i went and toured the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum--It was awesome. In the gift shop you can actually buy Lincoln Logs. They have to be the real deal, but i didn't buy any, which is something i will regret for the rest of my life. But we were lucky enough to go south for an hour and a half to St. Louis and catch a Cardinals game. Gorgeous ballpark, and the Cards won, no doubt because they knew i was there. I also went to a record store and bought the CD of KISS ALIVE II so i could play it in my mid life crisis car and feel like i am a High School Senior again...
I am hoping for a trip to Chicago for work so i can go to Wrigley, hallowed be its name (If Allah wills it). In yet more traveling, I got to go to the Republic of Georgia (we had soldiers over there helping train the Georgian Army) and stayed for just a week. It is gorgeous country over there and I could go on and on about the WINE--and perhaps i will at a later time. Beautiful Country, and the girls are all dark haired breathtakingly gorgeous, or so i was told. I didn't notice.

-- Our little girl dog Gracie is pregnant. Gracie has papers that says she is a Shi-Tzu, but she doesnt look like it--She looks more pekingese. Too late to give her back now as she already has a place to pee on the floor. I hope she doesn't build a nest in my suitcase, which has yet to be unpacked from my last trip-

I LIVE FOR THIS!

Went to the Boston Red Sox and Braves game night before last at the TED—

A beautiful night in an outdoor stadium with real grass, the smell of hot dogs, peanuts and beer in the air and the still light sky at 9:00 p.m. .... A wonderful breeze blew all night--it was a good night to be out of doors-- Baseball--the greatest game in the world. Our National Pastime--Naysayers need only to walk the hallowed halls of Cooperstown if there is a doubt, or recite the words immortalized in celluloid in the classic baseball epic Field of Dreams...

"They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come ...The one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come. People will most definitely come."

Life is Good.
Amen.

LIVE FREE OR DIE

Our Flight time of departure to New Hampshire was supposed to have been at 1735hrs,and after driving like a madman from the "sunny hotter than hell welcome tospringtime in Macon Ga." weather I made it to the airport with an hour tospare-with the recent memory of having watched my 11 year old dance with herdance class at the Cherry Blossom festival, I was in good humor-icing on thecake was having made the commute without my car breaking down-so far it wasturning in to a great Sunday afternoon.....

But, really--what is life withouta well placed kick to the groin?

Departure time, as Jay called to tell me, had been changed until 1930-a bit of inconvenience, to be sure, but then again I have all day to get to New Hampshire and I could spend the extra time chilling out and by eatingan early dinner ...Now it is 1900 and we begin boarding--by 1930 we are loaded and the crew ,after apologizing profusely, announces we need fuel-good idea, as I suspectthe airplane will fly further with a tankful of gas-I am getting a bit anxious because regardless of where I go in my travels my bedtime is 900pm-The last thing I want to do is be traveling at night "so the boogers get me"....(My Grandmother used to say that)...I looked at my atlas and New Hampshire is just barely in the US of A--I didn't realize it but they also acquired statehood at some point-- I get on the plane, find my seat, sitting next to a young college kid probably 19 or so---she is talking on her cell phone telling either her folks or her boyfriend she didn't know when she would get there--I feel her pain--I have already been up since 0500 and my contacts are rejecting my myopia affected eyeballs-in other words, its dark, I am ready to go nighty nite and the damn airplane and all its occupants are waiting on a fuel truck--only as the last bit of daylight remained I could see out my window onto the tarmac--I saw a fuel truck pass by at least two occasions--the last one went by and I think he was pointing our direction and laughing--I can't be sure--I read the entire contents of the airline magazine, made a mental note to buy the new Mickey Mantle book just published, and get goo-goo eyed at the advertisements for log cabins (Log Cabins make me hunch)-and three pages of gadgets in the sky mall magazine that supposedly will cure my plantar fasciitus--one would think there is an epidemic of plantar fasciitus what with all the advertisements in the airplane magazines. I wonder if you catch it only on airplanes? I look around--it’s now dark-the stewardess passes out little bottles of water---
Caution: when stewardesses pass out little bottles of water that means its shift change and the truck, driver, and the gas--and more than likely the crew of the airplane--are all speeding off into the sunset.
Having enough anxiety as it is, you are also having quite the time of attempting to contain your flatulence because of the cute young lady sitting next to you-if a late plane makes her cry and call her boyfriend lord help you if you "let one go..."

