>> Christmas 2024

 

NOTES- PARASCOPIC

 PARACOSMIC  REVIEW

July 5-2024
I've read it many times, but it's about time I got back to your blog.
What I like about your writing is that it's fresh and alive, it draws me along. Whatever the subject I'm interested in it. There's a gentle mix of satire and sarcasm you use as a humorous mix. No jokes, just something wry you weave slyly into your works.

The thing is, it always reads nice and light, friendly-like. As I'm reading, I'm riding a train and seeing the same as you, or performing some bizarre mutiny, or learning something, often abstract. More often you're gently tossing something in the reader's face because that's what poets do. It's a mirror. It may be a small mirror, it may be huge, but they, notice themselves.

It's not your worry if they look in the mirror, it's nice if they do. Poets write mirrors mostly for themselves anyway.
I'm losing my analogy and my chai is cold again.
I'm sure you already know the direction of your poetry has evolved intentionally or not and maybe due to the geopolitical times you are more aware of. The new work is more harshly sarcastic, nearly sardonic, or slightly negative, or whatever. I don't think the MAGA folks will like it. Don't know if they did.

I don't think you intended these as your most charming pieces. You never sugarcoat your words but you always use them effectively, this time more fiercely. The little poems get by without comment- they are fine and good, but the blurry one, is that an artistic statement?

I've finally somewhat caught up with this blog stuff I've been so busy with (although I'm sure much less so than you) with blog prep, blog writing, and blah blah. India is pending and Nalini's work is extremely busy. So I get to help out more than usual with scheduling Reyn for the vet and taking on the 18th. Getting special shots to travel for myself, all of these things like that.

------------------------------------
NOTES BEFORE INDIAN TRAVELS

JI-JI
Morning Chai (should I collect these)

I've finally somewhat caught up with all of this blog stuff I've been busy with my silly blog stuff, though much less busy than Nalini and her work at WIC.

India is calling and though she is halfway across the world is sooner than we think. With Nalini filling in for her staff who is enjoying this long weekend I get to help out with duties more than usual.

Reyn is reluctant to see us go and hasn't cooperated even to schedule updating her insurance or making a check-up appointment at the vet. This reminds me, I need special export shots to get out of here. All of these details prove how practical a partner is.

But it does make me wish I were someone like Joseph Conrad slipping off to the Heart of Darkness. People just got up and went in those days. It may have taken them months, but the tale was in the telling if you got back.

Maybe not Joe. I'm better on the lighter side, I should pack my bags and catch a steamer, go on the lecture circuit like my main man Mr. Clemens!

Happy Fourth of July everyone, let's hope we're coming back to somewhere wonderful!

Samual Clemans

>> Evergram-marnotely- Santa Fe

 

>> Evergram-marnotely

Today, while touching up and moving files and paragraphs on Evernote the relevant text went completely bonkers, combining words and phrases in crazy unreadable ways.  I even tried restarting my laptop twice hoping to self-correct. I finally just closed up shop and went home.  This wasn't the first time, or was it the only platform this has happened with.

I am too deliberate a person (read that as old) to do anything on the fly. This has been a personal trait ever since my collage/college days (sic), and even before MacApples and PC's came to be. But I digress. Sometime in the recent past l have written short pieces reviewing Grammarly and Evernote, each well before they became tainted by AI. I rated them both high- practical and useful. 

I believe the current editions of these apps will evolve as root programs of 'HAL-2000 (the computer that tragically malfunctioned in '2001 A Space Oddity'). I certainly would not praise either as glowingly as in my original reviews. Were I to, and I may yet, return to evaluating such things I would rate them both just adequate and predisposed to hindering and interfering with one's work. 

But, to be honest, I still use them in place of Word or other formal software products, but only reluctantly, and mostly out of habit.  I now lack the time, patience, and incentive to learn new things that will be updated or outdated or no longer be free before I master them.  Of course I lacked the same traits when computers evolved from video games.

-dp-

 -11-18-24

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Today, while touching up and moving files and paragraphs on Evernote the relevant text went completely bonkers, combining words and phrases in crazy unreadable ways.  I even tried restarting my laptop twice hoping to self-correct. I finally just closed up shop and went home.  This wasn't the first time, or was it the only platform this has happened with.

I am too deliberate a person (read as old) to do anything on the fly. This has been a personal trait ever since my collage/college days (sic), and even before MacApples and PC's came to be. But I digress. Sometime in the recent past l have written short pieces reviewing Grammarly and Evernote, each well before they became tainted by AI. I rated them both high- practical and useful. 

