The Spitting Girl

The Spitting Girl

It was Grandpa Day this last Thursday and I picked up TJ (Truly Jade) from kindergarten in Boulder Creek, CA. As we do every Thursday I drove to the Raindow Inn Coffee House where

TJ gets a cup of ice cream and me, coffee and a maple bar.

We talk about school and what happened the previous six days and then either go to a park or to the local library where she can play until it’s time to pick up her sisters in Felton, six miles away. 

And, sometimes, I pick up corn dogs and Fritos to take back to TJ’s house for lunch. For some reason TJ always eats the coating before eating the hot dog. This Thursday was one of those days.

As we were finishing our little meal TJ suggested that we go out on the landing and spit water. This is something I taught her to do just to keep her entertained. You fill your mouth with water and puff your

cheeks out. Then you slap both cheeks simultaneosly spewing water out into the front yard. 

This day I picked out some easy targets for her as I think this will help with her learning to concentrate. Which, of course, she does when watching movies on her IPAD. But not so much with school work.

We filled two small cups with water and headed outside. A chair is conveniently set at the top of the landing that TJ steps up on. I stay close by to make sure that she doesn’t lean over too far.

And we spit water until the cups are dry.  TJ hits two of the targets I pointed out to her and is proud of herself.

I pulled a handkerchief from my back pocket and wiped my chin.

TJ turns to me, water dripping from her chin, and says, “Wipe.”

For some reason she thinks she’s the boss during our day together. I’ll let her think that for a while.  

Terrence Plank

February 19, 2016

The Rimrock Lake Pouchers

One of my favorite memories of spending summers with Grandma and Grandpa Plank were our trips to Rimrock Lake in the Naches National

Forest not far from Mt. Ranier, Washington.

The rustic cabin they owned had one bedroom and us kids slept in the loft above. A cozy fireplace was in the combination front room and kitchen.

In the kitchen were two stoves. A wood burning stove with a plate warmer on one end and an electric stove. Grandma preferred cooking on the wood burning one and her meals were marvelous. She said cooking on the word burning stove remineded her of her childhood.

During the day my sisters and me would feed the Pouchers. What is a Poucher you ask? It’s actually a Golden Mantel Ground Squirrel but looks more like a large chipmunk. You will be able to tell the differences in the photos below.  

So why are these squirrels called Pouchers? Because their cheeks bulge when filled with food like peanuts and catalope. When they can’t cram anymore food into their mouths they then run to their burrows, empty their pouches, and come running back to us for more goodies.

The chipmunks are smaller than the Golden Mantel Squirrels and their noses are more pointed. There are other differences that you will see when you compare the pictures.

Not able to fill their cheeks as fully as the Pouchers can the chipmunks grab one half of a peanut and scurry away. They also weren’t as tame as the Pouchers so wouldn’t climb onto our laps or shoulders like you see in Mary’s photo and mine. Oh, Mary’s photo was taken in June of 1961 and mine in June of 1962 and I was so thrilled to find them among a box of old family photos that my daughter Katie wound up with.

Warning!

When feeding little critters like these do not hold out a single peanut with you fingers. The tips of our fingers look like a peanut to them and they would have no problem biting down on the tenderest part of our fingers.

I made that mistake feeding a grey squirrel at Walter Reed Hospital

and had to have a tetanus shot. 

This is a photo of the Golden Mantle Ground Squirrel.

Both the Poucher and the chipmunk have the white stripes bordered by black fur.   

And here is a chipmunk. They are very similar looking but the Poucher is often twice as large. Where I see a difference is the striping along the chipmunks cheeks and behind its eye. There are no stipes on the Poucher’s face. The top of the Poucher’s ears are more rounded it seems.

The photo below shows Mary, my twin and older sister (by 8 minutes), with Poucher on her thigh. See how big his cheeks are? The little fellow and my sister have been at this for a while, it seems.

No doubt other campers and visitors to Rimrock Lake fed these little guys and made them tame enough to hop onto us, sit on our shoulders, and come begging for the treats we had for them.

 This Poucher wouldn’t take the peanut from my mouth this time. But it wasn’t long before he cooperated.

Grandpa’s Surprise

A year or so before these photos were taken by Grandma Plank the three of us kids made our first trip to the lake and their cabin. What a beautiful area of Washington State.

We played outside until it was getting on toward dusk and suddenly out of the cabin come Grandma and Grandpa with jackets on and jackets and sweaters for us. The lake’s altitude is around 2500 feet so it did get cool at night.

