The One Second Holiday

  We’ve passed another New Year’s.  As I reflect, as I’m wont to do each New Year’s, it occurs to me.  New Year’s in association with its close relative New Year’s Eve, is essentially a one-second holiday.  While most other holidays are a full day, such as Memorial Day, Independence Day, Veterans Day, MLK Day, etc, and there is even a holiday which spans months (Christmas starts in August, right?), New Year’s comes down to that moment from 23:59 to 00:00.

  Yet, within that one second, we pack a lot into the holiday.  Two years’ worth in fact.  We take all of our past from the previous year and put it behind us.  Usually, that means pushing away our disappointments, failures, losses, and that which has saddened us.  And then, in the same breathless expectation, we look forward to the New Year.  Our thoughts are always filled with hope and wonder at what is to come.  This year, after all, will be better.  We set our goals (“resolutions”) and look ahead at the joy that is inevitable.  I cannot think of a time where someone looked forward with disappointment.

  If you’re truly blessed, you even have someone with whom to share that second.  After all, one of the traditions of the New Year is to kiss your special someone.

  Which led me to think further – why do we only go through this exercise in that moment that rolls the odometer over from 23:59:59 31 December to 00:00 01 January?  Imagine how our outlooks might be improved if, from time to time, we took a moment to share with our special someone and put our past and disappointments behind us and looked forward to the hope and expectations of a new day dawning.

  For a one second holiday, we limit it to merely once a year.  Surely, we have a second to spare elsewhere in our yearly journeys.  Let’s not limit ourselves to only that one second.  There’s not a second to lose!

So, to all… Happy New Year!

The Right Stuff

This has really struck a nerve with me. I first heard about it shortly after it happened back on the 29th.
Even before the video, eye-witness descriptions pointed to a load shift.
Then the video came out.
And reportedly, air traffic control communications reporting the pilot said he had a load shift.

These pilots do some fantastic flying. All the way to the ground. They never quit. You can actually see it...

Part of what bothers/ed me is the critical importance of doing even the 'small jobs'. And attention to detail.
The pilots are highly trained, a crew of seven... loads of experience... but, it likely came down to whether or not someone used the correct type of chain/strap or tightened it down correctly on the vehicles in the cargo deck.
The very moment the plane started to climb, it was doomed, because the cargo shifted, rolled backwards, thrust the plane onto its tail making it nigh impossible to control.

And yet, the best part, is that the pilots didn't QUIT. They may have known they were doomed, but they kept trying. A book I love uses the quote, "I've tried A, I've tried B, I've tried C!" showing how you don't give up all the way down.

And for a beast of a plane loaded with cargo, way outside of its design limits, they ALMOST do it. To the untrained/unfamiliar eye, the plane looks like it's falling from the sky, as controlled as an autumn leaf. But these pilots, and they ARE piloting that whale, do the amazing following steps:
Recognize the Stall
Overcome ALL human instinct in a stall situation close to the ground and begin to aim the plane AT the ground to recover (a very key point of training - had they done differently, the video would have been much shorter).
The left wing wobbles, dips as the stall begins. They recover the left wing stall rolling into a right wing stall.
It begins. But, with the wings now both stalled, and then recovered, a spin starts. They kick the rudder hard, turn her... and get wings level and ready to begin accelerating to recover flight.
Nose down a bit to start accelerating right when the precious margin between aircraft and ground ran out. The maxim 'Altitude is Life' is as timeless as aviation itself. With altitude, you have time... you can make it happen.... but, they just ran out.
With all of their incredible aviating, and IF ONLY for a couple thousand more feet... they might have made it. Or at least, to start solving the next part of the problem.... getting the crippled bird back onto the ground in one piece. But, somewhere... one person shortcutted. (Truth be told: in aviation, there's never ONE cause, there's a chain, but universally, if you can break that chain anywhere, then you can avoid it... so, there may be many causes, but any one could have stopped it.)
These civilians don't get the military honors. They don't get the "Thank you for your service." They don't get any of the glory or anything that our uniformed brethren get. Yet, without their support and their efforts, we couldn't do it. And they are volunteers as much as we are.
There's not likely going to be a Missing Man Formation of 747s (wouldn't that be a sight?), nor any ceremonies. The families will deal with this privately.
But to you Aviators, what to the vast majority of the viewing world seems like sixty seconds of sheer terror was likely sixty seconds of amazing professionalism and solid performance. I'm in admiration.

One Day, Sweetie...

