Snow in Malmedy

People were hoping for snow this morning in our area of Sacramento

MALMEDY MASSACRE

but were disappointed. It was cold enough to snow but the moisture wasn't there. I was not among those waiting in anticipation.

My encounters with that
element of nature are mostly unpleasant ones.

As a child I lived for a time in the High Sierras and spent one winter in a simple cabin with only plain boarding for walls. I helped the cause by stuffing the cracks between the siding with newspaper to keep out the chill. Water was carried from a nearby creek and the morning wash basin full would be frozen. Play outside meant frost bitten fingers. The only good thing to recall was when mom would put some fresh snow in a bowl and add milk and sugar to make a simple ice cream.
As an infantryman in WWII I spent a couple of winters in the snow of Europe. In combat that is no fun. I remember being dug in to the side of a railroad embankment (a side wise foxhole) and having our minister bring me a pair of dry socks to protect my feet from frostbite. I had to kick the return slide on my M-1 rifle to get a round in the chamber as it was frozen. And once while on guard duty with a friend we shared a foxhole during our rest period; and, during the night we were covered with snow and our replacement luckily and literally stumbled upon us while searching desperately in the dark.
On one combat patrol we wore white 'long john' underwear over our uniforms to serve as camouflage as we marched. This was a venture to regain ground taken by the Germans at the Malmedy Massacre, where they captured a hospital and shot the American patients. We did retake this area and provide evidence for possible war crimes trials after the war. You can probably read about it by using google. In our approach to this area we were opposed by a few rifle shots from the surrounding hills and as we sought to make shelter in the fields by digging fox holes I spotted a depressed spot that I thought would give me a head start. In actuality it had frozen water in the bottom and I had to use my small shovel to chip it away first. As time passed the opposition grew stronger and soon a mortal shell burst above me. I felt a sting on my back (I was reclining while attempting to dig) and reached back to see if I was injured. I found a small fragment of the shell lying on my back that was still warm from firing. I carried it for years as a good luck charm. The photo above is of my buddy Bob Smothers and I just before the Malmedy venture.
The upshot of all this is that I did suffer some frost damage to my feet during these winters and I do not enjoy wading about in snow. I am happy to sit in the warm lodge, sipping a bolstering drink, while watching you ski buffs suffer outside. I am
Just Sayin'

Wanderlust

In the Spring of 1964 I, my wife and two sons took a 6 week trip from California across the United States and return. We traveled in a very large slide-in camper that had a large sleeping area that extended over the cab of our Dodge truck. I had just leased the truck and caught a break on the camper when the original purchaser decided she didn't like the color scheme and forfeited the $500 down payment, which the dealer gave to me. This camper was so wide that it would probably be prohibited from highways by most states today. The weight caused the front of the truck to rise a bit so driving was a learning process that I had to engage. As an army vet who had driven everything from half-tracks, 2 1/2 ton trucks, command cars, jeeps and seeps I had no fears in tackling this behemoth. And, in the end, no damage was ever incurred. The camper had a dining table that converted into a double bed at nighttime, a chemical toilet, an ice box, propane stove and oven, sink, battery operated lights or regular electric hook-ups when parked. A very comfy home away from home and, while moving, the boys had a great seat in the overhead sleeping area with its large window.
This was a vagabond trip, wandering south through the Salton Sea then eastward through New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, No. Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky and Ohio before turning westward towards home. I would drive about two or three hundred miles each morn and arrive at a pre-planned spot to rest, sight see and get our ground legs back again. We tried not to miss the notable places along the way, stopping at Indian Tribal sites, the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, the Alamo in San Antonio, Lake Pontchartrain in Louisiana, Stone Mountain in Georgia, Blue Ridge Mountains in No. Carolina, a few days with an army buddy in the back woods of Kentucky, and a long stay in Cincinnati, Ohio where we visited with my wife's sister.
With today's restrictions and regulations I doubt if this trip could be duplicated. Campers were not that prevalent and we were able to stop almost wherever we wished for the evening. We stayed in super market parking lots, under bridge overpasses, and often in state or county parks. In big cities we could often just park on a street as we were treated as a passenger car under the highway codes. We were self contained so did not pose an environmental threat. Only once were we told to leave a potential overnight site and that was in Coolidge, Arizona where we had parked at the Casa Grande ruins. A ranger politely asked us to leave after visitor hours as he had no rules governing a possible night visitor. There were a few commercial camp sites to be found. We found one in Georgia and one in No. Carolina. Both had places to shower, clean the camper and provided Ranger guided tours of the area. I recall the cost as being 75 cents per night in Georgia and $2.50 in No. Carolina; however, in No. Carolina's defense, they had a swimming pool and rec hall.
As we traveled we would gather decals to apply to the rear of the camper, indicating all the places we had visited. Remember, this was 1964 and we were to travel through the deep south. While in full sympathy with the civil rights cause, we were on vacation and hoped to get safely home without injury, so we did not engage in any political discourse with the natives. And, there were plenty of natives who would gather around us wherever we stopped - - never having seen a home on wheels before.
The closest we came to an accident happened when I pulled off the highway in a wide strip of graveled ground so we could have some lunch. After lunch I prepared to leave and walked behind the camper to make sure all was clear as I needed to back up to gain a more level access to the highway. Then, I slowly backed up and hit something. Upon investigation I found that a gentleman had pulled up immediately behind me, so close he was in a blind spot, and was busy studying a map! No damage was done so we chatted, smiled, and went on our separate ways.
Our only major problem came after my youngest son became seriously ill in New Mexico. We had briefly visited distant relatives in Texas and he had taken a drink of water from a garden plastic hose. It gave him a kidney infection and we were stuck outside Carlsbad Caverns without a clue where to go. We drove to Lovington, NM at early dawn and found a hospital. They had to call a doctor as there was none on duty at that hour. In a short time a physician arrived and he was able to diagnose the problem and provide antibiotics that quickly brought back a healthy lad. Son, Kevin, about 7 yrs. old at the time, was convinced that a young boy on the Carlsbad tour was to blame, having made a 'devil face' at him when he passed. He still believes this today.
Everyday we awoke to a new front yard, a new adventure. We enjoyed views of cotton fields, corn fields, busy city traffic, nearby creeks, rivers and lakes. We spent one night holed up in the camper while a furious thunder storm drenched the area and lightning struck a tree a bare 30 feet away. This was in Indiana on our route homeward. We later paused in Arizona to view the petrified forest and the huge crater that was formed eons ago by a meteor.
It would be an equally adventurous trip today but with the price of gasoline and the traffic today - - - I am
just sayin'