“I have a surprise for you kids,” Grandpa said. “Hop in the car and I’ll show you.”

Well, who doesn’t like surprises? So in the car we go and Grandpa drives out of the Yakima Boat Club area and turns right onto the gravel road. Now I remembered that we had come up that same road from the opposite direction so I had no idea where he was taking all of us.

We drove for a little while and I could no longer stand the suspense so I asked Grandpa, “Where are we going, Grandpa? All I see are trees.”

“I’m taking you guys to the dump,” he answered.

What! Now I knew that we hadn’t seen either of them put sacks of garbage in the trunk of the car so why would anyone take three kids to a garbage dump.

“Just be patient all of you. You’ll see and we are almost there now,” Grandpa added.

Turning right again onto a one lane dirt road Grandpa stopped the car. “OK, from here we are going to creep in with no lights on. Everyone be quiet but keep your eyes straight ahead,” he directed.

Why would Grandpa do this? Can you guess?

So the car is just barely moving forward and we are all straining our eyes into what has now become night time. Oooh, it really got dark fast.

Then he stops the car and again whispers to us not to make any sounds. And then Grandpa turns on the headlights.

Oh my goodness! There are wild animals all around a huge mound of garbage all seeking out their dinner.

The three of us are bumping shoulders trying to see between the two adults up front. (There were no seat belts in our cars back in the early 1960’s.) I see a black bear off to the left and we see porcupines and skunks and deer. Oh, there goes a fox! A deer turns its head to look at us and then goes back to searching for food.

Georgia, the youngest sister, is so excited she is bouncing on the seat and really having a hard time staying quiet. OK, we all are, I’m sure.

So this smorgasboard of stinking garbage is a windfall to these forest animals. And they search out food probably every night and irregardless of the larger animals who are probably higher on the food chain then they are.

This was truly an amazing site to see. We sat there just amazed for a good 20 to 30 minutes and then Grandpa slowly backed out and took us back to the cabin. He was grinning ear to ear and loving our reactions to “his surprise”.  And so was Grandma. She said that every year they come out here to see what the animals are up to and how many different kinds they can identify.

Now we could talk and boy did we. Did you see the Bobcat? No. Where? It was on top of the garbage up on the right side. And on and on we went sharing what we saw with each other. What was that animal with the furry tail and squat body? Grandpa said it could have been a badger but since it was facing the garbage we couldn’t see its face.

We all loved Grandpa’s surprise. And we loved staying at the cabin watching the Blue Jays and Robber Jays pecking at the cantalope and watermelon rinds that Grandma put out for them. We loved watching deer saunter down to the lake in the evenings from the back deck and how the wind sang through the trees. And we especially loved feeding the Pouchers.

Is There Life After Death?

Yesterday I lost a good friend. John Sheppard from Chicago, Chicago John

he was called, was also a paratrooper and served with the 82nd Airborne as did I.

John was an accomplished pianist and even though he preferred rock and roll music he could also sing opera. 

John was funny. Told wonderful stories and will be dearly missed by his 

family and friends.

Back to the question Is There Life After Death?

For those who believe it is a wonderful hope that one can hold onto through thick and thin. When the believers pass on they will either experience heaven or they won’t. And if there is no heaven, no God, they won’t experience what would surely be devastating dissappointment, would they?

In case there is no life after death then each day that we are on this earth

is the most important day of our lives. We need to live as if today may be our last day. Tomorrow is never guaranteed for anyone. 

We take so much for granted, don’t we. I expect to wake up tomorrow as I’m sure you do. And this reminds me of a child’s prayer.  

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray to God my soul to take.

If I should live for other days,

I pray the Lord to guide my ways.

Father, unto thee I pray,

Thou hast guarded me all day;

Safe I am while in thy sight,

Safely let me sleep tonight.

Bless my friends, the whole world bless;

Help me to learn helpfulness;

Keep me every in thy sight;

So to all I say good night.

I particularly like the line “Help me learn helpfulness.” Let us bless and

benefit the lives of others and particularly the children. So that they may

learn that others are important too.

I will miss my friend. For his sake I hope that there is a heaven for Chicago John. Sing with the Angels, John. Sing with the Angels.

Terrence Plank

April 25, 2015 

Robin Williams Had The Right Solution

A Challenge To Our President

Back in 2003 my son Brian was known as Staff Sergeant in the US Marine Corps.

