There he stood, at least 7 feet tall. Dark, handsome, and a certain swagger to his statuesque air. He hasn’t always looked this good. Just 8 weeks ago, the Captain was covered in brown padded paper, and knowing his history it was like a strait jacket used for those requiring assistance with their behavior. Captain Morgan is a statue that my husband purchased from the 479th squadron when they disbanded at Moody Air Force Base. He had originally been purchased online and spent many a happy hour standing sentinel over squadron functions. He was even stolen in the night once by another squadron and spent some time in Iraq and was delivered back only after a certain large item from the offending squadron went missing. On a recent, hot, August afternoon, he among other absolutely essential items for an Air Force family was wheeled off the moving van. When our daughter witnessed his unveiling, she accused my husband and I of being the upcoming stars of her soon to be newly created television show entitled “Air Force Hoarders.” While I do not think we are quite so bad that we star in our own television show, we may seriously need to consider a little counseling, particularly, when Captain Morgan is standing beside our two old sea bags full of duck decoys that have never seen any water.
Just like his father, a former Air Force pilot, my husband, who is affectionately known as Pirate will tell you, it just didn’t seem right that we should leave the swarthy fella out on the trash heap. After all, we brought him to our house in Georgia and gave him a semi-permanent home, this is an Air Force family remember. There he spent many an hour in the “man house,” joining in the fun with my husband, our two sons, and their cronies who played bluegrass music, smoked cigars, as they sat around the wood burning stove drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon (there is no accounting for taste, ) solving world problems.
When it came time to move earlier this year to the DC area, I seriously contemplated whether or not the Captain should join us on this particular voyage. I rationalized that if my husband was asking me to cut down on all nonessentials, most certainly that meant Captain Morgan, not of course, my book collection which consists of important literature like biographies of Hollywood stars, and books on how to cook hamburger 320 ways. So, we compromised and the Captain came with us, as well as my 400 or so books (hoarding TV show here we come). I must say, after several long months in the FamCamp in our RV (stay tuned for that story) it was lovely to see his ruggedly handsome face. I do mean the Captain, although my husband is quite handsome too. On moving day, when the world seems upside down, and you’re finding it hard to “wrap your head around” the fact that you have to acclimate to yet another new home, a little Captain Morgan goes a long way, now in this case I do mean the statue not the bottle. I’m not sure what price he would have brought at the Thrift Shop, but somehow as he assumes his new position of authority over the garage, he holds a tender spot in my heart, at least until I try to fit the car in there!