May 2025 – might be baloney

Memorial Day 2025: “we can do better than we have done before.”

May 26, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Just so you know, I’m not a Veteran.

My Vietnam War draft number wasn’t selected in the spring of 1972. That spring, I was finishing the second semester of my freshman year of college.

On the campus of Greensboro College, we had a few classmates who had already served in the United States military.

In Burlington, North Carolina, our across the street neighbors, the Amicks, their son, Rick, served our country during the Vietnam War.

At our church, Davis Street Methodist, the Pate family lost their oldest son, Robbie, in combat in Vietnam.

In Richmond, Virginia at our church, Trinity Methodist, we have a memorial garden that recognizes three young men from our congregation who lost their lives in Vietnam.

And for my father’s family, the oldest son, Boyd Pike, was killed in World War II. Boyd was a sailor aboard the USS Simms, a United States Navy destroyer. It was attacked and sunk by the Japanese in the Coral Sea.

I’m no history expert, no expert on any war, but I do have a respect for the men and women who have served our country in times of conflict and war.

Last May, we spent an extended weekend with college friends in Highland, Maryland. We traveled on Friday to Frederick, Maryland.

As we roamed around downtown, we walked into the local independent bookstore, the Curious Iguana.

This is a compact, but very nice bookstore with a first-class selection of books.

My college roommate, Butch Sherrill, spotted Garrett M. Graff’s book: When The Sea Came Alive An Oral History Of D-Day. As soon as Butch handed it to me, I started skimming through the pages. I was immediately hooked because of the format.

From D-Day planning until the end of the operation, Graff tells the story through the words of the men and women who were there. No matter the military personnel’s rank, no matter their country, their words, their stories, their contributions are captured in these quotes. These quotes take the readers into the bunkers, the beaches, the ships, the planes— everywhere on D-Day.

In Graff’s notes at the beginning of the book, the author ends the section with these words: “The greatest names in the pages ahead, as it turns out, are the ones you don’t know.”

My guess is you don’t know the name Waverly B. Woodson. Staff Sgt. Woodson was a Black medic on Omaha Beach on D-Day. On that day, June 6, nearly 2,000 black soldiers were a part of the D-Day attack.

Interestingly, “not a single Black soldier, sailor, airman, Marine or Coast Guard personnel was originally awarded the Medal of Honor in World War II. (Page XV Author’s Note)

“During World War II, 433 Medals of Honor were awarded. None of those medals were received by Black soldiers.”(Graff page 374)

From the moment he came ashore on Omaha Beach, Staff Sgt. Woodson was involved in assisting the wounded. He stated: “All day, we medics continued to dress many, many wounded and consoled the frightened. This went on until around 3 o’clock in the afternoon. With all of this going on I didn’t have time to see how bad I was wounded—I only wanted to help the survivors. After about 8 hours, one of the medics redressed my wounds and I continued, as I didn’t have a place to lie down.” (Graff page 374)

During 1994 in the Clinton administration, nine Black World War II Veterans received the Medal of Honor. Only one of those nine was still living. Staff Sgt. Woodson was not one of those. He died in 2005. Since his death, bills have been introduced in Congress to award Woodson the Medal of Honor. Despite support by military leaders none of these bills has passed. (Graff page 374)

Staff Sgt. Waverly B. Woodson did survive that horrible day on Omaha Beach. After the war, Woodson and his wife raised a family near Clarksburg, Maryland. He received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for his dedication.

For the fiftieth anniversary of D-Day the French government recognized Staff Sgt. Woodson. Woodson and two other D-Day soldiers received a weeklong all-expenses-paid trip to France, and they were awarded medals during a ceremony on Omaha Beach. Woodson could never figure out why he was chosen. But, he assumed this was the French’s way of saying, “Thanks.” (Graff page 499-500).

In the Epilogue of the book, this quote from General Dwight Eisenhower caught my attention: “These people gave us a chance and they bought time for us so that we can do better than we have before. Every time I come back to these beaches— or any day when I think about that day—I say, once more, we must find some way to work to peace, and to gain an eternal peace for this world.” (Graff page 499)

Here we are eighty years after D-Day, and the world still can’t embrace a sustainable peace.

