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.)

They Sit Amongst Us...

I'm having lunch in my hospital's dining facility.  It's a typical scene.  People are hustling back and forth, tv's are blaring the latest Hollywood scandal, some are on cell phones, and a few clusters are enjoying their break from the hectic pace of today's medicinal world.

And there, at one of the tables, he sits.  If you didn't know, and few do, he's a Hero. I know this man.  He's an honest-to-goodness H-E-R-O.  He is a recipient of the Medal of Honor.

But, he sits quietly in anonymity.  It's how he likes it.

He smiles and his voice is light and full of levity.  Yet, if you look, you can see that his body tells a tale of a dark day long ago. Sixty years now, a lifetime for many.

And Life swirls around him...

Our Nation's heroes aren't always easy to spot. They're not always festooned with, deals, or on tv, or riding the back of a convertible with a young & pretty Miss Somethingorother riding beside.

They sit quietly among us, and we're blessed to have them here.  For without them having faced those dark days of theirs, in battles that most hope that we'll never see (and a few fear they will), we would not have our light and carefree times now, when a Hero can sit amongst us... his daughter helping his gnarled body... in quiet anonymity.

Poem by e.e. cummings

One of my closest friends (I'm looking at you, M*A) who's been with our family since the founding of this blog, sent me this poem.  It seems to fit and is very appropriate.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Thank you for this poem.  It's very, very true.

1460 vs 1

Well, here it is.  Almost.  Tomorrow is The Day, but I'm not going to quibble.

Tomorrow will mark four years.  1460 days have passed, and still there are days where tomorrow will feel like yesterday.

I'm trying to not slip into the tailspin that so easily tempts this time of year, to step into the yawning foggy abyss.  I smile to those (who don't know) who wish me a jaunty Happy New Year.  And I try to not let that dreary, mournful tune of Auld Lang Syne worm its way into my head.

But, it's not an easy battle.  The countdown that has been ticking and building over the past couple of months is now practically bleating in my head.  It's unavoidable, no matter how much I try to avoid it.

There's something very un-Scarlett about it; tomorrow is not "another day".  It's The Day.

And don't think the symbolism isn't lost upon me.  New Year's Eve - out with the old, the New Year bringing "new starts", a "fresh life", etc.  Meh.

There are plenty of things I don't remember... where things are, names of people if I haven't seen them at least five (or fifty) times, and so forth.  But, I remember every detail, every second, of The Day. 

I remember it all... from start to end.  And I remember the New Year... sitting there in a quiet house, not really knowing what else to do, not able to sleep, or anything else... watching the ball drop - feeling very detached from The World.

And so it is each year - as The World celebrates and tries to decide where to party, I cannot help but feel away from it all.  I cannot envisage celebrating or partying.  It seems to rank as sacriligeous as chugging communal wine at a frat party.

I'm going to attempt sleep, not that I've been all that successful the last several days, but that's not new.  And for anyone who's paying attention who might have some control over such things... I'd really like to skip tomorrow.

That Time of Year (Again)

It’s that time of year… again.  My mind gears towards numbers and dates.  As such, around this time of year, my mind automatically starts what I’ve come to call The Countdown.  Many of the significant dates of 2005-2006 landed in November and December.  Lots of ‘little anniversaries’.  And I remember them all.

 

It ends up starting a bit of a mini-depression, but I’ve gotten better at riding through it.

 

Still, one thing… well, one of many, I suppose… of the whole process and aftermath of losing someone is this:  You do get better at getting through and adapting to the New Life.  However, no matter how much time passes, from time to time… a memory will come along and slap you upside your head.

 

The past day or two, I’ve kinda felt something… dragging at me.  Hard to explain, just didn’t feel ‘right’.  Was really feeling E.  Flipping through tonight, I caught what it was.  A new commercial… I’d heard it vaguely the other day, but was in another room, and hadn’t realized it.  It’s a new toy, something about a Weeble treehouse.  I have a crystal clear memory of E sitting on the floor, rocking and signing with the kidlets, “Weeble wobble…. Weeble Wobble… Weebles wobble but they don’t fall… DOWN!”  Made me smile and giggle back then… now, well, I smile… and feel wistful.  

 

And The Countdown has begun.

TreasuryDirect.gov

I'd noticed on my pay statements that there was now a new way to sign up for US Savings Bonds.  Naturally curious, I took a peek.

It's Treasury Direct and it's where you can buy savings bonds and apparently, judging from the intensely overpopulated home page, a whole bunch of other things.

I started the sign up process which, like many Government signups involves waiting for a code to come in the mail.

I'm in no particular hurry to buy a savings bond, so... is cool, I can wait.

Today, the code arrived.  I was a tad confused at first, as it was a credit card sized piece of plastic with a code grid on it.  Lots of warnings about "Don't lose the card" because I'll need it EACH AND EVERY TIME I log in.  No saving passwords here!

Folks, I looked at this and my first thought was... I'm not wanting to launch the nuclear missiles, for crying out loud... I just thought I'd consider buying a savings bond (I hear-tell the government is in a bit of debt, and could use some funds).

Here's the login process:
Find the login starting spot...  There is NO item saying "Login here" or handy-dandy login button... After some scrutiny, I discovered it.

