Happy 90th Birthday, Grandpa Miller and Uncle Gerald!

Today is June 6th.
It also happens to be the birthday of my Grandpa Harold and his twin brother, Gerald. It also happens to be D-Day.
Which is precisely where these amazing men spent their 23rd birthday.
And they actually saw each other. It really should be a movie, but for now, a short blog post will have to do.
Here is my Grandpa Miller's story of that day, in his own words, which I was honored to type up for him last fall. It's an excerpt from a large collection of his memories, which I will eventually have up here as well.
And so...
a very Happy Birthday to one of my favorite men in all of the universe,
my amazing Grandfather, Harold Miller.
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The Invasion June 6th

The 3rd or 4th we loaded at Weymouth (‘The Grasshopper’ was Navy name) with tanks on the tank deck (around 30) and trucks and jeeps topside. The 5th or June was too stormy and the invasion was set for the 6th. That’s the way Red and I celebrated our birthday. LST 30 left the English coast 5 or 6 hours ahead of the other ships. They said there were ships as far as the eye could see. We didn’t’ see that. The reason being we had a company (112) of British Commandoes aboard. We arrived off the coast of Normandy about 0230 (am). We anchored with our stern anchor because it was on a cable so made no noise as the chain on the bow anchor would make. We lowered our 2 LCVP’s. We were to put the first load (36 men) on the beach at 3 am. The second load was to be on the beach at 3:30. That gave them (the last ones) a half-hour to get behind enemy lines as at 4 am they were going to start softening up the beach. My boat had “White” Cook and myself as boat crew. The first trip was uneventful. We switched to underwater exhaust out a ways. It was so dark you could dimly make out the shoreline. What an eerie feeling to feel the bow slide on an enemy beach. We lowered the ramp and let the commandoes off. We retacted easily and no sweat, but it was dark enough we had a little problem finding the ship. However we found it in time and took the second load in. I don’t know what happened, whether the first group screwed up or whether we just happened to land in front of a German patrol. Anyway, I only got the ramp down around ½ way when they opened up on us. The commandoes went over the sides. I don’t know if any were hit or not as I said it was dark. I know we really got a lot of machine gun fire. When it was light and the officers saw the boat, the boat crew had to strip to see if we had been hit. None of the three of us were hit, although where that wench that I had to crank the bow ramp up, someone must have been holding me up. We took pictures of the boat “where it had been shot up” and sent the films to the Red Cross to be developed. They ruined the pictures saying they were military security. By the way, we were issued knives only to go in with. They didn’t want some fool shooting and alerting the Jerrys. In case we couldn’t get off the beach, we were to go with the Commandoes. In the main invasion, as I remember the first waves, (LCIs and LCVPs) went in around 7 o’clock a high tide. The LSTs were in the second wave and we went in around 9 o’clock. The tide was going out probably around 2 to 3 hours. When LSTs went in, about 200 yards out they would drop their stern anchor. When on the beach, we would pump our ballast tanks full. Close our sea chests, secure our main engines. The auxiliary engines were cooled by the large supply of the ballast tanks. The tide went out and we sat high and dry till around 5 o’clock. This was D day, so we remained a target fot the coast guns. We couldn’t shoot because we would hit the men on the beach. So one of our first jobs was to help get the casualties in chords of six. This was so the tanks and trucks would not run over the dead. About 2 pm (1400), Lt. Edwards, Murtold, Cook and myself decided we would go inland a little ways and see if we could find a German Luger. The army had drafted some French civilians to fill bomb holes and get some roads for vehicles. There was a Frenchman wearing wooden shoes, one of the biggest men I have ever seen. I have a picture of him. We went in on gold so of course was with the british.

We asked some limey soldiers where we could get some lugers. He told us to go inland about a half mile, that there was a pile of lugers where they had disarmed some Germans. Duh! We lit and took off. I don’t know how far we went inland. We did come to a big big house that they said Hitler used. There was a tall iron fence around it and a lot of signs. “Achtung, mine field.” Anyway we came to a little town. I’m not sure of its name, but it was built in a square with a monument in the center of the square. As you entered the town down a single road, there was a stone wall on the right side and some buildings on the left. The stone wall joined a barn and there had been horses in there. We took pictures of it. After the war I showed the picture to Joe Oberbrockling and he couldn’t believe it and his army company took that town and he said the monument was down when he was there. I know we were just leaving when a machine gun opened up. I was the first one over that stone wall (4 or 5 feet high) and yes, there had been horses in there. After awhile we took a stick and held Lt. Edwards hat above the wall and it got some holes in it. We were wondering what to do when we heard a hand grenade go off. We again used Edwards hat. Nothing happened so we went over the wall and ran like hades out of there. None of us had helmets or guns. We did have knives.