I believe the current editions of these apps will evolve as root programs of 'HAL-2000 (the computer that tragically malfunctioned in '2001 A Space Oddity'). I certainly would not praise either as glowingly as in my original reviews. Were I to, and I may yet, return to evaluating such things I would rate them both just adequate and predisposed to hindering and interfering with one's work. 

But, to be honest, I still use them in place of Word or other formal software products, but only reluctantly, and mostly out of habit.  I now lack the time, patience, and incentive to learn new things that will be updated or outdated or no longer be free before I master them.  Of course I lacked the same traits when computers evolved from video games.

-dp-

 -11-18-24

The Continuous Adventures of Dirty Socks: Book Eleven, Chapter 5 (wip)

 

1. first entry (alexandria) -wip-

NEW WRITE

I was on deck when dawn morning sun rose, a blurry silver disk low in the east. It was cool and damp. I was still in my light bedclothes but wanted to be on deck to look about and to check the anchor rode.  I also wanted to sweep the deck clear of the tacks I'd scattered around before bedding down last night and place them back into their little storage tin to take below. Besides, these were practical tasks until the chai came to a boil on the little safety burner below. 

The tacks were an old trick Josh Slocum had passed on to my grandfather for when those cruising alone in aboriginal waters. It turns out that bare feet are susceptible to sudden and intense pain when punctured by tacks, which will induce screams followed by splashing and cries in the water when a deck tack is encountered at night. It works as a superior alarm to gunfire in most locations.

When I finally had a few moments to settle back against the cockpit rail and reflect on what brought me to this morning anchored safe distance in the lee of this small presumably mostly uncharted island a few miles southwest of Madagascar. Today marks the first full day and first official log entry of my first real command. Though I sail alone I am still in command of a 32-foot sloop-rigged ketch, and though I feel competent that I will master her, the Indian Ocean shall be a daunting place to be learning her lines.

This is another reason I'm choosing to linger here, lay-by-and-by on anchor, enjoy these slow final sips of chai and just lay back and enjoy this warming morning sun atop the cabin top.  Soon enough the breeze will freshen, I'll choose a conservative headsail, likely the heavy 110 jib, set the main for full, but ready for an early afternoon reef. This will be my first real real passage aboard 'Nalini'.  Bless us all that the Good Lord can muster, for after all, He knows of the misfortune and torment that brought me from Oakland to wherever He chooses to lead me now.

I was about to roll myself over from the cabin top and plop back down to the deck when something suddenly plopped firmly and landed squarely on the center of my chest.  It didn't land hard, like rock or hunk of wood, it felt more like a sail bag, or twenty-foot coil of rope.  Still, it knocked the breath out of me, stopped my heart, and then caused it to race with in fight or flight surge of adrenaline. I hadn't felt this way since falling from the upper spreaders of 'Uncle Robert's 60-foot foot-racing sloop 'Orion'.

~~~

Being the lightest person onboard I was asked, not ordered,  to be hoisted up the might 'Orion's" mast on a spare halyard to free the spinnaker which had wrapped around the spreader but the shackle I was attached to failed.  I free-fell forty feet, just missing the deck, most of me splashed into the water and scraping along next to the speeding yacht. Most of me, except my right forearm, which glanced the starboard gunnel broke with enough sound for the entire crew to hear. My uncle was over the side directly with a flotation device attached to a length of line uncoiling behind him. He was with me in the water before I even knew what had happened;

In the same instant the Mate, Bill, took the wheel and command of 'Orion'.   The crew, all old hands, and old friends acted expeditiously and as one performing their man-over-board protocol. I was rescued and aboard before I really knew what had happened. Once below deck a crude splint was carefully applied to my arm and some rum was carefully administered for my pain. Two trusted mates stood by to tend to my every need, after all, I was only fourteen, and the captain's niece.

Meanwhile, above deck, the men were racing to head up and reach back up through The Gate and across the Bay cutting in front of Alcatraz towards City to make better time. The crew was uncharacteristically late in dropping 'Orion's sails at Hyde Street Pier which they figured was nearest to Saint Francis Hospital. Both the ship and the pier were badly damaged before we were tied up, but I was already placed on a rickshaw and on my way up the hill through Chinatown to the hospital by then.

