That Time of the Season...

Big Hello from the N. Pole

2016 flew by so fast I swear there was a sonic boom, and here we are at the closing of another year.  Part of that closing is the Saturnalia celebration co-opted by lion fearing christians as the birthday of a fellow, who if actually born, would have been born either in late fall or around March sometime depending on who you believe.  I am good with that however, for two reasons in particular the first being it's an excuse to get the family together in a non-snit environment and attempt to enjoy each others company.  The second reason is that I get to drag out the old red suit and give a few kids a bit of a thrill as Santa - hey I have the perfect physique for the job, though the flowing white hair and curly beard once adorned the back of a yak.  I hope they just sheared the yak and didn't terminate the poor beast so I could once again have hair and a beard that didn't make me look like I live under a freeway over pass.

Huskies do not come to Santa, Santa comes to huskies.

Got to play Santa three times this year for my wife's school and enjoyed every minute, from the looks of awe to the teenagers giving me  "bunny ears" behind my back and telling the little girl I can't bring her a live puppy because international treaties prohibit me form bring live animals across borders (much to the relief of the parents listening in.).  I always try to get them to settle for a cute stuffed toy puppy, but it never seems to placate the desire for a husky pup, after all they did ask for a dog, and huskies are the kings/queens of the dog world, right?

The look of awe form the young ones is like a drug that warms my heart and makes this holiday one of the best of the bunch, and a child running up and hugging me really makes brings tears to these old eyes.  Making folks, family or otherwise, happy is what it is all about from my point of view - not happy with chinese made piece of crap wrapped in fancy paper, but the giving of love - the food doesn't hurt either.

Santa getting his Rave on.

Note to parents - do NOT force your kid to sit on Santa's lap if the child does not wish to - I refuse to be responsible for scarring a kid for life, let's leave that to clowns.

Pleasantly Disappointed

After leaving the local    movie theater, I noticed a new shop coming in across the way – “PT NOODLES,” and I became very excited as it was about time we got a ramen joint on the far west side and the fact it was close to the house was  a big bonus. The other day I noted that the restaurant was open and determined I would try it out for lunch, the thought of a bowl of steaming ramen with fresh made boodles dancing through my head, I could hardly wait, but lunch time did arrive.

 

I walked through the door was led to a seat in the spacious and well decorated dining room., given a beautifully designed menu and realized at that point I wasn’t going to get my ramen, but rather pho, a delicate and delicious pho, I might add and therein lies the pleasant disappointment.   I love pho, from the aromatic and enticing broth to the incredible texture of the meatballs - and don’t forget the tender rice noodles, rare steak, and add vegetables. The soup was off the scale as far as my experience with pho goes.  I suspect the soup, while basically the same from restaurant to restaurant has slightly different touches at each establishment but this bowl, my bowl, was absolutely astounding.  Now remember taste is subjective and another diner might not like tripe (it can be ordered without, I got the combination pho), cilantro, or pho at all for that matter (I’ve no use for pho haters, but whatever), however this is worth trying.

 

There are, of course, other dishes on the PT Noodle menu, but when one goes to a noodle joint, he or she should order the pho at least once out of respect for the noodle. Want to see the menu?  Check out: http://ptnoodles.com/.

PT Noodle

Surprise

Phone: (623) 322 -8399

Address: 13749 N Litchfied Rd, Suite G109, Surprise AZ 85374

There seems to be a migration of sorts back to Blogger, so I thought maybe it's time to go home.  I believe blogger is more personal and homey than Face Book or Twitter, I mean how many selfies with duck lips can one take - here, at least, you actually get to know people. In fact many of my Facebook regulars are old acquaintances from Blogger and I miss the laughs, stories, and even the rants, not to mention the latest view of them, their works, their children, pets, and latest success.

So I will try again, hope to come back across some of the old friends, make new friends and learn some
things along the way.  And no duck lips. 

Fall again.

Fall again, and it has kind of sneaked up on me. It always does out here the flat lands of Arizona, where only idiots plant deciduous trees and if a tree turns color it means the tree is dead. Of course the colors, while a big part of the autumn scene are important there is more going on with that bit of a nip in the air – here that means dropping below 90 for a few days. Okay, it's time to listen to Phos bitch about being a bit homesick again. This time of year is tough on me because the Fall was a big part of my life, a lot of time spent up in the Kettle Moraine. Here the boys up North get all stoked about a few poplars turning yellow, back in the KM, there is a virtual explosion of color.