When we got back to the beach there was a british LCT on the beach. It had a hole on the side about 5 feet in diameter. We went over to see what it had for engines as the hole was in the engine room. About that time, a lory carving some british soldiers cmae and told us to get our bloody …… out of there. “That is British property.” Back to the ship to go back to taking the British commandoes in. They were told we would pick them up in twenty days at LaHarve. At five when the tide came in, we were again water born and ready to back off the beach. We had orders to proceed to Omaha beach and stand by, in case the beach head could not be held and we would have to take the men off the beach. We anchored off of Omaha Beach that night. Lots of things happened. Number one: you will read and hear that the Lulhoff was gone. If you can get a copy of Life magazine at that time, look at the front page and see all the anti-aircraft fire. If there were no planes, what were they celebrating? All ships with fog generators were ordered to light them off. I was in the aft 40 MM gun turret. I was gun captain and first loader. We were not firing because the destroyer and larger ships were using their guns.

Ensign Roades stuck his head over the rim of the turret and told me to start the fog generator. I had only checked it out just to know how it operated, but that was in daylight. I told him that was the chiefs’ and assistants’ job and I couldn’t leave my station. He told me that was an order, so I went down right nearly below our gun tub. They are not real complicated, but in the dark is different. It had a six horse Brigs engine with a gas shut off for the engine. Another valve for diesel (fire) one for fog oil and one for water. They were supposed to be self controlled with thermostats, etc., but at sea, the salt would make the thermostats inoperable. While I was getting it started, a German plane (of which there weren’t any) flew over, dropping what they called stick bombs. I was paying no attention as I was busy getting the generator going. One of the bombs lit close enough that it raised the stern of the ship up a ways: I do not think out of the water but surely up a ways. Then Lt. Roads told me I was stupid, that I should have hit the deck. When I got the fog generator going I left and went back up to the gun turret. That machine got to roaring and drumming something awful. I didn’t care because we had 3/8 armor plating and four inches of cement between us. Lt. Roades hung on a ladder right above the generator and told me I should come back and take care of it. If it had blown up, he was about 6 feet from it and wouldn’t be around to talk anyway. No, I did not go back down. The next morning the Captain had me report up to the wheel house. I thought Lt. Roades had turned me in. Instead the Captain asked me if I had run the fog generator. Yes sir. Well, from now on you are in charge of the generator. It’s the first time we haven’t had oil all over my ship. In simple words, the others didn’t let it get hot enough to burn the fog oil. Yes sir, that machine could run itself in spite of the sound.

To go back to our beaching at 9 o’clock, there was a brick building three stories and probably one hundred foot square. It had big red crosses on it, but every window had a machine gun in it and they were really mowing the men down. How the information was sent to the Texas Battle Wagon, I don’t know. We were in the aft gun turret. The building was possibly three blocks off our starboard and two or three blocks inland. The old “Texas” was out about six miles. You could just see most of her super structure. All of a sudden, all you could see was a big explosion on the “Texas”. I said, “They just got the Texas.” In seconds, there was a terrible roar and you could feel the suction of those big shells. When we looked back to the beach, just dust. When the dust cleared, the building was gone except for three or four feet of foundation. Unbelievable!

The next day we beached on Omaha and picked up around four hundred German prisoners. There were less than a dozen of around fourteen year-olds. The rest, I’ll bet, were in their seventies. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel. The elite Army was around Berlin, we wer4e told. Anyway, the old Germans were joking and laughing. After seeing all the young men die before, I thought the only good German was a dead one. We had two or three new aboard ship that could speak German fluently. Quatkamier, Augastat, and Wiencrants. I said, “Go over and see what’s so damn funny.” They said, “The war’s over for us. No more fighting. We are prisoners of the U.S. We’ll eat better now than we ever did in the German Army.”

I realized then, they were just fighting for their country, the same as I was. That’s War.

