Strange but True Wild Encounters!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:           Strange but True Wild Encounters!   

What a Nasty Looking Beast...  Those Huge Tusks!  

What is it about memory?  Do we strange humans seek to embellish our own stories, our real or imagined lives, our mythology?  Are memory and recollection simply fabricated scenarios, created by writers and film crews for viewing on a big screen, the hero a masked paladin battling miscreants, villains, outlaws and murderers?  

Is all of that the heritage, mere artifice, the inheritance of a long life, of GeezerHood?  We tell ourselves tales of triumph, of what we'd actually like to have become, how we'd prefer others, our peers to perceive us, our self-created and self-aggrandized legends?

Maybe it's all a load of crap.  I don't know...  As a professorial friend suggests, we really don't know who the hell we truly are; we're in a constant state of flux, different personas emerging in different states of existence and personal evolution!  Perpetual mysteries?!  

What the hell's the difference?  Truth?  Pretence?  I'll tell stories in any case, of what may or may not be believable.  In any event, it's true.  Memory demands it must be!  

During my time in military service, in the nation of Turkiye, adventure called, like a beckoning nymph, like a great challenge proffered to a knight errant!  A quest, a need to be brave, heroic.  Or merely curious...

There were beautiful hills, almost small mountains behind the base on which we were stationed.  A friend and I -- we'll call him Webster -- chose a glorious sunny day, and began our trek up those daunting inclines, hoping to find a wild boar, perhaps some wild native inhabitants, living free but undiscovered.  In time, we found both.

The boar did indeed have great and fearsome-looking tusks, fang-like weapon-tools, conjuring alarming images of being eaten alive.  He -- we somehow knew it was a male --
looked at us greedily, menacingly but after a long while, during which we stared fixedly at one another, it hungry, we scared witless, the boar turned and trotted slowly away.  Then another giant shock!...   We hadn't become aware of the dark-skinned man who so quietly, stealthily appeared like a specter behind us, frightening the stuffing out of us in the process.

The man was dressed in a kind of robe, suggesting the guise of an Arab tribes-person.  I knew a smattering of Turkish.  My companion knew not a word.  The man smiled, crooked a finger and insisted we follow.  We did -- sort of hypnotically, cautiously -- eventually arriving at his home, a well-concealed cave-like dwelling.  Wide-eyed, we looked about, both of us in a state of fear and wonder, and then entered...

  Inside it was illuminated by a fire.  Beside the fire was a handsome woman and two dark and beautiful children.  Introductions followed, haltingly, each using signs and language to the best ability of each of the six of us.  Some Turkish, but mostly signs and smiles, facial expressions

and gestures.  It was a magical encounter, delightful, warm and remarkably kind, filled with wonder and curiosity, ultimately quite human, a kind of bonding the likes of which neither my American friend nor I had ever before encountered.  How could we have?  This was entirely new, entirely alien in a way!

       We greatly enjoyed the food and drink we were offered.  (Wild boar, maybe?).  Raki to sip, or maybe not something alcoholic (Muslims!), causing Webster and me to weave a bit as we left the family...  I think it was Raki...  maybe not!  Perhaps a heady reaction, an illusory effect, owing to the strange and wonderful encounter!  

We did not meet another wild boar, but swore we heard snorting and shrieking and eerie cries in wooded environs we passed as we began our descent back to the air base, that place a cluster of nondescript buildings that lay at the bottom of the large green hills we had just traversed and explored, both up and back.

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

Webster and I did not encounter one another for at least a couple of months after the boar and native cave-dwelling Turks adventure.

When we again did, it happened in Istanbul, along the Galata Bridge.  He was wandering aimlessly; I was climbing out of a taxi cab after visiting Turkish friends.  Though traveling in opposite directions, I asked if he was heading somewhere in particular.

"Just seeing the sights..." Webster answered cryptically.  He seemed confused, uncertain, lost...  He sort of mumbled, possibly in a kind of daze or daydream.  

