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Trust the Government , not only NO , but , H3LL NO Chickasaw Bill

I think we’re starting to repeat the groups. Just my observation.

@Calamity Kris already mentioned the band YES: The band's sound is influenced by psychedelic rock and classical music, and features Jon Anderson's vocals, Steve Howe's guitar, Chris Squire's bass, and Rick Wakeman's keyboards. However; in addition, these other two BANDS ruled the Progressive Rock genre. ELP The band's members are Keith Emerson (keyboards), Greg Lake (vocals, bass, guitars, and producer), and Carl Palmer (drums and percussion). King Crimson Founded by Robert Fripp, Michael Giles, Greg Lake, Ian McDonald and Peter Sinfield, the band initially focused on a dramatic sound layered with Mellotron, McDonald's saxophone and flute, and Lake's bass and powerful lead vocals.

But designing, building, and flying a helicopter in the Martian atmosphere actually was really hard.

That might have been the A-26, later changed to B-26, Invader. Many were turned into corporate aircraft later.

They’ve done it before (that’s how I got my life membership), so maybe they’ll do it again. Midnight Rider’s is due to be renewed soon so I’ll try to remember to mention it a payment plan for life.

Oscar Mayer If you're full of b_o_l_o_g_n_a.

I was going to add Genesis, The Monkees, and Bowie this morning. Good calls all the way around.

Did we all forget about TOTO ????