Next announcement-the pilot comes on and says they have NOW exceeded the allowable time for a crew to be on the plane and have to change crews--it is now almost nine o’clock---

Fast forward: We unloaded the plane, got in line with a lot of really mad folks, and got vouchers to eat and sleep until the next day. At this moment Jay and I resorted to our experiences in Iraq, when it took three days to get on an airplane and fly somewhere. We spent the night at the Red Roof Inn. Inasmuch as I checked ALL my baggage, I had nothing but the clothes on my back. Jay was smarter because he had his shaving kit. Neither of us decided to wear underdrawers (did I mention it was hot this day?) so here we are at the RED ROOF with two Red roof Inn issued toothbrushes, me and Jaydawg in "commando" mode to spend the night. Lucky we did have two beds so it wasn't too bad.
You have to look for the silver lining--our food voucher came in handy thenext morning because WAFFLE HOUSE (Hallowed is its name) was nearby. Ain't no problem I ever had in this world that a Waffle and Country Ham couldn't cure.
Back at airport, thru security and back to the gate-our third traveler, JeffFarrell , who lives in the ATL was lucky enough to go back home and changehis underdrawers, arrives and we wait for the new day of adventure. Jay will not be flying the same route as Jeff and I --he will go to Manchester by way of New York’s' LaGuardia....we will not see him until later....way later.

Our adventure begins with the news that the medical reports on the trainwreck of all train wrecks Anna Nicole actually died of a drugoverdose-Revelation.

Our itinerary today takes us all over--to Manchester, New Hampshire by way of Memphis and Cincinnati. But my glass is half full--and by now, so is my bladder, so I head to the airport restroom, where there are always"issues"....

Airport bathrooms and the "butt gasket dilemma"---the butt gasket, for you that don't know, are the paper things you carefully place down on a toilet seat so that your behind doesn't get germs on it. The motion sensors in the restroom know when you turn away or stand back up. They are the coolest thing in the world, but sometimes, the sensors get confused with what the person is trying to do---and flush the butt gaskets down range and you have to place another gasket down on the lid--or hold it down and spin around real quick simultaneously letting trousers drop to your knees-- I call this the butt gasket bop.

We arrived at Manchester at a little past nine o’clock in the evening (already my bedtime) to a deserted airport except for passengers of our flight-we found baggage claim and waited with other passengers while bags hit the carousel..Ten minutes later the carousel comes screeching to a halt, with Jeff and me looking at each other without baggage.
Great.
Now I am up north with the clothes on my back. About this time Jay calls and tells us he made it to hotel and as he didn't have luggage either, and told us who to report to at ticketing-we went there and our bags were there (insert sigh of relief) having come up on the direct flight earlier thatday--we fist bumped each other and went to Hertz to pick up the rental car--

Day one highlights-went to lunch at a place called the Merrimack-not to be confused with Mary Macs in Atlanta-but food good--pictures of Democrats (horror of horrors) adorn the walls-that concerned me so picked a seat where my back was to the wall lest I had to fight my way out-I was ambushed however-I inquired with our server whether they had sweet tea and was told they had both sweet and unsweet. Jay and I were high-fiving our good fortune when she brought back Nestea in a bottle and set it in front ofme--clever Yankee democratic influenced ingenuity I guess--but no worry. Iwas hoping she would ask me where I was from so I could tell her Maine (theMaine part of Ga)..
For supper we wandered the streets for a while and ended up at an Italian place-there seems to be no particular place or culinary style that these NewHampshirians take to---I mean in the South we have soul food , barbecue and Macon’s' famous Nu-Way hot dog joint--in New Hampshire you have just regular places to eat-We decide that we will go to Portsmouth on Thursday night to find lobster--