"I'm going to go down to the Galata Port area on the Bosphorus, where big ships dock.  If you have no specific plans, join me if you like," I said.  Webster did so.

At the port, a gigantic and very modern looking cruise ship was docked.  Its stairway or "gangplank" was invitingly down, daring us to board. 

Litva

"What the hell," I said.  "What d'ya say we take a tour?"  Webster smiled and willingly agreed.  We boarded, seeing no one as we arrived at the ship's level reached via the walkway.  We entered a doorway and descended a stairway, reaching a a kind of common room or perhaps a lounge.  On the wall was a huge poster depicting a pastoral scene, another showing a fine-looking town or street scene.  At the bottom of each poster were the words, "Visit the USSR."

Webster, a quizzical look clouding his long face, asked, "Why would a Greek ship wish to promote tourism in the USSR."  I laughed and searched his face, still a grimaced and contorted mask of curiosity.  He had to be joking!    

We walked along the ship's passageways, up sets of stairs and eventually reaching the captain's or pilot's bridge or wheelhouse.  The bridge, the ship's control center, the most

Leander's Tower...
(I think)...  approaching
the Istanbul harbor!

fascinating part of our quest, our "tour."  Still we encountered no one.  Both of us, foolishly and carelessly, began to fiddle with buttons and controls.  As we depressed a few of them, we felt the ship begin an almost imperceptible movement, a listing.   Wait!  Yes, we did experience a movement, a tilting.  Water-tight doors?  Oh no...  

So, too, did a number of crew members.  As if in a chorus of angry barking, we heard men shouting, and they were not friendly. 

"We'd better get the hell out of here," I cautioned.  

Webster said, "Ach...  a Greek ship.  What can they do but order us to leave."

With great haste we ran onto and off of that
gangplank...  Running for fear of our lives!
... A blur!!  We couldn't even see ourselves!!

I shot him a stern look.  "This is a Russian ship, a Soviet ship.  I thought you were joking!  I know some Russian.  I recognize and can read the Cyrillic alphabet.  We gotta get the hell out of here," I repeated.  "We're American GIs.  We have sensitive information in our heads," I shouted as we ran like Olympic sprinters toward and then down the gangplank.

Webster looked stricken.  We ran like hell, panting, gasping...  "Where?," he asked in a muffled, if panicked voice.  "Should we jump off the ship...  into the Bosphorus?"

I had the same thought, but figured we needn't do anything so dramatic, so foolhardy,  so potentially cold and wet and demanding of an arduous swim to shore.  No guarantee of escape.  I could see us getting yanked out of the soup by our hair, burly commie deckhands ready to put us in chains!  Torture and interrogation our certain fate!!    

"Keep running.  Those commies are after us...  damn commies!"  We raced off the ship, down the gangway, then up an incline, round a turn, ducking low, into a throng of Turks, some carrying huge loads on their backs, some with heavy-looking sacks on their heads.  Finally, finally we felt somewhat safe, having been absorbed, having sort of disappeared into the mass of humanity.  

We kept going at a brisk pace, onto the Galata Bridge.  Only then did we dare look back toward the moored ship, toward the Litva!  I spotted a group of agitated-looking men, searching the wharf area.  They spied left and right, but happily not toward the bridge.  They continued to look angry.  I could almost hear them in my pulsing brain, muttering and cursing!    

"Phew," I ventured.  "I think we're safe...  Hope we're safe," I said, reassuring Webster and myself.  Sort of...  He continued to look a bit ghostly pale and stunned.  I thought he would punch me at any moment for getting him into a potentially dangerous pickle!

In time, we made our way back to the quay and the ferry landing.  A pleasant return voyage on the Sea of Marmara, past beautiful islands, eventually docking at the Port of Yalova.  From there by bus back to the base.

On the ferry, I drank a couple of vodka-lemons (pronounced Le-Moans, accent on the

"Moans"!).  Munched on pistachios too, usually served along with the booze.  I exchanged my concerns with Webster.  Our sensitive knowledge.  Soviets.  Commies.  Possible danger to ourselves.  Stupid actions aboard the Litva.  My stupidity, his too, perhaps.  I apologized to him for my own foolish behavior, putting both of us at risk, or seemingly so!  Webster's bravado probably came from the "Greek"...  his confusion!   