Fiesta of Food

When I first married Virginia after WWII I was the cook in the family. Now that is not saying much. I could scramble eggs, which I learned how to do as a child and I had a smattering of in-the-field cooking I had to learn in the army; like heating a can of beans on the radiator of a half-track vehicle. Virginia had zero experience. She had worked part time in a bakery but otherwise ate what her grandmother served. So, we were fortunate in sharing a home with my mother briefly in Redding, Calif. and; later, living in a small cabin we built on my Aunt's property. Both my mother and aunt were good home country cooks. Virginia's first lessons came from them.
As time went by Virginia, or Jimmy as I called her, took a sincere interest in the preparation of food. I encouraged her by supplying the appetite and many recipe books. Finally our mutual interest in the subject led us beyond the norm. As a child I was considered a "picky" eater. There were so many foods I would not eat. What wasn't understood at the time was that I had severe food allergies. I have been saddled with them ever since. It is a running tease in my family and among my friends that I will not eat anything 'green.' And, factually, most green things with few exceptions (lettuce, peas) make me ill. But, as I explored the world of food with Virginia, I found I could eat a great variety of foods of any ethnic origin.
In the 1970s we founded a club called the Afro-American -Irish-Mexican Meeting and Eating Society. About every other month members would gather at a friend's home and we would have a pot luck dinner. I was the president/dictator and the rules were simple: bring enough food for your family, your own beverages, and bring a friend if you like who can also become a member if he/she is compatible. The variety of foods shared at these dinners was astronomical, of every ethnic origin, and the gathering of friends was delightful. This club became so popular that many members just could not host the dinners at their own home. Too many people. One of the last dinners Virginia and I hosted was held at a downtown hall that we had to rent to accommodate everyone. The club collapsed of its own popularity.
Virginia eventually became a gourmet chef. She could prepare meals that were derived from most any country. She could make from scratch everything from Chines char chi bau, re-fried beans, tamales, baklava and Vietnamese pastries to Turkish stuffed cabbage rolls and southern fried pies. We continually investigated the world of food and at one point we decided to eat our way through the phone book yellow pages. We started with such "A" restaurants as the Asian Cafe and the Alhambra Bowling Alley, visiting 4-star places along the way. An exciting adventure. We dined in fabulous places when we traveled such as the top of the Space Needle in Seattle, the Jewish restaurant in the old City of Paris in San Francisco, the spots in the French Quarter of New Orleans, and the great German restaurants in her home city of Cincinnati. I will always have the great memories of our adventures together in the world of food. But - - I still won't eat anything green - - - -
I'm just sayin'