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View From The Bluffs

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 My Special Day
 

It is quiet in the Anexplorer household.

Mrs. Anexplorer still sleeps.

Lindsay waits by the backdoor wanting out, but it is early and she has begun barking at the newly returned birds. So she will have to be patient and let the neighbours sleep.

Anexplorer is alone with his thoughts. He may not have much time alone today so these are precious moments for him.

In many ways it is just another day, begun as most of his days begin. There are no sounds to make it different, no sights that are different, he feels no different.

But nothing is the same. He has crossed a threshold and there is no turning back.

Today is his birthday; but not just any birthday.

Today Anexplorer turns 65.

Until a year ago this was the legal retirement age in the Province of Ontario. A cultural, financial, physical, behavioral and psychological crossroad.

A letter of congratulations has arrived from the Province explaining his entitlement to the Provincial drug plan. Although Anexplorer has no plans to retire right now, today he looses all his company benefits. His bank has notified him that all bank services charges will now be stopped. His City Councilor, who is also a friend, has sent a large certificate of congratulations from the City. There will be presents and surprises.

His friends at work are taking him for lunch, his family are taking him out for dinner. Jokes will be made.

"How are you enjoying retirement so far, Anexplorer?"
"So what's it like on the other side of the hill?"
"Have you achieved what you wanted in life?"

Then life will go on, at least for another two years, when Anexplorer actually plans to retire, at the same time as Mrs. Anexplorer. And they will move from the city to a smaller home in the country.

For now the house is silent and dark, illuminated only by the screen on his laptop.

But outside, the birds have returned and they are singing.

The day begins and life goes on, sweeping him along with it, as it's always done.

happy birthday
Posted by Anexplorer at 6:05 AM - 38 Comments   Add a Comment  
 

 Wednesday With TED 5
 

A very short TED video this week, just 4 minutes in length.

Leonardo Da Vinci's life and work is well known -- but his face is not. Illustrator and activist Siegfried Woldhek used some thoughtful image-analysis techniques to find what he believes is the true face of Leonardo. Here, he walks viewers through exactly how he did it.



TED is an elite event where world leaders in Technology, Entertainment and Design gather to cross-pollinate ideas and gain inspiration from presentations on the latest developments in sciences and the arts.
Posted by Anexplorer at 4:43 AM - 22 Comments   Add a Comment  
 

 Guided Missiles and I
 

V1 Rocket

I celebrated my first birthday on April 3, 1944 in the London suburb of Mitcham, close to Croydon. In June of 1944, the first V1 Rockets began to rain down on England's capitol. I really don't think they were out to get me personally, but you can never tell.

I slept through most of it.

My father was a Staff Sargent in the Canadian Army and he was posted overseas in North Africa. My mother had moved back home with her parents for the duration of the war.

The skies of London were filled with barrage balloons, looking suspiciously like the craft of invading Martians from War Of The Worlds. Eventually some 2,000 barrage balloons were deployed in the hope that V-1s would be destroyed when they struck the balloons' tethering cables. Only the Germans had fitted the leading edges of the V-1's wings with cable cutters, and fewer than 300 V-1s are known to have been brought down by barrage balloons.

My grandfather, a WW1 Captain, was a Street Marshal and when sirens sounded he herded the people from his street indoors or into their shelters and made certain no light could be seen from any window, before rushing home himself.

Up to this point, the biggest explosion on his street had been to the backyard of the home next to his. It was ironic, the neighbhour had build a backyard shelter capable of withstanding anything but a direct hit. His wife refused to use the shelter, insisting on staying in the house. And when the bombs came they hit the shelter directly, leaving the home and the wife intact. There was a large crater now where the man in the shelter had been.

My grandparents, my mother and I huddled in the pantry. I was placed in my pram under the stairs. Everyone kept low.

Almost 30,000 V-1s were made. Approximately 10,000 were fired at England; 2,419 reached London, killing about 6,184 people and injuring 17,981. The greatest density of hits were received by Croydon, on the SE fringe of London. Mitcham wasn't that far from Croydon and the guidance systems of the V1 were primitive to say the least.

The V-1 lacked the primary points of vulnerability of conventional aircraft: pilot, life-support, and a complex engine. Hits to the pilot, oxygen system, or complex reciprocating engines of a piloted aircraft by a bullet or small shell fragment destroy its fighting capability, but the V-1's Argus pulsejet provided sufficient thrust for flight even if damaged. The only vulnerable point of the Argus was the valve array at the front of the engine. The V-1's only one-shot stop points were the two bomb detonators and the line from the fuel tank, three very small targets buried inside the fuselage. A direct hit on the warhead by an explosive shell from a fighter's cannon, or a very close anti-aircraft shell explosion, were the most effective forms of gunfire.

As my family huddled in their skullery, they could hear the distant explosions but what they were listening for was the sound of the V1 engine. As long as you could hear the engine you were fine. But when it stopped, it meant it was coming for you and the silence was ominous.

And on this particular day, they heard the engine sputter and stop and waited in the deadly quiet.

Suddenly the rocket exploded with a deafening roar directly across the street from my grandparent's home, window's imploded and shrapnel ripped through the walls of their house while they lay on the floor.

I slept through it all and lived because I slept. When they came to check on me, the hood of my carriage was sliced to pieces from shrapnel. Had I been sitting up, frightened by the noise, I would have resembled the carriage hood.

There is perhaps a lesson in there for coping with very bad times.

Just sleep on it.

London Blitz
Posted by Anexplorer at 5:24 AM - 16 Comments   Add a Comment  
 
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