He was stationed in Kuwait and Iraq at this time but forwarded Robin Williams'

solution to some of the United States' problems.

I think he came up with the perfect plan:

And I quote:

Robin said "I see a lot of people yelling for peace but I have not heard of a plan for peace.

So, here's one plan."

1. The US will apologize to the world for our "interference" in their affairs, past and present.

We will promise never to "interfere" again.

2. We will withdraw our troops from all over the world, starting with Germany, South Korea,

and the Philippines. They don't want us there. We would station those troops at our borders.

No more sneaking through holes in the fence.

3. All illegal aliens have 90 days to get their affairs together and leave. We'll give them a

free trip home. After 90 days the remainder will be gathered and deported immediately, 

regardless of who or where they are. France would welcome them.

4. All future visitors will be thoroughly checked and limited to 90 day visits unless given a 

special permit. No one from a terrorist nation would be allowed in. If you don't like it there

change it yourself, don't hide here. Asylum would not ever be available to anyone. We don't

need more cab drivers.

5. No "students' over age 21. The older one are the bombers. If they don't attend classes,

they get a "D" and its back home, baby.

6. The US will make a strong effort to become self sufficient energy wise. This will include

developing non pollution sources of energy but will a temporary drilling of oil in the Alaskan

wilderness. The caribou will have to cope for a while.

7. Offer Saudi Arabia and other oil producing countries $10 a barrel for their oil. If they don't like it we go someplace else.

8. If there is a famine or other natural catastrophe in the world, we will not 'interfere'. They can pray

to Allah or whomever, for seeds, rain, cement or whatever they need. Besides, mot of what we give

them gets "lost" or is taken by their army. The people who reedit oat get very little anyway.

9. Ship the UN Headquarters to an island some place. We don't need the spies and fair weather

friends here. Besides, it (the UN building) would make a good homeless shelter or lockup for

illegal aliens.

10. All Americans must go to charm and beauty school. That way no one can call us "Ugly

Americans" any longer.

Now, ain't that a winner of a plan?

The Statue of Liberty is no longer saying "Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses."

She's got a baseball bat and she's yelling, "You want a piece of me?" 

***********

Brian  compiled the e-mails and stories sent to him and brought them back. We were also able to receive his phone calls. Much better than the letters I wrote on a piece of C-ration cardboard back

in 1968.

 

You Can't De-Bleach Stuff

De-bleach isn't even in the dictionary. Neither is de-dye, you have to re-dye stuff (hey, is that how Tie-Dye t's came about? All from a bleaching accident?) but I've never even tried that and since I'm such a dork about laundry and such I would never attempt it.

But I sure wish you could correct the bleach accidents. I was mopping my kitchen and dining room floor in my favorite lounging sweats. Pine Sol and a little bleach does a good job but I must have been a little sloppy because that afternoon the bottom of my sweats looked like a dog pooped all over them. They're black, by the way, and now black with a lot of brown spots.

And then I felt a little woozy. I must have scrubbed too hard and wore myself out.

We've all had accidents with the bleach. Nothing like bright pink underwear. I have since learned to separate the colors from the whites. Aren't I proud!

I was pretty upset when my brand new jockies came out that way. We shopped at a popular discount store back in those days and picked up a bundle of jockey shorts (8 as I remember) that caught my attention. You've heard of, I'm sure, the Fruit Of The Loom brand? Quite popular. Well, this brand was a cheap spinoff called Room For The Fruit.

No, I'm not kidding. The labels had pictures of fruit. I think a couple of Kiwi's and a banana. But that was a while back so I could be wrong. They kinda wore out pretty fast. I figured they were made in Tahiti or somewhere like that.

But back to the bleach. You should have seen my finger tips. Man is that stuff caustic. You want to be careful what you mix it with and how much you use.

My other laundry problem is that all these new and improved, highly concentrated laundry detergents don't work any better than the originals. I still have problems with the old stains and spots on my undies. So I stopped believing those ads and get my detergent from the $ollar Store.

So I think I've got this laundry thing licked.

************************************************

Since this is such a short story, Tahiti reminded me of my daughter's favorite blond joke. (Yah, she is a blond.)

Anyway, this good looking blond found out one day that she had won her state's lottery. Oh, was

she over the moon. Her dream was to always visit Tahiti so she booked the flight.