"Who uses that ship?" Webster asks, perhaps rhetorically.

"Hmmm...  Possibly wealthy Soviets.  Maybe Politburo members.  Rich commies cruising on the Black Sea.  I don't know..."   

I never saw him again, or perhaps I did, fleetingly, in a common neighborhood.  A brief glance, possible recognition, maybe a mirage?!  I made no attempt to hail him or to meet, nor to effect a rendezvous.  It was enough, what we had experienced together.  It was enough!   

 Humbly Submitted 10-09-2025 -- by Joel K.

 

 

  

 

     

 

         

   

Dining with the "He's Just Too Marvelous" GourMario!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:         

Dining with the "He's Just Too Marvelous" GourMario!  

Why must they pile stuff on top of stuff so that you can't see what's under there?

My faithful devotees may likely have heard about or read my CV...  To wit, regarding my reputation as a gourmet and a gourmand, with widespread renown for my taste in and knowledge of fine cuisine.   NONE OF IT IS TRUE!  (I don't know what the hell they've been hearing or reading!  False information and rumors do circulate, after all!)

However, as a person neck- or follicles-deep in the morass of GeezerHood, I have had some experience with restaurant choices and fine dining; ...none of which has had any lasting effect on my appreciation or awareness of fine cuisine and the many fine restaurants known for serving said fine cuisine!........  (Possibly some of my senses have gone afoul!)  

Here comes the "However Part":   I do have some favorite dining establishments, and I'm certain my loyal readers and followers are eager, even anxious, to have them shared

Benji is Yummy and very
Affordable!  Highly Desirable!

via this writing!  Right?  Aint it so?  

Used to be a lot of these in our fine
community!  What happened,
fer Pity sake!

I don't know what ever happened to the "Ham n' Eggers," for example.  (I think I had unlimited credit in at least two of them!  Or was it Jack R. I'm thinking of...!)  I thoroughly enjoy Benji's!  Oh, and thank goodness Colectivo has come to its culinary senses and resurrected Baked Oatmeal and its fruity accompaniments!  My favorite edible dish at that establishment!  I normally request Steamed Skim on the side...  I like to dip my spoon it its foam prior to scooping a glob of oatmeal!...

  (This is just a probably unwanted aside:)  My    dear old mother used to make me eat certain portions of wilted and gloopy slop...  like canned spinach, soggy cereal with hot cocoa, and the aforementioned would form a most unpalatable skim on top.  Oh yes, and soggy potato chip casseroles!  I gagged a lot in my distant youth, still do of course...

Tell your Mom to avoid
canned spinach at
all costs!  Horrible stuff!
You could gag a lot!!

My children and grandchildren have urged the family -- all of us -- on occasion to sample certain trendy purveyors of fine food...  E.g.   Room Service; Lebnani House (shouldn't there be an "r" in that word?!); Naf Naf; I do like the various Shawarma House locations; Stella's; Zarletti; The
Capital Grille (Why must they put an "e" at the end?); Bartolotta's (various...  Had a free lunch at one of them...  That was satisfactory!); Mason Street Grill...  (Nothing wrong with any of them!  The better, more highly regarded ones are just kind of wasted on my undistinguished palate!)

I do fancy The Knick, and have enjoyed its fare on a few occasions.  Same with the Cafe at the Pfister, also Tre Rivali.  I've never dined at Bacchus, possibly (possibly??!!  Great Plumpy Aubergines!  Very little doubt!...) a bit beyond my / our financial wherewithal.  (Perhaps you'd care to verify with SweetHeart!!??)

Interior Photo of Old Town
Serbian Gourmet House!
Very Yummy Fare!

Oh yeah!  I should mention Old Town Serbian Gourmet       House, and Three Brothers.  SweetHeart, Joan, our daughters, certain friends and relations fancy both, and they have been our default locations on holidays and other festive occasions.  Wonderful stuff...  Some like the stuffed courgettes and some prefer the stuffed peppers! 