What is wrong with us?

Why is peace unattainable?

Haven’t we learned anything from war?

Do we understand the aftermath of its carnage and destruction?

Sadly, the answer is no.

The Greek historian Herodotus wrote these words: “In peace sons bury fathers, but in war fathers bury sons.”

On this Memorial Day and those in the future, America must vow to never, never, never forget those whom we have buried from our wars.

Their sacrifices sustain America’s fragile freedom.

America must always work to find peace to stop the burials from war.

As General Eisenhower stated: “we can do better than we have done before.”

American flag, San Francisco, California May 2025 (Photo Bill Pike)

Day One: San Francisco

May 22, 2025 Bill Pike2 Comments

In the summer of 1980, I made my first trip to California. For the Commander Supreme and me that was a before kids trip.

A highlight of that trip was a drive up the coast from Los Angeles to San Francisco. My sister-in-law, Abby, was our tour guide.

Three years ago, we were all set to fly to San Francisco to attend the wedding of the Commander Supreme’s niece, Ashley. The day before we were scheduled to fly, thinking she had a sinus infection, the Commander tested positive for COVID-19.

Obviously, we canceled the trip, but the Commander was able to hang on to the flight for the future.

So on Wednesday, May 7, 2025, we boarded a Breeze Airways Airbus A-220 in Richmond and flew direct to San Francisco.

By 6:00 a.m. we were in the car and driving toward the Richmond airport.

Other than a van driver from the extended stay parking lot who didn’t know the details of his job, we had no challenges getting into the terminal.

We cleared all of the screening hurdles. Our walk to the gate was leisurely. Knowing that we would be sitting for a long time, I walked a lot in the terminal.

Eventually, the plane arrived from Charleston.

The boarding process went quickly.

The A220 seating configuration is three seats and two seats. The Commander booked us a two seat reservation with extra leg room. This arrangement was a nice surprise from the normal sardine box.

Even though, we boarded quickly, we sat too long on the tarmac before heading to the runway.

The captain of the plane told us to expect a few bumps as we settled in for the cross country flight.

Breeze is a no frills airline. No monitors on the back of the seats for watching movies. I had to hope I could download their wireless access correctly.

For now, I focused on the landscape out my window for a distraction. I love how the topography of America changes as we fly west. The hills, east coast mountains, the flat plains, the snow covered Rockies, wide sections of deserts, more hills, and finally the coastal plain heading into San Francisco.

Snow topped mountains flying west. (Photo Bill Pike)

Early in the flight, I nodded off for some nano naps. Read from Richmond editor and writer, Tom Allen’s second book—“Roll With It: encountering grace, grins, gridlock, and God in everyday life.” After a few chapters of Tom’s book, I switched over to Tristan Gooley’s The Secret World Of Weather: How to Read Signs in Every Cloud, Breeze, Hill, Street, Plant, Animal, and Dewdrop (Natural Navigation).

At some point, I opened up my laptop computer and started to write. For a long stretch, this was a good distraction.

The bumps, the turbulence on the flight were minimal.

Gradually, the plane slowed. We were notified that our descent into San Francisco had started.

I made sure everything was securely in my backpack. Then, I was glued to my window tracking the landscape changes.

The plane made a graceful landing. We departed the plane easily. The next hurdle was finding our way in the pretty San Francisco airport.

With adequate signage guiding us, we exited the terminal to a line of taxis. We were assigned to the first taxi in line. The driver helped us with our luggage, the Commander gave him the hotel’s address, off we went.

Our driver was very good. He skillfully maneuvered us through traffic, patiently answered questions, and never appeared rattled by wacky moves from other drivers.

He even explained Waymo to us. Waymo is the driverless Google car.

Our frequently spotted Waymo (Photo Bill Pike)

At the Alton Hotel, the driver dropped us in the perfect spot, helped with our bags, and we wished him the best.

The Commander’s detailed planning made for a seamless checkin and a surprise room upgrade.

We settled quickly into our and room, and promptly left heading to the In and Out Burger a block away from the hotel.