Going back to the morning of the invasion. I stated that the LCI’s, LCT’s and LCVP’s were in the first wave in on the beach. My twin brother, “Red”, was in the Mediterranean and had gone through the four invasions down there. I told the engineers the day before that, at least, Red would not have to be in this one. We were anchored out a ways from the beach waiting to go in at nine AM. We were at General Quarters but on stand by. A ship blew its horns a few times and turned along “off” our starboard side. I looked and it was LCI 14, Red’s ship. I called the bridge and got permission to leave my gun station. As there was no action, it was granted. I went down to the main deck and ran across to the starboard side. The executive officer was standing there. I said, “Sir, that ship was my twin brother’s ship and I haven’t seen him for over two years.” The small boat (higgen boat) was tied alongside. The boat crew was standing by in the boat. The exec said, “Take the boat and go.” The LCI had slowed down and we soon were along side. I told the boat crew to stay along side and I went aboard. Red was waiting. His first words were, “Where in ______ is your helmet and Mae West (life jacket)? Those aren’t white caps out there. They are 88s bouncing!” I rode a ways with him and then went back to the LST 30. Red’s Skipper asked me to stay on and go back to England with them. I was pushing for a Chief Petty Officer’s rate, was gun captain of the stern 40 and section chief of section three, so was bound to return.

The morning of the seventh, after loading the German prisoners, we set sail for London, through the Straits of Dover. We reached the straits toward late afternoon. We were with three other ships. An English freighter was on our port beam and the two lead ships, I don’t know what they were. We were flying a barrage balloon which was a big balloon on a steel cable. The cable was on a winch with about one hundred feet of cable. They were to stop dive bombers or low flying planes. We had it pulled down to around 30 feet. We had a couple of stukas, but the balloon kept them off. They did get the English ship off our port beam, which didn’t have a balloon. I don’t believe they sunk it, but they did do it some damage.
When we were in the Straits, the Germans opened up with the big Berthas. I guess they were monstrous guns. They were getting close as they hit our barrage balloon. When we got to London, we went down the Thames through London. We could see Big Ben in the distance. I forgot to mention, when we were laying off the Omaha beach, we were at General Quarters. My gun crew was standing by. Something hit our gun turret and broke all the cement off of a section and bent the 3/8 armor plating in against the gun turret. No one was hurt. I call the bridge and said we had been hit, but no casualties or injuries. Really unbelievable. I asked to secure the gun as we could not turn the gun turret. We could raise and lower it but that would be of no value if attacked. Permission granted. I felt something in my shoe and I knew I was scared so had to check it out. I was quite pleased to find out it was blood. A very small, but deep on my shin bone. I believe it might have been a piece of the cement. Anyway, most people have had a hole either by wire, or any means much worse than this. We tied up at a repair dock where they pulled the tub back out so our gun could be used if necessary.
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When the twenty days were up to pick up the Commandoes, we were in La Havre. Out of the 112 commandoes, only four returned. Their clothes were blood soaked and they were animals. We loaded at Plymouth to come to La Havre for them. A Scottish sergeant came with us to get them. He was a likeable person but really hard to understand. He was really well built. When the four came aboard, one of them mouthed off. He stepped up and said, “Down and give me twenty.” The guy did. He was really rough with them. I mentioned that he was a little rough, and he said, “They have to be broke down to make humans out of them.” I asked what would happen to them. He said, “Like me, they will be sergeants and teach recruits.”
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Happy Birthday, Harold and Gerald!

Too. Many. Babies.

Dear G.A. friends with babies,

I love you all. I love your babies. But you have to stop posting their pictures on Facebook. Seriously. For my sake.

You see, I've never really had the marriage gene. I mean, not unless you count the 10-year-old-girl, dreamy, "when I get married, I want to have a big pouffy dress and 20 bridesmaids all in coral, and swans, lots of swans!" kind of gene. Which I don't. I love boys and generally prefer their company to the cattiness that often happens when a bunch of women get together, and I'd love to have someone to be with forever and always and to moon over for all the world to bear witness to. But to be honest, it is just not on the top of my priority list. I've got along quite well for 27 years without a husband, and I'm confident I can do so for 27 more. I can count on my fingers and toes the number of people I know who got married for the convenience of it, for the insurance, or because they simply can't stand to be alone, and hey if that toots your horn, go for it, I'm not one to judge. It's just not a state I'm willing to enter into for any other reason that I'm hopelessly in love. "I'm determined that only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony." (10 points if you can name that book!)