I really enjoy breakfast foods, anytime.  There's a number of fine breakfast houses in Milwaukee and vicinity.  (I mean...  How far does "Vicinity" actually travel?  I mean, Union Grove, Sturdevant, Caledonia, Cleghorn, Foothill...??)

Consider, for example, Toast, North Avenue Grill, Uncle Wolfie's, Blue's Egg, Melrose, Benny's, Comet Cafe, Honey Pie, Sweet
Diner, National Cafe, Anodyne Coffee...  I tend, lately, to prefer Scrambled Eggs with Onion, raw or cooked...  doesn't matter!  In
Turkey, I always used to order an Onion Omelette!  You know, in the "Chow Line." The cooks got to know me well!  They even became quite fond of me...  Oh...  until I started requesting a Three-Minute egg!

(Special Note of Dedication:    To SweetHeart, Bethie (who whenever I mention a restaurant or cafe I'd never heard of announces she's been there six or seven times!), Alie (she's only been there once or twice!), our Beloved Grandchildren, all of whom are far more gourmand, gourmet-ish or "Foodie" than ever I am or shall be!  Love to all, and may all of your / their dining experiences be delectable, delicious and memorable...  Mostly!!  Oh...  And hardly anyone experiences a blotchy tunic...  hardly!!)

(Humbly Submitted 09-09-2025 by Joel K!)

  

 

 

 

  

 

Coffee or Tea, Anyone? Both?......

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:          Coffee or Tea, Anyone?  Both?......

For the record, I once participated in an "International BORE OFF" with a chap who was reputed to be the most tedious and boring of humans anywhere on the planet.  However, I won, and walked off with the trophy held high!!  What an accomplishment!

I think the contest may have been rigged!  

In any case, as a Geezer in Full command of my faculties, sort of,  and in the full flight of GeezerHood generally, I'd like to present to my beloved and faithful readers a new presentation about the wonders and glories of COFFEE and TEA consumption, and the marvelous venues that serve the finest of those concoctions (or are they confections?) 

Some people, we're told, do not care for coffee, and some prefer "mud" over tea, we're told...  reliably, sometimes!  (I have a friend who prefers hot tea to coffee.  Very strange!)

(Both coffee and tea, by the by, contain nutrients and antioxidants!  Both help protect the body against cell damage.  Do we need more reasons to drink the stuff??!!  One should think not!!  Oh yeah, and Vitamin B2...!)

SweetHeart and I do not start our day without a trip to a favored coffee house.  Wait!!!  Don't leave yet...  I'm not finished!  She prefers decaffeinated coffee with a modicum of hot water at its base.  I, on the other had, prefer a puddle or a quarter slurp of caffeinated, dark roast coffee with the balance filled with the purveyor's finest decaffeinated blend!  Oh, and did I mention the superb aroma of fine coffee??!!

Whilst positioned at said coffee house -- lately, Stone Creek's Harwood Avenue location; sometimes Downer Avenue -- we tend to haul out our electronic telecommunications devices, explore certain puzzling challenges and commence attempting to solve said puzzles!  E.g.   Wordle, Connections, Mini-Crossword challenges.  We generally succeed in conquering said challenges!  I mean, what fun, what joyful pastimes for those of us still in control of our brainwaves and sentient powers!  (Before they fade?...)

This morning, I'd like to add, in case anyone is wondering, or curious or perhaps already stupefied, we repaired both to Stone Creek and to Colectivo, the Oakland Avenue location.  (We enjoy interacting commercially and personally with Frank at the latter locale...)  Sometimes a second cup of mud is necessary, or at least greatly desired and

appreciated.  Sometimes iced coffee is a nice treat, particularly in the warm and sunny days, or, put another way, the blazing moments of summer!  Wouldn't you agree??