Until Saturday morning The Alton would be our home. Located in the Fisherman’s Wharf area of the city, the hotel still had a new construction feel to it.

We arrived just in time at In and Out. By minutes, we beat the daily lunch hour surge. The In and Out chain is a West Coast staple. If you’ve never had one of their burgers, don’t turn it down.

As soon as we finished our burgers, we hit the pavement.

One thing you quickly learn about San Francisco is the terrain. Maybe the reason Tony Bennett “left his heart in San Francisco” is that it died walking up one of its hills.

The contrast from the relative flatness at Fisherman’s Wharf to the extreme steepness of the hills on either end of Lombard Street is significant.

Our first stop was the Coit Tower. The tower sits on the top of Telegraph Hill.

The walk up to the tower is a heart thumper. But the vistas from the park at the top, and the views at the tip of the tower are worth it.

Coit Tower was built from 1932-33. It has 234 steps to the top. The tower is also graced with fresco murals.

From Coit Tower, we walked back toward Lombard Street. To get to the other end of Lombard Street requires another steep decent and climb.

This side of Lombard Street is known as the “Crookedest Street In The World.” It is interesting to watch cars handle the sharp turns along the well maintained lawns and gardens.

A car heading down Lombard (Photo Bill Pike)

We shifted our walk into the North Beach neighborhood. Here a mix of houses and business caught our attention. Pretty cathedrals against a blue sky backdrop were hard to miss.

Even on the first day of vacation, I could not resist going into Cole Hardware. Founded in the 1920s, the store and its contents are very appealing. Maybe this motto explains the sustained success of the store: “There are no strangers here, just friends we haven’t met.” The store even has a cooler of pies from The Pie Company based out of Ripon, California.

Next, we worked our way to the famous City Lights Bookstore. Founded in 1953 by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Peter D. Martin, this is one of those special independent bookstores that has managed to beat the odds. If you love books, you must stop.

Then, we took a brief walk on the fringes of Chinatown. Lots of shop owner energy was present among the diverse merchandise with customers haggling for the best price. ‘

As we started our walk back to the hotel, Italian food shops tempted us with their aromas and displays, but we kept moving.

At the hotel, we collapsed, but made sure we were up and heading toward the free happy hour in the lobby at five. A nice glass of wine for the Commander and a California Blonde Ale from the Eel River Brewing Company for me helped to bring our busy day to a close.

For dinner, we made the short walk from the hotel to Cioppinos, an Italian restaurant. The food and the service were good.

After our filling dinner, we were really ready to collapse. The Commander’s “fit bit” had us over eight miles with most of those steps recorded during our afternoon trek.

At the end of the day, I’m remembering the architecture as our taxi driver drove us further into the city. No part of a plot of land is wasted. Homes and businesses are stacked up on every hillside throughout the city.

We saw lots of pretty gardens and shrubs along the way. Blooms of all shapes, sizes, and colors added to the charm and character of the neighborhoods.

At the end of our first day, I’m thankful for my Commander Supreme. If the remainder of the trip is as good as the first afternoon, then we’re going to be remembering this trek for a long, long time.

A tour of Alcatraz awaits us on Thursday.

Ants, Car Creatures, Compressors, Peeps, Termites

May 11, 2025 Bill Pike2 Comments

I think some days that God is out to get me.

During Holy Week at our church, for some unknown reason, termites decided to erupt out of the wooden baseboard in the Forest Avenue foyer of the Sanctuary.

Our head building caretaker had been spiffing up the old black and white tile floor when he noticed my new best friends.

Sure enough, the termites had staged quite an invasion. They were curiously crawling around and inspecting these unfamiliar surfaces.

Maybe they were communicating to themselves, “Hey, where did the soft wood go, how did we end up here, we’re usually crunching wood in the dark, where did this light come from, who is this old guy holding a spay bottle?

Down on my knees, I probed deeper. Sometimes when we probe deeper into the outer layers more challenges are revealed. As I gently pried off the first piece of stained wood, I quickly saw that the next piece of trim work had been decimated by the termites.

No telling how long they had been silently chomping on the wood.