Day two highlights-I still haven't figured out how to adjust my numbermatic bed-I keep mashing the button until all you hear is a whine which sounds like the starter isn't engaging--I am not convinced that setting my sleepnumber will do me much good-in the two nights I have tried to figure it out I have lost an hour and a half of sleep.
Another Yankee trick if you ask me.
We three Georgia guys (Jeff is actually from Ohio, bless his heart but has since been saved) are going to the hockey game tonight-oddly enough we are the only guys in class who are going except for the instructor and another fellow-it may be another ambush but little do they know this ain't my first rodeo--rather, hockey game--I saw the Macon Whoopee and the Columbus Cottonmouths damn near kill each other one night and that was before the game actually got under way. I even know a little about Zambonis.
However, inasmuch as I am an out of towner, I decide to refrain from running my mouth until I finish the first beer.
--we met at 515pm in the lobby to go get an early dinner before the 7pm hockey game. The weather was breezy and cool, much unlike the 90 degrees we had back in Ga--I guess the groundhog always sees his shadow up here---I decided to wear shorts. Definitely not the brightest idea I ever had, but I didn't really pack the right clothing. I only had a windshirt and didn't bring a jacket. It wasn'tcool, but it was cold. Frigid. It felt as if nothing were between New Hampshire and the North Pole except a barb wire fence that had been blown down. The wind howled.It sliced thru me as if I were wearing only shorts and a windshirt.
We ate supper at an Irish pub--where the special was called "Bangers andMash". Come to find out that is sausages and mashed potatoes served with a side of baked beans and some gravy. Very good and tasty, but if someone from Georgia named it would likely be called "Scoot n Poot".

The Verizon Wireless arena in downtown Manchester was full of hockey fans and the game with all its trappings made for a fun filled two hours. A short Arctic wind walk of a block or so and were back at the Radisson where I again screwed with the bed o' matic device trying to find my sleep number. After another 45 minutes of this insanity I opted for what I normally do--try to sleep thru the night without getting up to pee.

PS- the hotel has been invaded by 4-6 hundred Future Business Leaders of America students--mostly girls. The elevators to the tenth floor were a quagmire of young teens getting on and getting off on floors 1-9. I tell them they should be planning for the shaving cream balloon fights for later, and I get a collective deer in the headlight look. Cricket... Cricket.....so much for being a cool old dude. I laugh to myself when I see the looks of desperation on the faces of the chaperones and teachers of all these kids. I also wish I were 27 years younger and had some balloons and shaving cream...

Day three (thur)-the day we go to eat lobster. After class, we met in lobby and began our trek to Portsmouth, Maine, and the seacoast some 45 milesaway. Actually, Kittery Maine, which is right across the river and home to Warrens lobster house, our destination. As luck would have it, lobster availability and prices therein are at an all time high. The sign and waitress said so. (another Yankee trick)
Jay and I decided our chances to actually eat lobster in Maine again in our lifetimes were pretty slim, so we decided to do "the real deal" as Jay described it. But, my chances of eating chicken fingers in Maine was probably just as slim, so perhaps I should have ordered those.
I will not divulge the price of either of our dinners but suffice to say if our spouses find out our bangers will be mashed for sure. The lobster was darn good and It will be paid for in full in January 2010. .

Last day-time to poot n scoot we kept our fingers crossed after returning the rental car and heading thru security --if getting home was even a smidgen as difficult as getting here we just as soon take Trailways. Save for a crucial moment in security in which Jeff almost triggered a full scale alert because of the 2 ounce bottle of maple syrup he was "smuggling" out of New Hampshire, all went well. He was just before screaming "ATTICA, ATTICA" when they found the syrup....A quick stop at the McDonalds before we boarded the plane humbled me yet again. There were several folks in line and I ordered the number 2. Quarter pounder meal.
Jay ordered the same, except no pickle no onion. Jeff ordered filet o fish. Since I was formerly as a young man in the employ of R. McDonald, I told them they would bring the kitchen into an abrupt halt seeing as how they were ordering something not normally located under the sun lamps; while I would quickly get my number 2 with time to spare. As it turned out I got mine last. I forgot to add in the "if your name is George" factor.
Moral of the story--don’t run your mouth or you’re liable to wind up with number 2 on your face and a mashed banger.

So another thumbtack on my national geographic map of places I have been. A check in the box of having eaten lobster in Maine although it may cost me a mashed banger. I have shared a hotel room with another fellow and we didn't have one pair of clean underdrawers between us. I have gone from Nashville and Cincinnati to get to my elbow, and now I understand why folks hate the airlines so much. But I saw more of this beautiful land called America, which this Macon boy gets to see while on the job! How cool is that?
Life is good.
And it’s like we say in New Hampshire... Live free or die. Its all good, but after a few days its time to go home. Homeward bound tothe land of the free and home of the Braves.

