WWII and A Diuretic

"Regrets, I have a few, too few to mention.", My Way, Frank Sinatra...

While watching a WWII film the other evening, the duffel bags we all carried, when transferred, were prominent. We were all so proud and felt so macho carrying them on our shoulder. We all felt special, particularly when the civilians stared at us.

Carrying all I owned in one bag did seem a little weird.

Before getting on board the troop transport we had to empty out our duffel bags for inspection. No booze on board permitted. I had a couple of loaves of bread.Passed inspection with the Sgt. not realizing that my Pop had hollowed them out and each loaf had a bottle of Haig and Haig Pinch scotch bottles.

Hoarded the booze until our unit was transferred to a landing craft for the 'fun trip' from the Philippines to Okinawa. Sleeping on the hard fucking deck had little appeal for me so I traded the 2 bottles of booze with an officer for 3 cots, for me and two buddies. The other GI's hated us for our 'comfort'. The officer got loaded.

Some pundit on TV the other day said that, 'life is short', a very trite old line. At 91 that line is, for me, a fucking bullshit line. Life seems particularly long in the early morning, having had, generally a lousy night of fitful sleep with fears of impending doom generating bad dreams plus needing to hit the head every few hours.

The risk to reward ratio of not getting my ass out of bed at 12:00, 2:00 and 4:00 AM and stumbling to the john was clear. Get my ass out of bed or piss in the bed. A no-brainer choice.

I do enjoy having the insane fantasy from time to time that my schlong could get as stiff as the rest of me, instead of it being a God damn dripping faucet fueled by a diuretic.

Knowing how to drive in the 1940's was not common and it made a half-assed big shot out of me. I could drive from our camp up the hill to our observation post. Being a $50 a month chauffeur/radio operator was wonderful. Suited me fine. Loved driving the Jeep up the hill.

Observation post? Yeah we had an installation overlooking Crescent Beach and the Straits of Juan de Fuqua where we were supposed to watch out for strange ships, aka Japanese, entering U.S.waters.

Sounds like a joke now but it was serious business in 1943. Puffed us out with self importance.We were protectors of the US coast line.

My time was spent in the observation post looking out the fucking window, learning Russian (not well), improving my skills as a typist/radio operator, pissing off Lt.Hamil and fantasizing about living out my wet dreams.

"Regrets I have a few, too few to mention.", My Way, Frank Sinatra

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