Why You Fight for Others' Rights

Over the past weekend, I wrote about how it was fundamentally critical to us, as Americans, to ensure that we enshrine our rights. We must make sure that these rights are there when they are difficult - for the Marathon bomber, for the Westboro Baptist Church, for the Second Amendment, for everyone we disagree with, etc.

We press for these rights for others because while we talk and debate others losing their rights, we boast and are sure that OUR rights will never be threatened. We're Americans, and it'll never happen here.

Not ever.

It couldn't.

Could it?

Nah.

Or... could it?

Maybe just a tiny right, in the interest of a Greater Good, and who would really mind? "If you have nothing to hide..."

Innocent people dragged from their homes at the point of a gun, frisked, escorted down the street, while they wait for their homes to be searched without a warrant...

But, but... we had to find the bomber! And, certainly, there IS a definite concern there. I'm one who wants to find the guy who's blowing up people. BUT, don't we have a way to do that? Judge issues warrants, authorizing police to only search and seize just the person they're looking for? Maybe the police have to ask first? Still, how intimidated do you feel when you open the door and see a shotgun pointed at you? CAN you say no? What happens if you do? And for all of you/us who say, "Ain't no one coming in my house without a warrant!" ok... fine, and what happens when we show our shotgun to the 20+ heavily armed, trigger-itchy cops outside?

So, with that in mind...

Here's why we, as Americans, must... MUST fight for the rights of each and EVERY one of us, whether we like or agree with people or not:

It's Not Easy...

Being an American is difficult. We are constantly challenged by others to demonstrate what we say we believe in, to 'walk the talk' as it were.
If a brutal crime occurs, we have to let the criminal justice system work its wonders, even sometimes when we watch someone go free.
We have to listen to the most hateful speech we can ever imagine - the KKK, Westboro Baptist Church, we have plenty of examples - and we not only listen to them, but we DEFEND their right to speak. Yes, their RIGHT to speak.
The Bill of Rights exists so that our rights aren't subject to the whims of politicians.
It's not easy.
It's incredibly difficult. It challenges our emotional responses. We WANT our visceral pleasure - to see the criminal viciously tortured, the hate group muzzled, and other scums of society that deserve not one bit of our love, our friendship, our charity, but every bit of our democratic support.

I am often surprised (not really) by how often I see people quote Martin Niemöller, yet then cry out for squashing the rights of those they deem unacceptable. Or fellow military members who've sworn oaths promising to protect and defend the Constitution, but then leave comments promising blood oaths of violence against the very people needing those Constitutional protections.

America and her Freedoms is not an easy idea; she is difficult and needs constant protection and vigilance. When we stop protecting those Freedoms, then the bright radiance of our shining city on a hill dims a little bit, until one day... we fade into the darkness.

RIP, Allan Arbus

RIP to Allan Arbus. An Army veteran from the 1940s, he is best known for his role as Dr. Sydney Friedman from M*A*S*H.

He died at the age of 95.

May you slide on the ice, sir...

A Few Feet...

I have walked miles.  Hundreds of them.  But now, I am walking a few feet in their shoes.

For the past six years, I have worn many labels.  I am a cancer widow.  I am a cancer research advocate.  I am a supporter for all things to do with cancer awareness.  I walk every year in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  I tell my wife's story.  I tell our family's story.  I never miss a beat.

But still, I never quite have that connection, do I?  I've seen it in some eyes of survivors or current cancer warriors - the "But, do you really know what it's like?" look.  I would wager that with the scars I carry, I do.  But then, each of us in this horrific war is scarred and in so many individual ways, and each is no less traumatic than the next.  It's not a competition to be won, after all.

Still.   

About a month ago, that all changed.  I started to feel a tenderness in my right breast.  And then a slight pain behind my right nipple.  Believe me, no one was more surprised than I.  As much as I can quote the statistics and slogans about how breast cancer is not just a woman's disease and how men get it, too, and how one of my favorite pink ribbons is the one with blue tip... yes, I was not ready for this surprise.
   
And certainly, what guy is?  So, a week later, as the pain intensified and steadily became more and more present, and the tiny knot became more of a definite lumpish feeling, I began to practice what I preached.  There in the shower, I performed my first Breast Self Exam.  I didn't like the results.
Luckily, I'd already had an appointment scheduled with my primary care physician.  So, by the time I saw her, this new growth had been there about a month.  It was always there, always painful.  How could this be good?
And I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I wasn't beginning to think myself into a tizzy.  Since I was such an advocate, was I making it come true?  Was this some weird case of hypochondria?  This was all in my head as I approached my doctor's appointment.  That and... how do I, as a guy, bring this up?  Since I work in the medical field, I decided to just be straight forward and professional.