The big day came she got all gussied up and rushed onto the airplane and plopped down in the 1st Class section with a big grin on her face. She turned to the gentleman next to her and squealed, "I'm blond, I'm beautiful and I'm going to Tahiti!"

The 747 soared into the air and after it had leveled off a stewardess came around to check the passenger's seating assignments. She discovered that the young lady wasn't assigned to 1st Class and told her that she would need to move back to the economy class.

"No, no, no!, she exclaimed. "I'm blond, I'm beautiful, and I'm going to Tahiti!"

Well, this went on back and forth for a while and the stewardess announced that she would have to get the Captain to handle this. She told him what had been going on for the past ten minutes and he assured her that he would take care of it.

The stewardess was hailed by another passenger but was still able to watch the pilot Captain bend down and whisper in the blond's ear. Suddenly the adamant young lady gathered her things and rushed to the back of the plane.

"My goodness, Captain," the stewardess said in awe. "What did you threaten her with?"

"Oh, no threats. I just told her that 1st Class wasn't going to Tahiti."

THEY CALLED ME "DOC"

HOW I GOT MY UNUSUAL CALL SIGN

If there is one thing I've treasured both during my time in the Army and all of the years since

it's the nickname "Doc". I don't doubt that all of the other Doc's in the military, whether true

MD's or ground pounder medics like myself, feel much the same. It's a nickname that denotes

respect.

In addition to "Doc" I had an unusual radio call sign that one might wonder about it when they

read some of the stories coming up. My call sign was "Malpractice" and I'll tell you how I came

to adopt such a strange call sign. 

Way back in the summer of 1967 my Army unit, the 3rd Infantry Battalion of the 506th Infantry

Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division based at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, was training in preparation for fighting in Vietnam. As a part of this training my battalion was pitted against the rest of the Division in what they call "War Games"

In this particular exercise we were designated the "Guerilla Force", the bad guys using the same

kind of tactics that the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army were using against our guys overseas. The other battalions were trying to locate us, ambush us, and capture us. We had blank

adapters over the muzzles of our M-16's and shot blanks at each other.

Colonel John C. Geraci, our battalion commander, was designated "Mal Hombre" and there were

wanted posters for "Mal Hombre"  posted in the town of Corbett, Tennessee. Somehow another unusual nickname was assigned to the Sargent Major and that was "Mal Function". But

to be fair to the Sargent Major I'm sure that was all in jest. So to follow along in the spirit of things I came up with "Malpractice".

During our training over those long, hot summer months, veteran Vietnam NCO's told us that it

was not uncommon for the enemy to get on our radio frequencies and try to coax a medic or 

soldier to answer a fake distress call and force them to give away their position searching for

the phantom WIA. But the enemy used the generic call signs like "medic" and "bandaid".

I remember lying in the bushes one night on my watch and hearing some VC or NVA whispering

"Medic. Medic. Help. Me". Whoever it was knew we were in the area but not exactly where.

So our medics were encouraged to come up with a different designation.

The first benefit of the "Malpractice" call sign was that this was a hard word for Orientals to

pronounce correctly and the second benefit evolved that not only my platoon buddies knew it

but so did many of the other troops when I was sent in to take over when their medic went down.

I doubt if any of them ever knew my first name.

We Were Wanted Men

Did you know that certain members of a platoon had a bounty on their heads? They were the

Platoon Leader, the RTO (Radio Telephone Operator), and the Medic. Knock these guys off

and that platoon is in a world of hurt.

A Little History

Let's go back to the beginning of my military experience. I joined a reserve Mash unit between

my junior and senior year of High School. So upon graduating in 1965 I was immediately sent

to Ft. Ord, CA for basic training. After that eight weeks I reported into Ft. Sam Houston, Texas

fo another eight weeks of basic medic training. 

Suffice it to say it was like going through a Red Cross first aid course. Oh, we did learn 

how to give injections and perform "short arm" inspections. But, there was no Emergency Room rotation or ride along in an ambulance. It was a totally bloodless experience. 

I returned to Spokane and worked various jobs until the I became restless and enlisted into 

the Regular Army in February of 1967. I was in Jump School in April and then on to the

101st.

We Changed The Future

I must interject here that both today's Paramedic program and the Physician Assistant programs

that are now common place and accepted by both the medical profession and the general public

evolved from the experiences, expertise, and independent duty of the combat medics who served

in Vietnam. Today's MediFlights evolved when a stretcher was attached to the skids of a Bell Ranger Helicopter in the Korean War. Just watch the intro into the much beloved television show "MASH". (I've jumped from and ridden in beaucoup helicopters but I wonder what the ride must have been like for the  poor wounded grunt laying outside the chopper. Do you think any of them thought to themselves "Man, what a view!")