But I cannot imagine a life without a kid. I'm a nanny, so I'm around children all day every day, which I pretty much prefer to the other jobs I've had over the years. Their wit and creativity feeds my soul. Their sincerity and frankness keeps me going when the hypocrisy of being an adult kills me softly with it song. But they're other peoples' children. It's different, and I'm starting to wonder how long it will be enough.

Bottom line, I could live without a husband. I'm not sure that's the case with children. And anyway, I have plenty of gay boyfriends and straight pals to be good father figures.

But certainly not at this exact moment. Friends, my ovaries cannot handle much more of this, so please, please, for the love of all that is sacred, keep your adorable baby pictures to yourselves. At least for a few years. The end.

The Situation

No, G.A., not like the idiot on tv...

I currently reside in White Plains, NY, a place most NYC-ers refer to as "upstate", even though it's really ... not. It was recently named as the most expensive area to live in in this great big country we call home, and because of this, my own personal living accomodations are what you may call sparse.

My apartment is roughly the size of a shoebox. I have my own kitchen, thank God, a small living area/bedroom, and 2 bathrooms that I share with 5 other people. I do not have a parking space at my apartment and street parking overnight is not allowed in White Plains, but my place of employment (a small congregational church at which I'm the secretary) has been kind enough to allow me to park overnight in the parking lot there. This parking lot is 1.5 miles from my apartment. Therefore, I walk 3 miles every day, in the wind, the rain, the snow, the sleet, the sun, whatever. 3 miles. Uphill both ways.

When people around hear all of this, they think I must be insane and start devising answers for me, because over-priviledged people think it's their job to impart their vast knowledge onto people who are less monetarily fortunate. "Oh, what if you parked at the train station? Oh wait, that's expensive..." "I know! You should see if you can park at the nice apartment building near there!" "Have you looked into apartments in Yonkers? I hear they're cheaper!" etc., etc., etc. There is nothing like helpfulness with a smidge of smug derision.

The truth: I prefer small apartments. I'm kind of a wimp about the dark and manage to freak myself out in large, cavernous rooms at night. And honestly, I'm a champion at talking myself out of going to the gym, so the daily 3 mile uphill roundtrip walk(often in the cold) is the only thing that's kept me from weighing 300 pounds. I enjoy having free time, so a cheap apartment means I don't have to work all the time to pay for it.

My situation may not be ideal, but it's the one I've chosen for myself. It may not be the one you or any sane person would choose, but it suits me.

And anyway, I never claimed to be sane...

Has it really been almost 5 years????

Greetings, gentle audience.

My my my, how time flies! I've been contemplating starting a new blog, but in my laziness, I decided to see what I already had out there on the world wide web, and lo and behold! I re-discovered this little gem! So I've revamped, redesigned, and returned to where I began: The Life and Times of a Wandering Glamazon.

I won't go into what it's like to read this little time capsule of my life 5 years ago, and I can't help but wonder what that Katie would think should she meet this Katie. My life's taken a shit-ton of twists and turns since then, and while I won't waste a ton of time delving into all of my ups and downs, I feel I should at least sort of catch y'all up. If there are any "y'all" out there to care anymore...

OK, in the almost five years since my last post, I have:

Lived in 3 different states. Earned my EMC card. Learned how to play the guitar. Gained and lost and gained and lost several pounds. Watched approximately 7/8 of my good friends from high school and college get married and start popping out children. Grown out my hair. Chopped if off. Grown it out. Chopped it off again. Fallen in love with travelling alone. Fallen out of love with professional theatre. Had a few minor mental breaks. Missed my friends and family tremendously. Made friends. Lost friends. Decided that peanut butter, whipped cream, and gorgonzola cheese should really have their own food groups. Worn numerous costumes in numerous shows. Dyed my hair... pretty much every color possible. Discovered that I really dislike over-priviledged rich people. Discovered that I really like tall artsy boys, mostly to my detrement. Nannied for 6 children that, in turn, stole little pieces of my heart away for their very own. Lost a beloved great-aunt. Gained a beloved cousin/friend.

OK, look, here's the deal: I've spent the past 5 years... well, basically running. Whether that is from something or to something is really anyone's guess, but I just turned 27, and I do believe it may be time to stop.