15 FEBRUARY 2007- VISIT TO SCOTTY’S GRAVE

I was fortunate enough to find myself in Washington DC earlier this month as part of a tour during my Pre Command Course that began at Ft. Lee, then to Ft. Eustis, with a day reserved at the National Guard Readiness Center before proceeding on to Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland. However, the winter weather forced a cancellation of the Aberdeen part of the trip, leaving me an extra day in D.C.

If you only had time to visit one place in Washington DC that one place should be Arlington National Cemetery. Every hero you have ever read about rests here. Everything you couldn’t stand to hear about in that boring History class is all laid out here in what used to be, more or less, Robert E. Lee’s front yard. I already knew how I would spend the remainder of my time before I flew back to my beloved Macon on Friday. I finished up my work at almost lunch time and got the rental car and headed for Arlington, only a mile or so as the crow flies, but a good 15 minutes when you drive there from the hotel we were staying at. The night before, I had entertained two of my new friends I met in the course at dinner with the SCOTTY FAN CLUB story—I do that anytime I get the chance—and since one of the guys was from Maine, I had also been using the Scotty line he told to the upperclassmen at West Point during his hazing—which went something like this:

Upperclassmen: Where you from Cadet Scott?
Cadet Scott: Maine, Sir!
Upperclassmen: MAINE?!? How can you be from Maine with that accent?!?
Cadet Scott: The Main part of GEORGIA, Sir!

Naturally, anytime someone asks me where I am from, my response is MAINE--I have derived a tremendous amount of pleasure from that line and anytime I am in the company of Yankees, I always get ‘em with it.

But I digress.

I have only been to Arlington twice before, the most recent was in June of 2006 when General Scott was interred. Arlington National Cemetery is hallowed ground. The first sign you read when you get there says the same thing, but quite honestly they don’t need the sign. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you get goose bumps just going in there.

On this day, the winter storm has left two-three inches of ice and snow on the ground and the entire cemetery is covered in a blanket of white, which somehow makes it more hallowed, even heavenly. I check in with the two employees in the main building. They direct me to a computer where I can look up SCOTT, ROBERT L. and get a map printed to show me where to go. I thought about that for a second and hesitated at the computer as I typed in the letters S-C-O-T-T. I thought about the day that I was in the library at McKibben Lane Elementary and first saw the picture of Scotty in front of the P-40 and after having found out that he was from Macon, had gone home to the Macon telephone directory and looked up SCOTT, ROBERT L. Here I was thirty three years later doing almost the same thing.

I had printed my map and the section—66/1003. I was smart enough to wear two coats—my leather A2 complete with the leather 23rd Fighter Group patch that Scotty had signed for me and my Army Black Fleece jacket over that. Realizing that Scotty was both Army and Air Force, it only seemed appropriate.

The tour busses are all lined up outside but no groups of people are anywhere around due to the weather. The place is all but deserted. I am convinced no one besides the employees and the Guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier are here today. The route to the gravesite takes you from the main building up to Eisenhower Drive and then left. Eisenhower Drive to section 66, which is bordered between Bradley and Arnold Drive. It is a nice walk on a spring or summer day, but on the 15th of February about half way there I thought my ears and nose were going to fall off. As always, my trusty ball cap kept the remainder of my head from freezing. I am not used to being in the cold. HOW COLD WAS IT? Let’s put it in terms we can all understand. It felt that there was nothing between me and the North Pole except for a barbed wire fence—with the fence being blown down. Even being from MAINE I can’t handle the cold.

I turn left on Bradley and think back to June, when we were up here for Scotty’s interment. It was gorgeous up here then, and it was quite moving as we proceeded behind the Caisson and the family members and friends of Scotty. On that day there had been more than one military funeral being conducted, in each of the services, and it was a bit strange now to be walking up to General and Mrs. Scott’s final resting place all alone. The quiet was deafening. There weren’t even any airplanes flying around from nearby Reagan Airport, as had been the case last June. These were very much indeed hallowed grounds and you just about have to take an extra breath to finish the thought.