My Heroes

The "Medivac" or "Dustoff" chopper crews in Vietnam were my heroes. (Ok, the Huey crews

that extracted me and my team when we were in deep doo-doo were my heroes too!) It wasn't 

uncommon that the choppers with the big red crosses came down in what was called a "Hot LZ", LZ standing for landing zone. A Hot LZ means that these brave pilots and medics were sitting down in the middle of a fire fight (battle) when we had really critically wounded kids. They were taking fire when they hovered just above the ground long enough for four or five guys to load a wounded buddy or two.

Minimal Training

I can't say that medics fresh out of Ft. Sam in that day and age were highly qualified professionals. But there is a system in place in the Army that brings people up to speed in whatever specialty they were schooled in. That system is call "On The Job Training" or "OJT" for short. The philosophy of OJT is that if you throw a guy into the thick of things long enough something of value is bound to stick. Luckily for the medics of the 3/506th Battalion we had a topped notch Battalion Surgeon who continued our training as we prepared to ship out to Vietnam.

Advanced Training

The Currahee (which means the "Stand Alone Battalion") medics went through the same combat

and guerilla warfare training classes and exercises that all of the paratroopers in the Division went through. We qualified with a number of different weapons, rappelled from cliffs and choppers, and made combat jumps from 800 feet with full combat gear.

We also attended classes written and conducted by Dr. Andrew Lovy from Minneapolis/St. Paul,

Minnesota. Doc Lovy was not only an eye surgeon but also the first Osteopathic doctor to be 

commissioned in the US Army. My first impression was that no one would think that this

gentleman would ever jump out of airplanes, wear OD green fatigues, and eat out of a canteen cup. He surprised us all with his dedication to make us the best medics he could.

Our OJT occurred in the surrounding woods of Ft. Campbell, the Okefenokee Swamps of Georgia, and the Appalachian Mountains of East Tennessee. We treated snake bites, the beginnings of jungle rot (the skin breaks down when you spend a week in swamp water), 

broken bones, twisted knees and ankles, and diahrrea. During this time our confidence and abilities increased and, knowing that our unit would soon be in a hostile environment, we knew we could take care of our guys.Training along side the other troopers and caring for them during this time we earned the right to be called "Doc.

OUT TO SEA

Our training continued aboard the USS Weigel after the entire battalion boarded this troop

ship in the Oakland Harbor in September of 1967. There were 36 medics in the Medical

Platoon and we rotated working in the Dispensary during the 22 day voyage. (Don't dare

call it a "cruise". The food sucked not to mention the salt water showers.)

We viewed World War II films of medics in action and we even saw a film of how to deliver 

a baby (blush, blush). Remember that we were just seventeen, eighteen and nineteen year olds and back in those days and "we were saving ourselves" for the right gal. You're probably laughing right now but "Flower Power" and "Free Love" wasn't in full swing in the most of

cities and towns me and my buddies came from.

It was on this ship that I learned how to suture and do minor surgery. This is very advanced

training for a field medic but it served us well in many instances during our tour in Vietnam.

Doc Lovy knew that he wouldn't be by our side when troopers were struck down by bullets

or flying shrapnel or stepped on a booby trap and he wanted us to be able to perform our duties and handle the most severe cases to the best of our ability.

Our Mission

The primary responsibility of a combat medic, and this may surprise some readers, is to

"maintain the fighting strength of the unit". It's not our first priority to Medivac anyone

with minor wounds or injuries. There is no "injury time-out" in combat or on a combat mission.

We treated the sick and lightly wounded and carried on. And our troopers were tough kids and

they wanted to keep "drivin' on".

It didn't take long before I realized what an awesome responsibility us medics have. One medic

was assigned per combat platoon throughout the companies within the battalion.The platoon

strength at Ft. Benning ranged between 30 and 35 members. We were IT for these guys. We

were their doctor for the duration and we checked on our guys when "take 10" was called.

We dispensed the anti-malaria pills in the morning and evenings and handed out aspirin for

aches and pains. We carried a lot of pharmaceuticals so that we could treat coughs and colds,

constipation and diarrhea, allergic reactions, and alleviate pain with pills and morphine surrettes.