~~~~

-dp-

But this thing that has landed on my chest seemed not only soft, but warm, and now that I've calmed down, I can tell that it's breathing! Oh, god, It's an animal! What kind of animals live at sea? Could it have been trapped on board all this time? Had it come over on the tender? But wait, it was purring, and I felt sharp pin-like or maybe tack-like pricks in my chest. I raised my head and a cat was staring down at me, looking as though he, or she, had just conquered me.

Being startled I rolled from the cabin cabin top giving this stray cat just enough time to dig its rear paws into my belly and leap to the deck in front of me. The cat sat there, looking up at me, tail sweeping back and forth across the deck. I just look down at this cat, hands on my hips bewildered. How could this be? This cat looked exactly like my recently murdered father's cat, Dirty Socks. His father had an identical cat of the same name.

Could the all be from a long line of mousers?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I was on deck when dawn morning sun rose, a blurry silver disk low in the east. It was cool and damp. I was still in my light bedclothes but wanted to be on deck to look about and to check the anchor rode.  I also wanted to sweep the deck clear of the tacks I'd scattered around before bedding down last night and place them back into their little storage tin to take below. Besides, these were practical tasks until the chai came to a boil on the little safety burner below. 

The tacks were an old trick Josh Slocum had passed on to my grandfather for when those cruising alone in aboriginal waters. It turns out that bare feet are susceptible to sudden and intense pain when punctured by tacks, which will induce screams followed by splashing and cries in the water when a deck tack is encountered at night. It works as a superior alarm to gunfire in most locations.

When I finally had a few moments to settle back against the cockpit rail and reflect on what brought me to this morning anchored safe distance in the lee of this small presumably mostly uncharted island a few miles southwest of Madagascar. Today marks the first full day and first official log entry of my first real command. Though I sail alone I am still in command of a 32-foot sloop-rigged ketch, and though I feel competent that I will master her, the Indian Ocean shall be a daunting place to be learning her lines.

This is another reason I'm choosing to linger here, lay-by-and-by on anchor, enjoy these slow final sips of chai and just lay back and enjoy this warming morning sun atop the cabin top.  Soon enough the breeze will freshen, I'll choose a conservative headsail, likely the heavy 110 jib, set the main for full, but ready for an early afternoon reef. This will be my first real real passage aboard 'Nalini'.  Bless us all that the Good Lord can muster, for after all, He knows of the misfortune and torment that brought me from Oakland to wherever He chooses to lead me now.

I was about to roll myself over from the cabin top and plop back down to the deck when something suddenly plopped firmly and landed squarely on the center of my chest.  It didn't land hard, like rock or hunk of wood, it felt more like a sail bag, or twenty-foot coil of rope.  Still, it knocked the breath out of me, stopped my heart, and then caused it to race with in fight or flight surge of adrenaline. I hadn't felt this way since falling from the upper spreaders of 'Uncle Robert's 60-foot foot-racing sloop 'Orion'.

~~~

I was asked to be hoisted up the mast on a spare halyard to free the spinnaker which had wrapped around the spreader but the shackle I was attached to failed.  I free-fell forty feet, just missing the deck, most of me splashed into the water and scraping along next to the speeding yacht. Most of me, except my right forearm, which glanced the starboard gunnel broke with enough sound for the entire crew to hear. My uncle was over the side directly with a flotation device attached to a length of line uncoiling behind him. He was with me in the water before I even knew what had happened;

In the same instant the Mate, Bill, took the wheel and command of 'Orion'.   The crew, all old hands, and old friends acted expeditiously and as one performing their man-over-board protocol. I was rescued and aboard before I really knew what had happened. Once below deck a crude splint was carefully applied to my arm and some rum was carefully administered for my pain. Two trusted mates stood by to tend to my every need, after all, I was only fourteen, and the captain's niece.

Meanwhile, above deck, the men were racing to head up and reach back up through The Gate and across the Bay cutting in front of Alcatraz towards City to make better time. The crew was uncharacteristically late in dropping 'Orion's sails at Hyde Street Pier which they figured was nearest to Saint Francis Hospital. Both the ship and the pier were badly damaged before we were tied up, but I was already placed on a rickshaw and on my way up the hill through Chinatown to the hospital by then.

~~~~

-dp-

But this thing that has landed on my chest seemed not only soft, but warm, and now that I've calmed down, I can tell that it's breathing! Oh, god, It's an animal! What kind of animals live at sea? Could it have been trapped on board all this time? Had it come over on the tender? But wait, it was purring, and I felt sharp pin-like or maybe tack-like pricks in my chest. I raised my head and a cat was staring down at me, looking as though he, or she, had just conquered me.