I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure what that means. New career, more than likely. New dreams, new ideas, new less-deluded plans for the future. I'm bound and determined to figure it all out, and gentle audience, I'd like to take you all on the journey. So saddle up your horses and hold on tight, because it's probably going to be a bumpy ride!

Love,
Katie

The Travel Channel

Ohio, gentle audience.

So, I love the travel channel. I really do. I'm currently watching "Great Hotels" and I have decided that I really want her job. Samantha Brown is the host of this show and "Passport to Europe, and she is paid to go to hotels all over the world and explore cities and tell you about it while she's exploring. She gets credit as the writer because she pretty much improvs the whole thing as she goes. That would be an amazing job and it is my goal to steal it from her one day.

Yup, gentle audience, that's pretty much it. Have a fantastic day!

Getting in Shape

'Sup, gentle audience.
So, I'm graduating in May, and since I'm pursuing a very lucrative career in the theater, I've decided that I absolutely have to get my fat ass into shape. And I hate it. I love the exercising part. Seriously, I really enjoy running, doing a little ballet on the side, having to walk long distances to class, etc. No, that's not the really sucky part. It's the whole eating healthy thing. I can't get the hang of it. I'll tell myself in the morning, "OK, Katie, today we're going to be good. We're going to resist those cookies and the candy bar and soda (which I've got the hang of: I discovered my favorite thing about pop is the bubbles, and found Clearly American from Walmart, a no calories, no caffeine, basically bubbly flavored water! Yippy!)." But, I really really can't master it. I have no willpower. No, it's not that. I just forget. I stuff chocolate into my mouth, chew, swallow, and remember that I wasn't supposed to eat that. Eating junk is a habit with me. I've been eating more fruit, a food group I realized I'd practically ignored, and drinking more water and not much pop if any and eating healthy meals. It's that time in between.
So, that's my blog. That's it. Just a mild rant about the difficulties of eating healthy. Gentle audience, I'm officially boring. More next time!

A Fun New Years Observation

Happy New Year, gentle audience!
Resolution 1- to remember to write on this blog!
I hope you all had a safe and a happy holiday season!

So, because it's potentially my last New Years in this town, I decided to go to the bar and ring it in! I'd watched a fantabulous little show called "Ballroom Bootcamp" all day on a marathon on TLC, and I was ready to boogie. Bars are always especially fun for me because I get stared at all the time (I'm pretty and freakishly tall, what do you expect?) so I don't get hit on a lot, but it's really fun to mess with the minds of the opposite sex. It was on this particularly festive occasion that I realized something fun about the opposite sex. I was standing at the bar waiting to order when a 6'8" guy came up to me, a tad drunk, and started flirting. Being the teasing and aloof individual that I am, I flirted back. He wasn't amazingly attractive in the classic sense of the way, but not bad looking, and come on, really tall! I unfortunately had to turn his propositioning down (he mentioned "hooking up" and I kind of ran, as well I should have), but later in the evening, the bass player in the band downstairs, a tall, husky well dressed but average looking bloke, had my full attention. After I snuck to the front of the crowd, my knees were a little weak when he reached his hand out to me to come on stage and dance with the band. I looked back at most of the men I've been really attracted to, and found the same thing could have been said of most of them. Mildly attractive, but not drop dead gorgeous. Never! I am just not interested in them!

But why, you may ask? Simple! Most mildly attractive men or taller men or chunkier men are way more charming and witty and clever than the hunks of the species. Think about it: really hot men in the classic sense of looks don't have to be charming and intelligent to attract women. They get by purely on their looks alone without having to work at it, and therefore don't make any effort. The hottest mildly attractive men have realized that and make up for it in personality. They have to be charming and witty, mysterious and intelligent to get women to really notice them. Often, they walk in a room and can draw my attention through sheer confidence and force of personality, which is way more sexy than the looks. They're way more interesting and infinitely sexier than their hunky counterparts.

So, gentle female audience, the next time you walk into a bar looking for your soulmate or your next good time, forget the hunk surrounded by gaggles of giggling girls. Head towards the nicely dressed guy quietly sipping his drink while his soulful eyes scan the room. He's probably looking for you, too!
( : ) Or else he's a creepy stalker, but I guess that's the risk you take. I guess, just don't go alone!)