We carried Serum Albumin (a blood expander) and D5W intravenous fluid in 500 liter bottles.

Doc Lovy taught us how to use intracath needles that wouldn't pull out as easily as the standard butterfly. You can't imagine how rough it is for four guys to carry a wounded buddy with a make shift stretcher and their gear to the nearest LZ. And how painful it was for the downed trooper.

 The guys in our platoons had faith in us. They knew that should they become ill or wounded

that there was a Doc who knew his stuff, cared about him, and would do their damndest to

get them to safety and, ultimately, home.

We Were Also Riflemen

Unlike the medics in previous wars we were all trained riflemen. How those medics ran around

with arm bands and that stupid red cross target on their helmets unarmed is beyond me. When I

was in Vietnam I was armed to the teeth and I felt naked without my M-16. My hats off

to those guys and one of them was my uncle George who was a Naval Corpsman with the Marines on Guadacanal.

We had to willing and able to protect ourselves and the wounded should it come down to that.

Happy To Be Home

  

IT WAS AN HONOR

Being a combat medic is an awesome responsibility for a teenager. But is was also an honor.

To earn that kind of respect and to be relied upon in the heat of battle is humbling.

If it weren't for the additional training we were so fortunate to receive from such a dedicated professional I don't know if we could have done the kind of job that the medics of the 3rd of the 506th did. A lot of boys, seriously wounded kids, came home and for that I am very thankful and proud that us Docs did our job.

Dedicated to Captain Andrew Lovy who was wounded during a rescue mission for injured paratroopers.  

Terrence Plank (AKA Malpractice)

P.S. My son and daughter have encouraged me to post the stories that I sent to Brian when he was serving with the Marines in Kuwait and Iraq in 2003. 

I would love to read your comments about the stories on Muzzle Your Mouse.

Letter to My Grand Niece Sarah

I'm writing this letter on my blog so that I can add a few pictures related to the story I am going to tell my 7 year old grand niece, Sarah.

Hi Sarah,

I hope that you really enjoyed being a part of "The Wizard Of Oz". Your grandmother tells me that you had to practice two hours a day. Wow! That's a lot of work but I bet it was worth it. You will have to write me and tell me all about it.

What was the most fun for me in High School were the extra curricular activities like acting in plays, singing with groups, and working on the yearbook. One year the drama class put on the play "Winnie The Poo". We even performed at the Fox Theater downtown a number of times on Saturday mornings so a lot of kids in Spokane got to see it.

Can you guess what part I played?

It wasn't Winnie or the Owl. And Kanga is a mom so I didn't play that part. Nope, not a rabbit. And I was too big to play piglet. Give up?

Would you believe I was Eeyore? Did you know that Eeyore's favorite foods are thistles?

Anyway, what this story is about is the costume that I had to wear. Since Eeyore is an old gray donkey the costume suit was gray flannel. Very hot, particularly under the lights, so I wound up just wearing my underwear. Seriously, I sweated buckets in that thing.

It didn't make sense to crawl on stage and a two person costume would be too big so the front feet were glued onto two broom stick handles cut down to the length of my forearms. Since they had to be taped with masking tape I had shave my arms before every performance. Now when I bent over with the new front feet my back was straight and I was about waist high to everyone else on stage.

The head was big and heavy. Now imagine me all bent over walking on my hands and feet. It wasn't possible to get my head up to see where I was going so a square was cut in the neck and a screen put in. I had to follow chalk lines drawn on stage as certain cues had me moving from one point to the next. Actually, we used the alphabet so my first movement was to point A and then on to B, etc.

With my head down I had to really project my voice so the audience could hear me. Do you know how to project your voice Sarah? 

MISERABLE! MISERABLE! Those were the first two words I grumbled everytime I came on stage.

We put the play on Saturday Mornings at the Fox and took it to some grade schools. One of those mornings at the theater my friends led me out to the lobby to say Hi to the kids. All of a sudden I felt someone poking me in the butt. Poke, poke poke. "Here's your tail, Eeyore," some kids Mom said. My tail was snapped onto my costume and somehow it came off and the lady was trying to get it snapped back on. You don't think some kid pulled my tail off, do you? Naw, that wouldn't happen. LOL

So that's the story of me as Eeyore and that really, really hot costume. Hope you got a laugh out of it.

Here's a Valentine from Piglet to you, Sarah.

Take care, sweetheart, and I'll see you this summer.

Love,

Great Uncle Terry