Being startled I rolled from the cabin cabin top giving this stray cat just enough time to dig its rear paws into my belly and leap to the deck in front of me. The cat sat there, looking up at me, tail sweeping back and forth across the deck. I just look down at this cat, hands on my hips bewildered. How could this be? This cat looked exactly like my recently murdered father's cat, Dirty Socks. His father had an identical cat of the same name.

Could the all be from a long line of mousers?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAB- Completed- I Was In Your Apartment Today

 I Was in Your Apartment Today...

I was in your apartment today and everything was gone.  You left only a few crumpled receipts, six wire coat hangers, and a stray plop of dried hairball behind the bedroom door.

The unit was left so much cleaner than the last one you moved from. You even bothered to wipe away the smudges left under the desk and by the bed.  They say effort counts and your effort clearly showed in how carfully you scrubbed,  and how the paint, though glossier now, was in no place worn through. 

I also noticed how carefully the tack and nail holes were filled smooth, without smearing, but again you used toothpaste rather than Spackle.  The minty scent still lingered faintly in the air.  I even bothered to lick a finger and sample one tiny patch.  Mmm... I'm certain your manager will notice, but overlook this.  He likes you.

The kitchen and bathroom sparkled, shining brighter than even  those open houses I've ventured into.  Those prestigious homes in the foothills.  If only one day we could live like that. You know how I'm always looking out for something better. Whoever cleans these places after people leave will be hapily releaved.hoever is paid to to cleanthe cleaners when they come!

You know how well you've done

I was amazed you could do so much over a holiday weekend. All of us at work thought you were visiting your parents. You usually do, but maybe you though it better to just get this done .  Or did your mom come all the way from Colton just to help you? The two of you are very close, and it would be just like her come and help out to get your full deposit back (providing the toothpaste doesn't pose a problem).

I think back now to only a couple of weeks ago when I took a risk unlike any before. The night I found myself closed in, late, somehow inside of your front door, feeling anxios and surprised and for some odd reason, sipping a warm Diet Coke while  standing at the threshhold of your bedroom. Even as I wached you sleep I was totally unaware of your plans to move. I could only stare and watch you sleep.  You were wondorous and vulnerable in sleep, all curled up, soft as a kitten-  snug, safe, and sound. A soft kitty snore somehow excited me in the soft light from the windows. 

I've never done anything like that before, or since. I feel somewhat ashamed. In all of the years I've known you I've only watched you through SSS your window on friday nights, and then only from outside of your window. 

It was always enough to watch you walk into the shower area and come out still XXXXX to return to dry yourself before vanity mirror, flipping your hair forward, then back, and pulling it to the side. You wrap it over and tie it under a yellow or baby blue towel to dry.  

You use the matching towel to tamp your face, wipe your arms, shoulders and back before your legs before rising fully and gingerly drying your breasts. Yes, your breasts, your perfect breasts.

 Once finished drying, the towel wrapped around you, secured with a soft overhand knot blankly looking lost with some future thought you see in the mirror.

You are so beautiful!

 

watching you dry yourself at the vanity mirror, flipping your hair forward to, wrap a yellow or baby blue towel around your hair to dry, so soft.  With another, seperate, matching towel,  you  tamp your face, wipe your arms, your legs, and back before fully drying your breasts. Yes, your breasts.  You finish, blankly looking lost with some future thought you see in the mirror.  The towel wrapped around you,  secured with a soft overhand knot.

You are so beautiful!

From here, beyond the window, I've shared your special times.  I've longed here from afar, and you there, so near, leading my heart only to be tugged back. So close beyond touch.  Even those nights when boyfriends call, I know, I see, I learn. I'll be ready should I come inside.

Someday soon, and though you've move again, we will have our secret nights. Time will come and slip along when you will settle in to where you are today. But now I suffer to miss you reading in bed, or wondering what's on that make the blue flicker as you whatch TV. Mostly I'll miss your personal parties, the soft sweet sounds made from personal pleasure.

It won't be won't long before I return outside another window.  How many times have you moved but never really left? Ten years, you've moved four times, but never far from work.  I'll see you there on Monday, as I do every morning. We'll be back to Friday nights together soon. Just as soon as you hand me the key to your new apartment and ask if I would mind caring for Reyn, your cat, again, because I'm the only one you can really trust when your away.