Uh-huh.  I felt so nervous and ridiculous.  Fortunately, she put me at ease and we discussed it.  And then, I had an experience which may be normal for you ladies, but for me was a whole new world - I laid back and had a medical breast exam there in the doctor's office.  You know the one, arm behind your head while the doctor feels you all over?  An eye opener for me.  "So this is what it's like," I thought. 

Apparently, it wasn't all in my head.  The doctor agreed with what I found with the BSE.  She ordered a full round of tests.  One of these would be truly a journey behind the curtain.  She ordered a mammogram for me.

I work in the radiology field.  I have to admit - one of my first thoughts was... but I have so little to squish!  I was so nervous when I called to get the appointment, even though it's with my own department.  Would I be laughed at?  I know there are occasionally men who have mammograms - I've preached this for years.  But now, it's me, and I feel like the only one in the world.  Just like every other woman who is suddenly facing this.

And now I have a very good idea of what this is like.  What it's like on the other side.  I don't know what the mammogram will show.  Like thousands of women every day, I am hoping that this mass is benign, a cyst, a small clump, a non-cancerous whatever... anything BUT.  Like thousands of women every day, I have told my closest friends what's going on, but few others.  Like thousands of women every day, I wonder what the future holds.

I walk every year in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  But now, in the past month, I've walked a few feet in their shoes, and I've seen it all from the other side.  And it's still true, I look forward to when we don't have to walk anymore.   

Return to The Cathedral

It's been too long since I've visited the Cathedral. Sure, it's actually only been about two months, yet it feels so much longer than that. I sit here in my pew, weary... My face turned upwards. I see another angel streaking across the sky. It's been too long. I should come to the Cathedral more often, and why don't I? I have no excuse not to. The Angels call to me... ...I should come more. For the Peace I feel is deep and transformative. With the Angel's wings, my weights are lifted. Before, I felt exhausted. Now, I feel exciting Joy. The Cathedral reaches into my very soul. It gives voice to my favorite verse from the Bible - the one that's truly leapt from the pages when I first read the book cover to cover many many years ago. Anyway, for someone who is so intricately connected to temporal landmarks, I'm not sure why the Cathedral felt so distant when I had visited so recently. Yet, no matter, for I am here and for however briefly, I am renewed. I come and pray more often.

And the Clock Reaches Zero (Again)...

It's 31 December.  Again.

I've tried to ignore it, and not lend the spotlight to it this year, but the ol' countdown clock has been loud as ever.  For those unfamiliar, the November and December time frame features prominently to me as most of the large landmarks of my wife's battle with cancer land during those two months.  As I'm very in tune with Time, my mind naturally and subconsciously ticks away those markers for me.

This year has ironically provided a double-whammy.  I've managed to line up a nearly eerie reenactment of that timeline.  For one trying to keep the Clock quiet, I sure picked a strange way to do it.

In the Fall of 2006, we were in Germany, on our way to the States.  In the Fall of 2012, we were in Germany, on our way to the States.

In November 2006, we left Germany.  In November 2012, we left Germany.

In November 2006, we had a big Thanksgiving with family.  In November 2012, we had a big Thanksgiving with family.

In December 2006, we set up home in Virginia.  In December 2012, we set up home in Virginia.

The similarities continue.

And yet, there is a fundamental difference.  The time line in 2006 was a march to an End, even if we didn't know it at the time.  It is pockmarked with time landmarks and decision points that remind me of a report from an accident investigator.  ("Here you can see where they made this decision", etc.)

I have a different feeling now.  I feel poised on a New Hope and New Beginning.  As I've tried to rebuild, and redesign my Life, and the children's, it's been chaos, and many fits and starts.  I've tried A, I've tried B, I've tried C... there are times I feel I've run out of damned letters.

But, our family has kept trying.  It's not been a roaring success in the past, and who knows, maybe this attempt won't work either.  But, I feel full of Hope.  I think this might just do it.

I have to try.

Meanwhile, my true friend M*A sent me this poem.  I think it sums up the battle well:

I don't like

the memories
because the tears
come early,
and once again break
my promise
to myself for this day.

It's a constant battle.

A war between

remembering and forgetting.

Tomorrow is a new day, and the Clock will be silent once more.  Today... well, It's Year Number Six, and it won't be the Last Year, but it's much better than the ones before.

It's About Still Living...

This cartoon immediately struck a chord with me.  For many people, news of diagnosis with cancer is received like a death sentence.