In the afternoon, we tend to prefer, not hot tea, but ICED SPORT TEA -- light ice and a slice of fresh lemon, if you please...   A large of cup of ice to take away with us, also please, as often the light ice is insufficient, 

Could be an image of a fabled coffee house
on Capitol Hill in Seattle, Washington!
Once thought to be the American
birth place of popular coffee houses!

 (not sufficient), and we prefer more tea than ice, you see....  One needs to re-ice the tea lest it warms too quickly!  We are nothing if not astute, possibly even quite brilliant,  about maximizing our quantities of tea.  If one does not specify "Light Ice," one might enjoy a few brief sips and nothing accosts one's nose but large and uncomfortable cubes of ice destined to freeze the proboscis!  Resulting in very little actual TEA!

There are highly important lessons to be learned here!!

But let us now return to the crux of this writing, or posting, if you prefer.  Coffee in the AM, Sport Tea in the PM!  Pay Attention!!  

Could be the Foundry...  Our 
favorite among certain
of them!  

   When during my wandering         days, I landed in the Seattle-    Tacoma region of the western     states, and discovered Capitol Hill  (high atop Seattle) and the many     fine coffee houses situated

 thereupon; thus I fell a bit     mesmerized and thus found myself amorously captivated by     and enthralled with the glories of truly good coffee.  A discovery most delightful and profoundly delicious!
Thus my eternal fondness for fine coffee began in earnest!!  

I don't think I have anything more to report...  The aim, here, is merely to extoll the virtues of great potables such as coffee and iced sport tea (Maybe hot tea as well...  Black, Green, etc.).  And to share with all and sundry the pleasures of both beverages, just in case some of my devotees might be seeking pastimes and potables yet undiscovered.  Thank you, and happy imbibing...  Oh, this has nothing to do with and is in no way intended to steer my beloved devotees to spirited or intoxicating beverages.  Thank you!  (Did I say that already?)

Humbly Submitted in August of 2025 -- by Joel K.

 

 

The Thing about Music....!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:         The Thing about Music....!

Those Marvelous Turks make the Most Wonderful Music.. Oh and that's a Picture of Ataturk in the Background! Thank you...
(Can you Spot the Baglama?.... Or is that an Oud?)

That's Him...  That's
Mustafa Kemal
Ataturk!

    Reflection:   Is it a highly prevalent sort of contemplation, or         maybe meditation? A  practice among those who have entered     into the realm of, how shall I put this... GeezerHood, maybe?...  the     Age of "Greater Wisdom" or Elderlyness, perhaps, Historicalness     (could be?)...! Take Music, for example...

    I readily confess that my knowledge of and taste in music is         anything but exemplary, eclectic, or broad based, or extensive.  (Hope I'm not being repetitive or redundant or monotonous or     constant...   You may weigh in with your own observations about my     redundancy, if you wish!)  

   Where was I?!  Oh yes, the realm of music.  As a youngster, or an                   adolescent, I was eager to escape my home life, and thus I resolved to dash away, straw suitcase pre-packed, near at hand, or to seek and find a more propitious means of finding my way in life.

In the end, having come to my senses and having heeded advice from those brighter and perhaps more insightful than my, then, young self, I chose to enlist in the U.S. Armed Services.  You know...  ready availability of shelter, food, clothing, etc.    

Fresh out of secondary school, I reported to the local military recruitment center, swore

the appropriate oath, and before I could ask myself, "What the hell are you doing, you ridiculous bubblehead?..." I was on a Braniff flight, bound for a basic training center in Texas.  The weather was hot in June!  We did a lot of sweating.

Eventually, if we were well behaved (or our training leaders, perhaps, were sick of the sight of us!), we were offered what our lead Training Sergeant termed, "a Patio Break."  The music on its ancient jukebox was exclusively Country, not a standard nor an aria nor an R&R tune within ear shot.  I began to taste straw and alfalfa; I imagined tucking my thumbs into bib overalls, drawling and dribbling "Dixie Speak" and lots of Y'all's, Yonders, Reckons and fixins!