-dp-

(30)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks ago I was here. Taking a risk I seldom can. Closing behind your front door and finding myself sipping a warm Diet Coke  at the threshhold of your bedroom. Even then not guessing your plans to move  as I watch you sleep. I've never done that before, but since then then  it helps me to sleep XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 love to watch you sleep, all curled up like a cat, snug and sound. Tonight's treat is to hear your soft kitty cat snore...

And all of those Friday's before, watching you dry yourself before the vanity mirror, flipping your hair back to forward,  wrapping a yellow or baby blue towel around your hair, so soft. You use a seperate, matching towel, to tamp your face, wipe your arms, your legs, and back before softlly drying your breasts. Yes, your breasts.  You finish, blankly lost in some future thought as you wrap the towel around yourself and secure it with soft overhand knot.

You are so beautiful!

From here, beyond the window, I've shared your special times.  I've longed here from afar, and you there, so near, leading my heart only to be tugged back. So close beyond touch.  Even those nights when boyfriends call, I know, I see, I learn. I'll be ready should I come inside.

Someday soon, though you've move again, we will have our secret nights. Time will come and slip along when you will settle in to where you are today. But now I suffer to miss you reading in bed, or wondering what's on that make the blue flicker as you whatch TV. Mostly I'll miss your personal parties, the soft sweet sounds made from personal pleasure.

It won't be won't long before I return outside another window.  How many times have you moved but never really left? Ten years, you've moved four times, but never far from work.  I'll see you there on Monday, as I do every morning. We'll be back to Friday nights together soon. Just as soon as you hand me the key to your new apartment and ask if I would mind caring for Reyn, your cat, again, because I'm the only one you can really trust when your away.

-dp-

(30)

COMMENTS

The only criticism I have on the mini story is.. it might benefit from a transition paragraph before the... even when I'm watching from beyond your window.  Maybe something that says.... she is gone but I will continue to stalk her! Lol

NEXT

And and now with these new digital recorders, so small, easy to place, nearly inconspicuous.  Even with a 5g link up attached you can hardly notice them. Now I can watch you from home on my very big screen.  It's not there same, but it's cozy, and I can pretend you're here.]]]

I will so miss watching you from just outside of your bedroom window, remembering the special times  we've shared.  Me longing from not so far away, you seemingly so near.  My yearning heart tugging me back, so close to call. Even nights, when your other men visit, I know, I learn, I'll be ready.

Batman vs. Kirk (wip)

I was the mischievous, less than a shining example of a nine-year-old, always thrilled to play Robin. My cousin Allen, though a whole 6 months younger, was a brilliant child. He possessed a nearly natural intellect for Bruce Wayne, and because his dad was retired army and owned a string of Radio Shack stores, their garage was full of electronic boxes and gizmos lying around. Al was naturally Batman because he had the Bat Cave!

I still wonder why we were so fixated on Batman rather than St Trek. They both premiered in 1966 and ran about three seasons. Batman showed on Wednesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 pm on ABC, and Star Trek was on Thursdays at 8:30 pm on NBC (though it was moved to Friday for its third and final season).


Batman, a kid's show, featured campy humor, cartoon action inserts, and well-known guest stars. It lured the adults to the screen, making it a wholesome and popular family show for the home from work late working class T.V. tray dinner crowd. It was truly comic book stuff and coming to life in our living rooms. We kids just ate it up.


Suddenly we were no longer playing War or Cowboys and Indians, now we were outsmarting the villains of Gotham from our Batcave in Batmobiles and climbing walls with Bat-ropes. Girls were included in the roles of Batgirl or Cat Woman, or any number of overly outfitted feminine roles they might dance into later in the seventies.


Star Trek, on the other hand, was science fiction and aired on Thursdays at 8:30 for an entire hour. It totally eclipsed our critical sleep period. This was a huge conflict for our parents. Our aunts, who doubled as our moms, and my mom who doubled as your aunt, were both very strict on us, their firstborns! They couldn't allow us to stay up past eight. It would set a bad example for the four younger kids.


But then, in its third and final season of Star Trek, a miracle occurred. Star Trek was moved to Friday night!
On these occasions my dad would more often than not grant one of his less occasional, only to make his point clear and to show her that could override his wife's steadfast rules by granting his authoritative permission.


He would say simply, between a bite of a Colonel Sanders chicken breast, "Since it's not a school night, honey" and the man would let me stay up and watch Star Trek.