For us, as you loyal readers know, it wasn't.  We fought, and we lived.  We didn't reach two years; for us, it was 408 days.  But what a great time it was in those 408 days.

Are all days wonderful and rainbows and unicorns and sunshine?  Of course not; still, it's a better alternative than none at all.

So, here's to all of you with biopsy-versaries, and "two years" and 408 days!

Thanksgiving

Being in the military and being a military family means that holidays are always approached somewhat differently. 

This Thanksgiving, I'm blessed to be home with family. However, I also have friends all over the world: Afghanistan, Kuwait, Deutschland, Italia, España, and every timezone of the United States of America.As I type this, that means Thanksgiving is almost over for some, and not even begun for others. And some friends are surrounded by family and friends, others are in harm's way... yet universally, we're thankful.It's been a year with ups and downs - friends and family lost, new friends and family joining us, career changes, elections (whether good or bad depends on the point of view), yet... there is still much we can be happy about, even if we have to look harder.

I am thankful for much, but most for family and all of you friends.

Happy Thanksgiving wherever you are!

Respect for the Office

I'm a realist. And an idealist. A strange combination, but it's true.
I have long been frustrated... and bothered... by the depths to which our civil and political discourse has dropped in this country. I'm not sure where to point to as a beginning - in truth, we've always been a bit nasty politically (don't believe me? Go read some of the scurrilous comments about Presidential candidates in th

e 1800's!).
Yet, it seemed we once had respect - respect for other views, respect for other people.
I saw it a lot with President Bush (by the Left) and for the past four years, by the Right against President Obama. And with the campaign, well... all hell has broken loose.
We don't discuss anymore... we yell at each other and name call. "Mitler", "0bama", "Zero", etc... etc..
As a huge fan of The West Wing, I often think of it as giving examples. And the scene in the attached (admittedly extremely low-quality) video has always stood out to me about 'Respect for the Office'.
For me, and increasingly I feel, me alone... part of the beauty and in some sense, the obligation of this country, of this experiment, is the idea of hating to the core what someone says, but fighting to the death for their right to say it.
I don't have to like what you say, what you believe, or how you act - but, my calling you names and belittling you... it demeans me far more than how much I think it'll ever demean you.
So, here's hoping to what I yearn for as a result of an election, any election, hopefully soon: While we're pushing for our candidates and our beliefs, let's remember that we're all still Americans... while that still means something.

Carolina Band 2010 Veterans Day Show

I surprised myself a little bit.  Yesterday, I was bragging about how Williams-Brice stadium really gets loud and hopping with the fans there to a friend.  And today, a buddy put OSU's marching band up on Facebook.  So, I started searching for some Carolina Band halftime shows.  Somewhat for nostalgia, some because I love marching bands and the shows they put on.

I stumbled almost immediately into this:



At first, I'll admit... a bit disappointed.  I was looking for the flowing marching back and forth, the creativity, the pizzazz.  Yet, because I am military, I was curious and hooked.  And damn if it didn't get to me.

I know how loud a stadium of 80,000 people can get.  I know that at halftime, people aren't often watching the field.  And to see... no, to hear the crowd get involved - first the ones and twos standing for their service, and then to hear a stadium go near-silent (or at least about as quiet as 80,000 people will get) for TAPS.  And to then hear them singing along to "God Bless America".  I wish I was there.

It's not flashy, or pizzazz (ok, at the end, they get kitschy, but that's patriotism in the South for you!)... but, damn... what a show.

Just used #SoundHound to find The Marvelous Toy by The Irish Rovers http://bit.ly/fOHgdX #nowplaying

Life Is About Living...

"...the hardest thing is keeping on living."

I feel alive... And want to LIVE.

Life is precious and not guaranteed. No, not Life like whether you breathe or not (though true), but to LIVE. To feel the spirits of the world coursing through your veins.

To that end, I've determined it's time to live again. Life had once been full and on track and it will be again.

I want to:

Learn to SCUBA Dive
Ride a horse
Learn to fly - without the plane... I.e. SKYDIVE (HUGE on my list)
Parasail
Finish my pilot's license
...
List growing.

A Rare & Special Treat

Training day today... no work. So... I and the kids enjoyed a very nice treat.  Instead of dropping them off at childcare way too early in the morning, we slept in! And had breakfast at home...

And then I took them to school. It's so rare that I didn't know how to do it. (Don't laugh - schools these days have tons of rules and procedures.) I had to find out which holding areas to take them. Different for all of us.

However, letting them lead me through the school and getting big hugs and kisses... very special.  I hope the Mommies and Daddies who get that every day know what they have.

Made me a bit wistful... sigh.