After suffering through the ear-piecing bellowing of training sergeants, calisthenics far too aplenty, "Attentions," "Forward or Backward Marches," and more insults than even my own dear father heaped upon me, I was dispatched to a training school in another

Texas location.  (Thought I'd never get out of Texas...), not to mention never hear another but a country ballad by George Jones, Buck Owens, Patsy Cline, Merle Haggard, Bob Wills, Texas "Fats" Pimpslee...   Hell, even a quite young Willie Nelson?

Then, before I could ask my pal, Rex Winkle, who originated from an obscure village in Southern Utah, "Hey, y'all goin don to the boozy waterin' hole made just for enlisted trash...?" I was sent to a strange foreign land...  TURKEY!  That extraordinary land southeast of

Bulgaria, south of the Black Sea, southwest of Georgia and Armenia, west of Hellas (or Greece, to lots of Americanos!)...  where I listened to lots of Turkish music...

Dede Efendi, Serdar Yilmaz, Baha Yetkin...  and the beautiful tunes of the famous, Zeki Muran (two dots above the "u), including "Let's Tweest Agin Lak We deed Last Sooomer"!  Zeki was the Turkish answer to...  I don't know...  maybe Elvis, maybe Bill Haley...  

We listened to that and other of Zeki's fabled melodies whilst speeding along dark, narrow, gravely roads at night courtesy of our favorite taxi driver, Hikmet, his ancient cab fitted with a 45 RPM record player buried somewhere in the dash board!  He spent more time looking at us in the back seat recommending others of Zeki's modern tunes!  "Face forward, look at the road!!..." someone hollered, brow dripping with sweat!

I mean, the point of all of this is this:   I missed my teenage music years!  Had no idea who were the Beatles, Everly Brothers, Byrds, Doors, Stones, Who, Floyd Pink, Beach Guys...   Truth is, I am very fond of all sorts of music -- Rock, Blues, Standards, Opera,

Who the hell are these oddly
appareled guys again??

Classical stuff, Country too...   It's just that I missed the 60s!  (I was keeping the world safe for democracy after all!!...  something like that!!)

When at last I matriculated, that is, entered University Life, having been honorably dismissed from military service, I had no idea what the hell my classmates or contemporaries were talking about!   "Who the devil are the Shondells, the Rhondells, Pips, people Grateful to be Dead??!!"  I was lost, out of it, ridiculed, but I could sing "Merhaba," "Nasilsinez," "Bishey Deyil," "Teshaker Ederim," and of course "Let's Tweest Again......."   

I should of course mention that one of my military compatriots in Turkey (there were four of us to a barracks room!) had a boat load of 33-1/3 RPM recordings of Warbling Persons...   E.g.  Julie London, Frankie Sinatra, Dean-o, Sammy Davis Junior Junior, Perry C., Billie, Nat, Ray, Mario, Ella, Bing, Pat, Dinah, Judy, Tony, Louie, Eartha, Dorseys, Mills Bros., Woody, Sarah, Fats, Vaughn, Mel Torme (I just remembered his surname!)

In the 70s and 80s I caught up with Willie, Waylon and the boys, having been indoctrinated by them on the aforementioned "Patio's"...  State Fairs, Summerfests, other concert venues!  I'm still a bit dense about popular music.  I constantly ask SweetHeart, Tad, and others, "Who's that?"....  Who sang, "Norwegian Wood Floors...  Do I like that one, SweetHeart"...? 

And thus, to end this foolish reminiscence, I apologize to music purists, to those with encyclopedic knowledge of modern tunes and their composers and singers of songs!  I apologize to Bob, John, George, Ringo, Paul, Norman, Tad and SweetHeart...  (Was there a Norman?)...

(Special Note of Dedication:  For SweetHeart, Tad, Alie, Bethie...  and for those four "insect guys," Zeki (who's probably dead), that saloon owner in Okauchee, and all others dedicated and devoted to all manner of music and to keeping memories alive and tunes warbled when lyrics and melodies or wandering notes wafting on the winds of time enter their thoughts!)

Humbly Submitted 07-16-2025 -- Joel K.