My sister would join us, we'd make popcorn, and I'd mix a wine cooler for my mom at the start of the show, maybe another at the middle commercial. My cousin Allen began transporting over on Fridays. He would transport over. He became an extended family for the weekend


But can you imagine Cousin Al advancing from Batman to Spock, and maybe me to Captain Kirk? Well, I'm sure we would have worked something out by now.
Keep these coordinates locked, and beam us up when ready.


-dp-

4-10-24

ARTICAL- Pop's POW Story by Damon Perry- (research apparently intact)

http://www.oflag64.us/capture-and-camp-life.html?fbclid=IwAR32LZYkMZbZFuyWWmjd7MH0nJ2Kx6IS2gCGU8IYi_J_ZqvhbGAV1JeDyA0

One Enemy Was Conquered By Damon C. Perry (2022_v54) Sworn to protect secrets about prison breaks, Dalton divulged only that he got as far as the North Sea before being recaptured and locked in solitary confinement for three months. Eventually freedom came when he was handed a loaded pistol as prison guards abandoned their posts and vanished. [1] Retired United States Army Lieutenant Colonel, Dalton Young Medlen said, “I joined the National Guard when I was, well [long thoughtful pause] before I was 18 really, and then the National Guard was mobilized on November 25, 1940.” [1] Through “newspapers, articles, commentators and radio,” Dalton scrutinized events overseas, explaining, “I don't remember when I read Mein Kampf [written by German Nazi Party leader Adolf Hitler (1925)], I really don’t, but we became thoroughly concerned... when Hitler invaded Poland and started over-running the small countries in Europe.” He felt war was coming, but “… didn't expect it to come exactly from Pearl Harbor. I thought that maybe it would just be from the Germans. I hadn't thought of Japan being in it. They just became an enemy, that’s all I can say. Just one enemy that had to be conquered.” [1] Asked if the United States was ready for war, Dalton said, “Shoot no! We weren't prepared... had no equipment and not enough people in the service. We literally trained with broom sticks. In North Africa, even after we went overseas, we had 37 mm anti-tank guns, and when we'd fire on a German tank, they'd bounce off the tank like peas off a duck’s back.” [1] Dalton served in the United States Fifth Army 36th Infantry Division. After several maneuvers stateside, including a mock amphibious assault of Martha's Vineyard, the 36th arrived in French North Africa in April-1943 for a planned invasion of Italy at Sicily. However, General Patton used his more experienced Seventh Army instead. [2] Fifth Army commanding generals Clark (whom Dalton disapproved of) and Walker, planned a surprise invasion at Salerno. Meanwhile, US Navy Vice Admiral Hewitt insisted that surprise was impossible. Unfortunately, the admiral was overruled by the generals. Consequently, there was no preliminary naval bombardment of the 275 targets he had identified. As a result, the 36th faced a tough landing. [3] In his personal journal, Dalton wrote, 9-September-1943, “We landed on a beach at Paestum, Italy. There was plenty of fighting. I was wounded about 1330 and captured about 1400.” [4] Dalton was strapped to the back of a German tank as it battled through Eboli, Avellino, and Naples. Barely avoiding an Allied airborne landing, the German tank unit arrived at the towers of Radio Rome where Dalton wrote, “We had a grandstand seat to the bombing of an airfield.” [4] Here, a crude leg splint made out of twisted olive branches was made for Dalton. Using just a stick for balance, he hobbled around for the next two months until his leg healed. [1] By train, Dalton arrived at a prisoner-of-war (POW) compound in Moosburg, Germany on 20- September-1943. The next day at Stalag III-A in Luckenwalde, Germany, he was locked up in a four-foot by eight-foot concrete cell with one very small window near the eight-foot ceiling. [4] Dalton wrote, 2-October-1943, “My wedding anniversary and my darling daughter’s birthday was spent in a cell thinking of home and the many happy hours I had spent with my family.” 3- October-1943, “Was released from the cell and put in a compound. Had a cigarette.” [4] After days of revealing only his name, rank, and serial number, Dalton arrived at Oflag 64, in Szubin, Poland, on 7-October-1943. [4] It was perhaps the only POW camp set up exclusively for US Army officers. [5] Inmates were not required to perform labor for the enemy, they instead spent their time teaching, learning, and practicing various trades. Dalton mended clothing, alongside a shoe maker, in a little shop within the compound. Until a guard was posted, he secretly made knapsacks and other items that could be used in an escape. [1] Prison life was physically detrimental. Dalton never received any medical or dental attention from the Germans. He was given straw to make a mattress, two blankets, and a bunk. POWs were sustained on a diet of 900 calories a day, consisting of soup and a piece of bread. [1] Holidays were lonely and mentally arduous times. Dalton wrote, “We are all a lonesome group of officers...” Nights were particularly difficult, “I lay there until about 