With a touch of agitation, I grabbed the spray bottle of Windex with ammonia in it. I started spraying. A long time ago, an exterminator told me that Windex with ammonia can temporarily help in eliminating creatures that show up at the wrong time.

I made the call to the company who has our termite contract. One of their technicians would stop by early on Thursday morning.

Not long after that encounter, a church member told me she forgot to tell me that ants had been sighted by one of the windows in the nursery on Sunday.

Sure enough, the ants were all over the window ledge and the HVAC register.

Once again, the ants met Windex.

Maybe in their defense, the ants were responding to the disruption they had experienced during our summer of 2024 building renovation project. That extensive project had peeled back all layers in one section of our building. I’m sure we intruded into the ants’ space.

Perhaps, the ants were seeking revenge. My guess is they were on a secret mission. The ants were working their way to the office of our Kids Director, Jen Williams, and her stash of Peeps. The ants were planning to disrupt Easter.

Again, I made a call to our pest control company, and our reliable technician was scheduled to visit the ants on Friday.

In the interim, I spent time cleaning up the ant massacre. I’d learn from past encounters its about eliminating access. I found no evidence of intrusion from the outside, so I concentrated on caulking up any openings and seams around the window trim and the HVAC unit.

Early on Thursday morning, I met the termite technician. He confirmed that the visitors were termites, not flying ants. For a few minutes, he share his options for treating the damaged area. For sure, he would treat the visible wood, but he also wanted to get inside the plaster wall above the trim work.

With this, we agreed on him drilling three small holes into the plaster. This gave access for treating the inside of the wall area. In turn, I agreed to patch the three holes.

Later on Thursday afternoon, I was able to get the damaged baseboard presentable for Easter.

Over in the nursery, the caulk work from Wednesday afternoon worked. No ants were scurrying around the window or the HVAC unit.

Easter Sunday was a pretty, warm day in Richmond. We had made the switch over to the summer season with the HVAC systems in the older sections of the building. Initially, these chillers with their compressors, pumps, and air handlers fired up properly.

While that initial start up had gone well on Thursday afternoon, that wasn’t the case on Sunday morning. The chiller for the Trinity Hall wing of the building was a bad bunny. The chiller despite prompting would not fire up.

Luckily, no one croaked from heat stroke in that section of the building on Sunday. However, the news wasn’t good when the unit was checked out by our HVAC service company the following week. One of the compressors for that chiller decided—“I’m done, I’m not working another Richmond summer, find another compressor to battle that heat and humidity.”

Now, our Trustees are reviewing a quote for replacing the uncooperative compressor. The cost is not pretty.

On Friday, May 2, the call came on my cell phone at 9:28 a.m.

Our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, had started her drive to Richmond from Raleigh. She was coming to attend a dance recital for two of our granddaughters on Saturday afternoon.

But this call wasn’t about how much napping I would do during the recital. No there was a sense of urgency. I could hear concern in Elizabeth’s voice.

She explained there was a noise coming from the dashboard of her car. The noise reminded her of the type of the scratching sounds that an agitated squirrel or mouse make when they are trapped inside the wall of a house.

Elizabeth was convinced that some crazed furry creature was going to explode through the dashboard or floorboard of the car as she sped up the interstate.

When I finally was able to settle her down, we walked through a series of unscientific tests. No creature exploded out from under the hood, nor from the dashboard.

At the gas station where Elizabeth had pulled over, a nice man noticed the raised hood. Clearly, he saw this young lady going through a sequence of unusual maneuvers while holding a cell phone. Possibly, he thought she was about to lose one or all of her marbles by the actions he saw.

He decide to investigate. With me listening in on the phone, he asked if she needed help?

Calmly, Elizabeth told him about the noise and what she was attempting to do.

Upon hearing her concerns, this kind stranger suggested that leaf debris might be in her ventilation system. He talked about the “squirrel cage” for this system and how debris can become trapped and blown around.

For now, that explanation made sense.

Elizabeth thanked him for his willingness to help. She continued her drive toward Richmond.

Later on Friday afternoon, we had a father-daughter bonding session.