Did I miss REO speedwagon And Georgia satellite

My 0.2........ Byrds Monkees Yes Genesis Traffic Steve Winwood David Bowie

YOU DAMNED TIN PLATED KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR I came through my own front door like I always did. I hung my Stetson on its peg the way I always did, hooked my boots off and left them in the boot tray and came sock foot into the kitchen, like I always did. Shelly turned, looked at me, waited: I came silently over to her, gathered her gently, almost carefully into my arms – she joked in moments of confidence that “My husband holds me like I’m a delicate porcelain teacup!” – Shelly brought her arms up, shoved my embracing arms away. Her fingers ran down my shirt front, freeing the buttons: her expression was serious, she gripped the tabs on my vest, ripped them away, looked up at me as I murmured, “Now, dear? What will the children think?” “I need to check something,” she snapped. “Strip to the waist!” I did. I pulled my shirt tail loose, hung my uniform shirt over the back of a chair, then the body armor; I brought off my T-shirt and Shelly gripped my shoulders, turned me a little to get the most light on my chest. She took my elbow, lifted my arm, turned me, studying my ribs: she was clearly looking for something, though I had absolutely no idea what: she turned me a little, then did the same for my left side: she finally turned me clear around, examined my back, turned me again, snatched up my T-shirt, shoved it into my hands. “Get dressed,” she snapped. “You’re buying tonight!” I long ago came to the conclusion, or perhaps the realization, that women are contradictory, confounding and confusing creatures, and no man – especially not I! – would ever figure them out, and so, when faced with the unexpected (like tonight), I took what I’d found to be the wisest course, and did as I was told. Shelly folded her arms, turned away from me: she went to the sink, viciously scrubbed at a platter, rinsed it and carefully placed the heavy, older-than-she-was oval ceramic in the drain rack, pulled the stopper, emptied the sink and rinsed it, her moves deliberate, controlled, almost … angry. I dressed, wordlessly; I came up behind my wife, gripped her shoulders, lightly, gently, looked at her barely-visible reflection in the window over the sink. “Darlin’,” I said in as gentle a voice I could, “is there –” Shelly whirled, thrust herself against me, her jaw thrust aggressively forward, her arms suddenly stiff against her side: she honestly glared at me, then twisted away and stomped off toward the front door. I raised an eyebrow. I had absolutely no idea a’tall what I could possibly have done to upset the woman. Reckon I’ll find out eventually. Not a word passed between us as we drove to the Silver Jewel, as we went inside; not a syllable escaped Shelly’s clenched teeth until she told the evening waitress that she’d reserved the back room. I brought my hand up, unobtrusively turned on my body cam. Whatever was about to happen, was apparently serious, and if something unexpected was about to happen, I’d want to be able to document everything that was said. Shelly ordered the special, and coffee, for us both, waited until we were alone in the back room. She gave me a long and penetrating look, her expression almost unreadable. “Darlin’,” I said gently, knowing my choice of a first word would be like tossing a pebble in a still pond, “what’s going on?” Shelly’s jaw was set: she looked away, she looked back, she opened her mouth to say something when the door opened and the hash slinger in the pink-and-white checker-print dress came in with coffee and salads. I watched the door shut behind the waitress, looked at my wife again. “Shelly?” Shelly leaned forward, the inside of her wrists against the edge of the cloth-covered tabletop. “I talked with Angela,” she said. “And?” Shelly’s eyes ranged upward, then to the side, and she blinked rapidly as she did: she looked back, bit her bottom lip. “Linn, you nearly died.” I raised an eyebrow. “They re-grew and replaced your left lung entirely.” She swallowed, looked to the side, looked back. “The right lung… they replaced half. “You had surgery to both your retinas and while they were in there, they took out the cataracts that run in your family.” “I see,” I murmured. Shelly ignored my remark. “They worked on your brain to take care of concussion damage.” My wife honestly glared at me. “I don’t see how anything could damage that thick skull of yours.” She stopped, took a breath, closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, then continued. “They rebuilt your entire right inner ear, including new enervation, replacement cilia, they had to completely regrow and replace the semicircular canals that let you keep your balance. You have two new eardrums. Angela said they enlarged the arterioles in both inner ears so you would not suffer that lifelong tinnitus anymore.” Shelly closed her eyes, clenched her jaw in frustration as she heard the door open again: that cute little hash slinger (is it my imagination, or do waitresses, doctors and State Troopers get younger every year?) brought our supper. I automatically salted my mashed potatoes – taters always need salt! – and threw some pepper on taters and gravy just for general principles. I picked up my fork, looked at Shelly. She was staring at me, staring with an intensity I hadn’t seen for some long time. I set my fork down. One tear came a-rollin’ down her cheek. “Mr. Keller,” she hissed, “you glorious, heroic, self-sacrificing, tin-plated idiot, do you realize you nearly died?” I looked my wife right square in the eye and said flatly, “Mrs. Keller, I was not going to let you die. I figured to bust the corner of the windshield and rip it free and get you out of there, peacefully or otherwise.” “Or die trying?” she squeaked, her bottom lip quivering like a little girl. I come out of my chair and reached for her: I took her under the arms and honestly picked her up out of her seat just as the water works started, and I held her, and held her tight, the way I used to hold our children if they were hurt, or scared, or terribly upset, and needed to feel safe while they rained out their sorrows on my shirt front. Once her rainstorm passed, I laid my cheek against hers and whispered, “Why did you strip me in the kitchen?” “There are no scars,” she whispered. “They did all that surgery and there are no scars!” I kissed her forehead: the door opened, the waitress stopped, took a look, pulled back, closed the door, and I made a mental note to thank her for that discreet withdrawal. “Darlin’,” I murmured, “do you recall I told you Michael saw there was no give-up in you?” She sniffed, nodded. “You jumped in that dumped-over crackerbox for the same reason I come after you. You weren’t going to let someone die on your watch.” She nodded again. I tightened my arms around her and whispered fiercely, “Mrs. Keller, you are the reason I draw breath in the morning and the reason I come home at night. You are why I don’t cash my paycheck at the beer joint. You are the reason I don’t open a house of ill repute and make a million dollars” – She pulled her face back, looked up at me, and I looked down at her. “Darlin’,” I said, “I knew what I was ridin’ into when I come after you, and I knew I would likely get killed, but if I’d done nothing and you had been killed, I couldn’t live with that.” “Michael and Victoria don’t need a folded flag and a picture. They need their father.” “I could say the same about their needing a mother.” “You damned tin-plated knight in shining armor!” “Flattery,” I said solemnly, “will get you everywhere.” Shelly started to cry again, and then she hauled off and kicked me in the shins. Hard.

My father, Blue Boy sass46773 was a final inspector on the production line at Matin Co. in Baltimore during the war. He loved the B26. Imis

any chance you have any norma or lapua headstamps?

It’s like Scotty on Star Trek. Declare something to be really hard then exceed expectations so you look like a genius.

That’s Ingenuity!

Blowtorch

Up 'em selves