3 o’clock thinking of my darling wife and mother and the most precious children in the world […] these things and thoughts are the only things that keep a man wanting to live when he is in a position such as this.” [4] Despite his tribulations (freezing temperatures, constantly being cold, and separation from loved ones), Dalton was uplifted in December-1943 by church services, fellowship with his comrades and contemplative reverence. He wrote, “... my barracks had a community singing, along with some mighty good harmonizing from some of the boys.” He articulated that, “We don’t have to worry with packages or gifts.” Remarkably, he concluded, “This is the most wonderful Christmas from a spiritual point of view … we have based all our Christmas spirit this year on the real principal [sic] of a true worshipful Christmas.” [4] The next Christmas he wrote, “Our camp is much larger than it was this time last year. Of course there is not that close unity of thought and worship with a strength of over 1,000 as there was with about 500. Personally I spent a long time last night sitting by the stove with a Christmas card (received about three weeks ago) and my Bible. The three people on the card [his wife and two daughters] being the most dearest [sic] people on earth to me. No one but myself knows the longing and the aching that was in my heart.” [4] Germany was progressively losing the war. On 21-January-1945, Hitler ordered division level commanders and above to notify him of all planned movements, “... so the Fuehrer can cancel the movement if necessary.” [6] Meanwhile, Oflag 64 was evacuated as some 1,000 POWs were forced on a seven day march. Along the way, Dalton slept once in a box car, but mostly in barns with up to 50 men. [4] He wrote: 26-January-1945, “... Coffee and soup pm. A frozen Russian died in my barn.” 28-January-1945, “... hard march in blizzard. Froze my feet. Slept in Catholic Church in isle [sic] in front of altar.” Sadly, hundreds of his fellow POWs fell sick and were left behind during the 119 km march. 29-January-1945, at Oflag II D, “... Warm room and bed. . . feel as though I could make it a little farther on my feet – soup am, pork and sauerkraut pm.” Dalton was deloused and locked up at Stalag III-A on 10-February-1945. [4] On 22-April-1945, as Russia attacked Berlin, Hitler conducted his final military conference insisting that “... he will remain in the bunker and take his own life at the last moment.” [6] That morning, Dalton was surprised when the guard previously assigned to watch his tailor shop at Oflag 64 reemerged. He explained, “They put a guard in the shop to watch what we made. This old boy just took a hell of a liking to us, because we gave him a cigarette every once in a while and things like that. He would always point to his pistol and say, ‘When the Russians come, I'll give you my pistol.’ He knew that they were going to lose the war. He had the feeling even before 1943. One morning, that German came to me at 4:00 AM and shook me and handed me his pistol, fully loaded!” As Stalag III-A was orderly evacuated, Dalton stole a jeep and drove off to fight alongside the “trigger happy” Russians until joining American forces on 7-May-1945. [1] At age 17, Dalton joined the National Guard. At age 25, he became “thoroughly concerned” about Hitler as a threat to America. At age 31, he first stepped foot on the European continent. He trekked over 4,500 km from the Battle at Salerno, to incarceration at Oflag 64, to a failed escape towards the North Sea. At age 32, Dalton’s combat mission ended in Berlin; where on VE-Day – one enemy was conquered. Dalton Young Medlen Timeline June-1912. Born, Bonham, Texas. October-1932. Married, Juanita Delta McDonald (Born, May-1912, Blue Ridge, Texas) September-1943 through May-1945. Writes journal. [4] June-1982. Interviewed by Damon C. Perry (his grandson). [1] November-1989. Buried Forest Lawn Memorial Park, Covina, California. December-2022. The story “One Enemy Was Conquered” is published within the paperback edition of the “2022 PVLD Anthology: Stories That Bond Us” (Palos Verdes Library District call number 813 2022). End Notes [1] Damon C. Perry, “Dalton Young Medlen Tape-Recorded-Audio-Interviews” (May-1982) unpublished. [2] Wikipedia, “36th Infantry Division (United States)” (19-September-2022, at 03:22 [UTC]) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/36th_Infantry_Division_(United_States)#Pre2_February_1942_square_organization. [3] Naval History and Heritage Command, “The U.S. Navy and the Landings at Salerno, Italy 3– 17 September 1943” (10-May-2019 11:49:06 [EDT]) https://www.history.navy.mil/browse-bytopic/wars-conflicts-and-operations/world-war-ii/1943/salerno-landings/landings-at-salernoitaly.html. [4] Dalton Young Medlen, “The WWII POW Journal of Dalton Young Medlen” (1943-1945) handwritten and unpublished. [5] Oflag 64, “A Brief History of Oflag 64” (25-October-2022) http://www.oflag64.us/history.html. [6] Bill Stone, “Stone and Stone Second World War Books” War Diary for Sunday 21-January1945 and Sunday 22-April-1945 (3-Nov-2022) http://books.stonebooks.com/wardiary/19450121.