First, we removed all tree debris from the windshield wiper area of the car and under the hood too.

Then, per the advice of the helpful stranger, we went inside the glove box of the car to remove the air filter for the car’s HVAC system. Yes, the filter for the HVAC system is located behind the glove box.

Despite watching helpful Youtube videos on how to access the filter, this work was not profanity free.

But inside the filter and the surrounding area, we did find leaf debris particles that could have been the noisy culprit.

During this endeavor, I did as all fathers are supposed to do. I put my hand into the cylinder for the vent, and I let out a scream. A scream that conveyed a furry creature had my hand.

Of course, this tactic worked. Elizabeth’s was initially quite startled, but not impressed with her immature father.

Elizabeth led the way in getting the filter and glove box back into the proper positions. Remarkably, we didn’t break anything.

Usually, situations with ants, termites, compressors, and car creatures can be remedied. However, that is not always the case for human beings.

Right now, despite fighting with all of their strength, and the best efforts of oncologists, someone within this hour is going to lose their battle with cancer.

Today, a darkness so deep and desperate will push a person to die by suicide.

With the end of another school year in sight, a single parent with three elementary age children wonders how they will survive the summer. Her concerns are based on the gutting of funding from leaders in Washington who have no clue about the reality of real American life.

Easter is over.

For me, Easter, despite its resurrection ending, is a difficult story.

Life is a difficult story too. Disruptive challenges are always, always part of that difficulty.

But with Easter, I always come back to Thomas. That’s right Thomas.

I identify with Thomas because he is honest. Like me he doubts. He doubted that Jesus had appeared before the disciples after his death.

Thomas wanted proof.

He wanted to see the wounds Jesus had suffered during his crucifixion.

How do we confront our doubts during life’s challenging moments?

Maybe, the key is to always hold on to hope.

Even when we doubt, and our faith is fading, we must not let go of hope.

And here’s why— Romans Chapter Five verses three and four: “because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope.”

Remember in the post Easter story, someone you encounter needs your perseverance, your character, and your hope.

Doesn’t matter if this person is confronting ants, compressors, car critters, termites, or the true reality of real life— someone needs hope.

On those bad days in an old church building when I’m convinced that God is out to get me, maybe he’s simply reminding me, “Hey knucklehead, someone you encounter today needs to hear that hope from Romans. Don’t let them down.”

Peeps saved from the ants. (Photo Bill Pike)

Marathon Key Day 12: Goodbye

May 5, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

On Friday, January 31, 2025 at 5:51 a.m. the temperature was 72 degrees. Humidity was 82%. Wind was out of the southeast at 10 miles per hour. Visibility in Marathon Key, Florida was 10 miles.

Of course, the last day of your trip, when you’re packed up, and ready to fly back home is always the prettiest.

Our last morning in Marathon Key (Photo Bill Pike)

With a late afternoon flight out of Miami to take us back to our Middle Atlantic homes and more winter, I opted to take one more run. I knew it would be months before I could take a run wearing shorts and t-shirt.

Most of the packing took place on Thursday afternoon. I had a few details to finish up, but there was time for the run.

I ran toward the Seven Mile Bridge, a bridge that none of us will forget. That bridge takes travelers further south to the next set of Keys, but more importantly, the bridge gives visitors multiple opportunities to see the water and the land from a variety angles.

The Overseas Highway on my left was already awake. Traffic moved in all directions. I don’t think this highway has many quiet moments.

Restaurants were in the final stage of prep for customers who needed a jolt of coffee or breakfast.

As I made my way out to the bridge, I encountered a few other early risers. Some were walking, biking, or puttering along in their running shoes.

The views from the bridge were just as expected— pretty.

Yet in nature’s appealing charms, I had a bit of sadness—my next run in Richmond would not have these views. And that’s ok. That’s what memories and photos do for you.

They allow you to hold on to the past. If I’m still vertical in ten years, I could look back at a photo and say, “ah the magnificent Seven Mile Bridge, that was a fun run out to the bridge and back.”

When I returned to the condo at Tranquility Bay, my pals were in a subdued motion. They knew we were heading home.