Published!

The Huffington Post published a column I wrote today.  It's about the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  I am honored to be a part of this wonderful organization.

It was... special to see this published, but also very humbling.  I hope this helps in my determination to get the word out and keep the conversation going.

11 September

Over the past week, and especially so today, there has been a steady stream of written observations of "Where were you" and "How has 9/11 affected you" type columns.  It almost has taken on the feel of an obligatory first week of school "What I Did for Summer" essay.

And yet, it's more than that.  It's part of our need to reflect, our need to share, and our definite need to connect.  There's safety in numbers, and for a wound that (for some) is still deep and painful, we take comfort in knowing that we're not the only one's changed by 9/11 or who still feel it's resonating ripples.

I have a bit of a fluky memory, usually.  It's odd what sticks.  I have difficulty remembering what people are supposed to remember - names, childhood, etc.  However, I have distinct images of 9/11... as it began to unfold, as it continued, and... well, it's never really stopped.

I remember because it was a day off of work.  I worked at the time in the travel industry - rental cars.  I'd turned on the TV to catch the news, news junkie that I am.  Like so many others, I was horrified by the first plane, and instinctually knew what the second plane meant.  I remember chatting with my very close friend, E, who would later become my wife.  Discussing the significance of it.  And, I remember calling in to work to see how things were going, discussing it further, and heading in to help out in the chaos.

(Little known fact:  Much is said of the complete shutdown of America's airspace and the ensuing devastation that 9/11 had on airlines and air travel.  Well, rental cars are hand-in-hand, and it was a wrecking ball to that industry, too.  Suddenly, people found themselves at unplanned locations - wherever their airliner had landed in a hurry - and still needing to get to point B.  Rental cars.  And the cars were used extensively, and the fleet was dispersed nationwide.  Compounding this was that it destroyed all the price models, fleet inventory tracking, etc.  The system wasn't set up for it, and it took weeks to restore the fleet.  Meanwhile, the calls were coming in.  I remember looking at the monitoring board and seeing the wait time being measured in hours.  It was like that for days.)

I'd gone in and started to try to manage the chaos, even while monitoring the news.  At our center, many of the employees had relatives in NYC.  I, too, had a cousin whom I believed worked at the WTC (I was lucky, she worked near there, but not IN there.)  I was familiar with the Towers, and when I calculated the time of day, etc, I feared a death toll in the tens of thousands.  I knew what this meant.  And I was scared.

Throughout the next several days, I don't remember anything but work.  Comforting employees in a small room, fielding questions, putting out small fires, and figuring out what was next.

It wasn't until Day 4 that I let myself feel 9/11.  I remember sitting on the couch talking to E... and it just hit.  A massive tsunami of emotion broke through all the walls I'd set up, and I cried.  Crocodile tears.  I remember her just holding me as I sobbed. 

♦ ♦ ♦

My marriage to my first wife had been dying for some time.  About a month after the attacks, we took a grand vacation... I hoped it would be an indicator to see if there was anything left saving.  We toured the country, driving thousands of miles, looping through Florida, St. Louis, Chicago, Dayton, Philadelphia, and finally, driving home past DC.  The Pentagon was an open wound.  Like so many other wounds...

♦ ♦ ♦

So, it's now 10 years later.  "What 9/11 Changed for Me".  I look back and see how far Life has taken me.  I no longer live at that house where I watched it unfold.  I'm no longer married to that first wife, and the Lady who comforted me then, E, who became my second wife is now gone, too.

I've moved... hold on, let me count... fourteen times since then.  I've completely changed careers, having left the car rental biz to join the US Army (see "Why I joined the Army").  I've been to Afghanistan, lived in Germany, returned to Germany, and will soon return to Afghanistan.  So much has happened and changed in the past ten years... and when I really focus on it, almost all of those changes trace back to a single focus in time - 9.11.2001.  It set in motion events that changed my life, with consequences large and small, realized and hidden, and quite likely, some not yet known.

That emotional moment on the couch turned significant... and E, who provided so much to me, also brought me beautiful children.  M & T would not exist were it not for E & I being brought together.  My career in the Army?  Non existent without the war in Afghanistan, which began after 9/11.  European living?  Nope.  Would the battle with cancer and how it's affected me have happened if we'd been stateside and not in Germany at a remote post with minimal and questionable docs?  My friends, that is a question that knaws at me to this day, and is likely to never fully go away.

9.11.2001.  For me, it really did change everything.

(And I wouldn't change that, at all.)

First flight! (That he can remember...)

And my other junior pilot... with the window seat!