This burst of vibrant hues is a sign that it's time to get in the last of the fishing before the lake ices over, and deer season is right around the corner. Just walking through the woods on a golden carpet of Larch (or Tamarack, if you prefer) needles makes life worthwhile – the thick layer deadens the foot fall adding to the hush of the forest so one can hear the r

ustle of small creatures skittering through the fallen maple, hickory and elm leaves. The Oak holds on to its dun coat until the very last, tough wood, resilient tree. A person can also hear the far off drumming of a woodpecker on a dead tree, and when I was younger the popping of an old John Deere starting up in the chill of an early morning. The whole thing overpowers the senses, but in a good way. This is something that must be experienced personally, no words can describe time in the woods because, like a poem or a work of art, it will mean something different to each individual beholding and immersing themselves in the scene. And like some sort of drug, once it gets hold of a person it never lets go.

And so because of distance friction I sit here reminiscing, a junkie trying to chase that first high, but failing. Alas, the cold has become too much, not so much for me but for my joints. The knees refuse to work properly, the shoulders ache and getting around is tough. Couple that with the fact if I ever see snow again it'll be too soon means that I am stranded here in the warmer climes, at least until climate change catches up with us here and the place becomes so much scorched earth. So I am left with many pleasant memories of time spent with my brother and father out in and among the trees. I don't mind so much, though I do long to go back for a visit.  

Family

Family Fun

Sitting in the food court doing some serious damage to some fried chicken a young mother her toddler son and new baby daughter as well as her mother sat across from me. A lovely family gathering, just out for the day. They could have been Chinese or Singaporean as both countries have squadrons here, but that isn't as important as the dynamic, as that transcends all cultures.

The baby fussed a bit, as babies do and that was the cue for grandma to scoop baby out of the carrier, and her opportunity to show her granddaughter to me. I am a sucker for babies, so after a round of smiling and waving I couldn't help but notice the pride on grandma's face, something endemic to most families (sadly, not all). That is the last I saw of grandma and baby as she took off with the child to make the rounds and show the rest of the court her lovely granddaughter. The love and pride really warmed my heart, another small touching scene in an otherwise thug dominated world.

I would have loved to take a photo ( I carry a camera everywhere), but in our world today, folks take a dim view of old men with cameras taking photos of young children. I do get it, but it pains me to pass by such beauty and love. There's an Israeli photographer I follow on Facebook named Moshe Harosh that does some incredible child photography and portraiture. His technique is masterful, bringing an almost ethereal glow to their faces.

All that aside, it's nice to see families that love and care, paying attention to their children, sharing the love with the grandparents, and generally proud of their kids. These are bound to be successful families that can get past the inevitable squabbles, weather storms, and sit together for a raucous, enjoyable meal at the end of the day.  

Back in the Saddle Again.

I started out blogging as The Phosgene Kid long ago on V Agent for Breakfast,  I plan on continuing on here, more of a move than a fresh start really. I had wanted to control the three Blogs I do from one spot, however, the process of adding V Agent to my blogs on Blogger eludes me, so simpler to start over. I'm sticking with the chemical agent theme to give the shit heads in NSA and the other three letter organizations something to worry about though my experience with chemical weapons is purely defensive in nature as can be seen by the fashionable gear in the picture.  I lived in parts  that rig for almost a month during Desert Storm though there never was any evidence Saddam had any long range weapons capable of delivering chemicals (sorry Mr. Bush, but there you are). Did get scudded a couple time, but it was hard to tell if they were long on Dahran or directed at us, save for the last couple that hit right outside Shaik Isa. Bahrain. Explosive yes, chemical no. The funny part is I was sitting outside talking with a couple F-4 back-seaters when we heard a wooshing sound overhead, followed by four large bangs. The whooshing turned out to be the Patriot missiles from the battery behind us (thought the launch would be a bit more spectacular  The Patriots did their job as advertised, the bangs being breaking the sound barrier and intercepting the scuds. The scud warhead worked as advertised blowing up after being separated from the missile by the Patriots and impacting the ground. The the alarm went out to don hood and mask and gloves. One of the back-seaters asked if we should put our gear on and I said I felt the moment had passes, so we continued with out conversation.

Turns out the Lt in command of the battery didn't even know he'd launched the missiles. Apparently there is an auto mode where if the fire control computer feels a threat is imminent it takes over and launches on it's own (thank whatever deity you believe in).

And here we are today. my only war time experience a thing of the long past, the Russians are our pals, sort of, and instead of a "Red under every bed" it is "ISIL under every bed," and we are still fucking around in the Middle East because G-Dud and his posse were a bunch of morons.  Personally I think G-Dub had Daddy issues after disappointing daddy by being a drunk little asshole in his youth and decided destabilizing the region wold really impress George Senior. Just a thought, but there youa re.