>> I was in your apartment today

 

Derived from my original poem, "Homecoming"-April 12, 2014." 

I was in your apartment today. Everything was gone, except for a few crumpled receipts, six wire coat hangers, and a hairball you missed behind the bedroom door.

You left this unit much cleaner than the last one you vacated, taking time to fill most of the nail holes, but using toothpaste rather than Spackle. I know because of the faint minty scent as I entered the unit and the taste when I licked my finger to sample a small patch. I'm certain your manager will overlook this old trick. He likes you.


The kitchen and bathroom nearly sparkled, shining brighter than any realtor's open house restroom I've visited, even those prestigious homes near the foothills. You're going to make huge points with that manager!


I was impressed that you accomplished so much with a single vacation day. You must be expecting to get your full security deposit back. I imagine you will get every penny back providing the toothpaste isn't a problem


I never would have guessed your plans to move. Last night, as I watched you sleep, carefully sipping my Diet Coke, gazing at you from the bedroom doorway. I love to watch you sleep, curled up snug and sound, your bunny rabbit snore.


Or watching you dry yourself after a shower, flipping your hair forward, drying and wrapping it over your head, so soft, with a yellow or blue towel, damping your face and breasts, wrapping yourself. You are so beautiful!


Even when watching you from beyond your window. The special times we've shared. Me longing from afar, you seeming so near, my yearning heart tugging
me back, so close to calling. Even nights when boyfriends call, I know, I learn, I'll be ready.


Soon again we'll share our secret nights. Time will slip along and you will settle into someplace new and comfortable, and as soon as the coast is clear, I'll be there, close by, still never close enough, just as I have been all these years.


But for now, I suffer and miss you reading in bed, the blue flicker of the walls when you watch TV. Most of all I'll miss your personal parties, the sweet sounds you make in your own private pleasure


I will not suffer for long. I know you will not move too far from work where I see you every morning, and I'll be back home with you just as soon as you hand me your new key and ask me to care for your cat.

Damon- a silly thanks for much =Santa fe

>> Damon- a silly thanks for much

Sorry to tell you this, but these things just keep happening. Year after year, almost annually, on more or less the same date and day of every year.  It's not necessarily on the same day of the week, but always the same month on the Julian calendar. I'm not sure about the Canadian calendar or how it applies to the Hindu, Aztek, or other ancient calendars, or even any of those other pre-BC calendars like those  Mesopotamia or Suma- Sum- Sumerian or Akkadian ones (neither of which has any connection to any Star War episode), or countries that write squiggly-like words (other than our own 'script') or upside down, or up and down letter languages. And as for anything that I can't personally read or write, well you will have to google those for yourself as to how you can wish happy birthday yourself.

Once confirmed your history, background, likes, dislikes, etc. will be easily available to you to create your own Facebook or Healthcare account. A whole new world will open to you, and open for others to discover everything about you. It won't be long before A.I. will send this stuff for me or you anyway (aka the movie Her, starring the great actor Joaquin Phoenix, who is a surprise to success due to his cleft lip, a trait we share. But then I don't think that's for you as we become parodies of ourselves year by year. We work through our lives only to wind up as stodgy anachronisms just far enough behind whatever becomes present to wonder how we'll manage to keep up at all. Kids over nine will never wonder in awe.

I do know that you like to celebrate your birthday in any neat and ostentatious way available, surrounded by as many friends and family as you can fit in your iPhone lens for that carefully framed group shot. The best I can do this time around is send this card I bought at Albertson's of a cat reaching its paw out towards an old Royal Manual typewriter and asking in caption 'Where is the send button on this thing..."

Love you, give your other a hug, copy us the picture.

dalton