Seems that by ten we had cleared the checkout hurdles.

Next, all that luggage and our creaky bodies were crammed back into the SUV.

At some point on Thursday evening, I whined. I realized that we hadn’t visited any of the local craft beer breweries.

But my patient and accommodating pals, said not to worry. We could make a stop in Islamorada at the Florida Keys Brewing Company, and we did.

This colorfully bright brewery sits on the Old Highway that runs parallel to the Overseas Highway. But the brewery’s property also intersects with the Morada Way Arts and Cultural District. This is an eclectic mix of local shops and galleries.

At the brewery, Dan, Butch, and I ordered a flight of beers. We found a table out in the beer garden and sampled the well made beers from The Florida Keys Brewing Company.

Soon our wives joined us from their exploring of the Morada Way shops, and then we scrunching ourselves back into the SUV.

We opted to have lunch at the High Tide. This was restaurant in Key Largo where our adventure started on January 20.

A good lunch time crowd was in place, but the staff squeezed us into the same table for six where we sat during our first visit. Again, the accommodating staff, and the homemade meals hit the spot.

Back in the car, we continued our trek north. The scenic landscapes of the Keys gradually disappeared. Miami and its sprawl were soon upon us. Dan and Butch continued to drive and navigate us toward the airport.

Like the pilot that he is, Dan navigated us into the chaos of the twists and turns of airport traffic. He nudged us into a good spot to unload. We pried ourselves and the luggage out.

This time, we opted to work with a sky cap who managed getting our luggage tagged and on its way to our airlines.

Now, our attention shifted to navigating the terminal. We wove our way through the wide hallways. Other tourists like us were doing the same thing. Gradually, we arrived at our departure sites.

Fortunately for us, goodbyes with this group of friends is really never goodbye. For the remainder of the afternoon and late into the evening, we would track our returns to Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia.

Somewhere in that tracking, I marvel at these friendships. Friendships that date back to the fall of 1971 at an unlikely starting point Greensboro College.

The Callows and Sherrills had earlier departure times.

It was almost midnight when our plane landed in Richmond. Raindrops covered my window as I looked out at the lights reflecting on the rain slick runway leading to the terminal.

Landed in a rainy Richmond (Photo Bill Pike)

Grabbing our luggage, locating the shuttle to our parking space, and driving home were ahead of us.

At many points during our two weeks in the Keys, I had multiple self-talk reminders: “My gosh are you lucky. Lucky to be able to take a trip like this with a wife who still tolerates your imperfections, and friends from college who also still endure your imperfections.”

Earlier in the afternoon as we maneuvered through the Miami airport, I saw the words: “Peace and Love” displayed on a large wall.

Words for pondering and action Miami Airport (Photo Bill Pike)

I wonder how many people pass by those words everyday?

Sadly, no matter how hard people around the world attempt to embrace “peace and love,” we are unable to fully commit ourselves to make this a reality.

I hope someday we will wise up and let “peace and love” lead our hearts for the good of all.

Kindness in Summerfield

May 1, 2025 Bill PikeLeave a comment

During the last week of March, my wife and I had the privilege to be in Summerfield for a few days. Our son-in-law was traveling for work. Our daughter needed an extra set of hands in helping out with the grandkids.

From the day we arrived until our departure, we were busy. No matter if it was chauffeuring to an activity or completing a chore, it seemed like the checklists never ended.

Late on Tuesday afternoon, I was finishing some yard work. Our daughter had reminded me that the trash and recycling bins needed to be out early on Wednesday morning.

I looked next door and noted that the elderly neighbor already had her bins out. As I looked closer, I saw on top of each bin, she had placed a sports energy drink. Those drinks were for the drivers of the collection trucks.

On Wednesday morning each driver made the stop and collected his drink. After the bins had been emptied, the drivers also responded as good neighbors. Each wheeled the respective bins back into a designated spot in the driveway.

In a divided America, where the dismantling of our country makes headlines everyday, I found hope in the kindness from the neighbor and the two drivers. No matter how weary the Washington decisions might make us feel, it is good to know that our hearts are still capable of being compassionate in assisting each other.