I went by my memory of last June to see how close I might be before I began counting the numbers on the headstones. I had remembered a tree being nearby and turned up at approximately where I thought it would be located. I stepped as gingerly and quietly as possible and was surprised to find that my weight didn’t break through the white blanket of ice and snow. While I was pretty close (I was one row behind and about ten graves over to the right), I found myself on the backside of the row of graves until I found #1003.

Interestingly enough CATHARINE RIX GREEN was the first name I saw. On the traditional gravestones at Arlington the wives names are engraved on the back. I proceeded around to the front of the stone and read the words:
ROBERT
LEE
SCOTT JR
BRIG GEN
US AIR FORCE
WORLD WAR II
APR 12 1908
FEB 27 2006
DFC & 10 OLC
SS & OLC
AM & OLC


There were thousands of markers just like this one and I finally found the one I was looking for.

Scotty. My Scotty. My Friend, Hero and inspiration since I was eleven years old. Why, this man had been as much a part of my life as my own parents, as much as my two best buddies Guerry and Dave, my Grandparents, all my other friends and relatives. Since I was a kid not much conversation passed without the question being asked, “Have you heard from General Scott”, or “How’s the General doing?”

I took another pause and a deep breath of that frigid Washington DC air. As I stared at the final resting place of the Greatest Fighter Pilot in the World, all was calm and peaceful. In my minds eye, I saw clearly a little kid running to the mailbox hoping he would get a letter from Sun City, Arizona, 85351. I saw my buddy Guerry running hell-bent for my patrol boy post in 1975 waving frantically a brown envelope with that return address on it and opening the contents containing a letter, picture and book called God Is My Co-Pilot. I recalled three boys in an absolute frenzy as they began an odyssey of sorts, in their hero worship of the hometown Macon Georgia Hero who took time to write each of them a letter.

Then too, I saw a 66 year old man running hell-bent up my buddy Guerry’s driveway in the first meeting. In subsequent meetings I saw all our parents and grandparents become just as excited and awestruck by Scotty as we had become. They embraced it as well as we three boys did. I saw my Grandmother pull out the good tablecloth and put it on the dining room table. I saw my Dad tell me how one is supposed to address a General and how to shake hands like a man.

In my thoughts I could see the effects from an eleven year old boy to an almost 45 year old man. It came in letters, pictures, stories, books, meetings and later on in frequent visits, going to lunch, to the movie, or just talking on the phone.

It was taking Eisenhower fishing, walking the Great Wall, flying the hump, telling white lies, and even an occasional “Piss on Bissell”—it was oatmeal cookies, blood oranges, and chicken and rice soup from the China Palace. It was Glen Livet single malt 12 yr old scotch, hippoglossus hippoglossus (Latin name for Halibut), and Robin and the Grandchildren (Linda, Laura, Susan, and Scott)---it was going to the gym to work out, even if it meant exceeding the speed limit on the highway named after you. It was also about getting older, realizing mortality, fighting depression, and remaining true to the greatest girl in the world, who had to tolerate “living with a stick of dynamite.” It surely would have been a wonderful experience to meet Mrs. Scott.

I seemed to remember everything all at one time, the memories so thick and racing through my mind so fast it made me dizzy. I realized how lucky I am. I also realized how I am but one of THOUSANDS who feel the same way about Scotty. It didn’t seem as cold now and I had a smile on my face despite a tear in my eye. I took a few pictures and started to leave. I stopped a moment and then turned around for one last look at the grave site. I did what a soldier should do at Arlington. I snapped to attention and saluted. I turned once more and began the walk back to my car.

It’s been almost a year now. I miss him very much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. The internet website transformed a three person Fan Club into a three hundred person Fan Club (with a 15% discount at the Museum of Aviation gift shop). Scotty is everywhere-- in my house, in my office and in my thoughts. Not just on a cold wintry day at Arlington, but always. It’s been that way since 1974 and there’s really no need in changing that now. I will always be a Scotty fanatic. He is part of who I am.

Precious memories—how they linger.

Me and my buddies were the luckiest three friends in the world and we know it. Scotty bonded us together forever. Guerry and Dave are family. If Scotty did nothing else for me he had a hand in that.

Of course, God had a hand in it all.

George L. Fisher
Original Founder and President
ROBERT L SCOTT FAN CLUB ASSOCIATION