Enter my Account code... oh yes, this 10-character combination emailed to me a ways back.  Found it.  Glad I didn't delete that!

Enter your password.  The government has also fallen in love with the "Virtual Keyboard".  This little annoyance is so keyloggers won't know your password.  It also slows you down a few seconds.  No matter, I moused my way around.

New screen.  New security procedure...

Enter my serial number for my launch code card.  Got it.

Now, Mr. President, I need you to look up the codes for the following grid squares... it asks for 3.  Success!  I'm in... I'm ready to nuke Moscow or... consider buying a savings bond.

Here's the deal, Mr. and or Ms. Bureaucracy... security is a good thing.  Hey, I'm all for it.  Pretty great concept.  This website is merely one step away from asking for a retinal scan!  If you make something too difficult or annoying, people will not use it.

I'm going to lose my launch codes... I just know it.  So, the next time I get the urge to dabble in savings bonds or other treasury instruments, I'm going to have to wait a couple of weeks for another code-card to be mailed to me.  Or, I can go buy stocks and mutual funds online rather instantly, or should the paranoia kick in too deeply, my mattress is in the next room.  (Here's my security steps for the mattress:  1) I'm not telling you which mattress.  2) There's an alarm on the house.  3) The guns are loaded.  4) I may or may not have a ferocious attack animal.  5) I'm fairly low on the financial totem-pole; really, look for a McMansion and try their mattress!)

So, now that I know that I, too, could read the codes should I ever get chosen to launch nuclear missiles, my dabbling in the wonderful world of US Debt instruments is brought to an end.  Really, it's just not worth the hassle for something that won't fully mature for 30 more years anyway (before the angry emails pour in, yes, I know... there are other options - I'm making a point.)

Hack away, evil-doers!  I'll even give you some hints.  One of the characters of the account code is a "6".  And one of the grid squares is a T.

Random Thought

Anyone think that Mrs. Incredible complains about stretch marks?

Enough Already!

There is no questioning my deep love and affection for someone who's been my partner for the past eleven years.  He's incredibly special to me, and those who see us can tell that our bond is very strong.

I love the little furball.

Truth be told, he's not that little.  Recent weigh-ins have him at 18 pounds, and folks, he's lean.  Muscular.

Together, he and I have been through quite a lot.  He's patient with me (usually), comforts me when I'm down, has taught my kids to walk (no kidding), and no matter where we have lived - he's managed to demonstrate a level of abject sluttiness unrivaled in the biped community (it's tame, really... he learns the timetable of the neighborhood bus stops and will always be there to greet the children and ensure he receives plentiful tummy rubs.  A complete slut, is he.)

But.

(Y'all knew that was coming, didn't you?)

My kitty could be the picture for every month on the "Stop Furry Bulimia" fund-raising calendar.  For over five years, and a similar number of veterinarians, he's suffered from chronic vomiting.  Initially, we thought he was being selfish and hoarding food from his little sister (RIP).  But, she's gone, and he continues.

With such a lengthy history, patterns have even been discerned.  For example, he always vomits four times.  The first is always the most productive, but there will be four.  Never three, never five, and six is unheard of.  Four.

He also refuses to get up to vomit.  Wherever he may be when the urge overcomes him, that's where the fun shall begin.  Bed.  Bathroom bathmat.  Sofa.  Even Computer.

He must be in agony.  Surely, if I vomited a couple of times every day, I'd be miserable (I'd also be a lot thinner.)

Amazingly, he maintains weight.  How he does that, I don't know.  Neither do the learned vets.

We've tried dry food, wet food, mixed food, this brand, that brand, even prescription food.  You know what?  They all come up the same.

My cat suffers from Bulimia, and there are no known kitty shrinks who can help him.  And we're open to suggestions.

Really, cause this is annoying.  I now live in a house with minimal carpet because of my bulimic cat.  That's right, folks, a recent home-buying decision was heavily influenced by copious feline vomit.

I'm tired of the middle-of-the-night squishy ick.  I'm tired of furniture with stains.  I'm tired of him begging for food because the meal delivered a few minutes ago is now decorating the floors of three different rooms.

I love my cat.  I cannot imagine, nor do I desire to face, one day not having him in my life.  But... this has got to stop!

For his sake... for mine...

Ick!

Arlington

This is starting to break out... all over.

I first noted something from my FB feed from Army Times.  They posted a small blurb of a column noting the pending retirement of the Arlington Cemetery Superintendent:

Arlington Cemetery superintendent retiring

The Associated Press
Posted : Wednesday Jun 9, 2010 7:54:49 EDT

WASHINGTON — The superintendent of Arlington National Cemetery for the past 19 years is retiring.
John C. Metzler Jr. has worked for the government for 42 years and says his last day will be July 2.
The 62-year-old’s father was also superintendent at the cemetery outside the nation’s capital.
He said the high point of his career was expanding the cemetery for veterans and their families so it could continue to take new burials until 2060.
In November, Secretary of the Army John McHugh ordered an investigation into allegations of lost accountability of some graves, poor record keeping and other issues at Arlington.
Metzler said those issues weren’t as bad as had been reported.

Read the end, again.  It's barely even seems worth mentioning, right?  And the Superintendent, the guy under investigation, says it's not that bad.

Before I delve further, I have a question for Mr. Metzler.  Given the allegations of "lost accountability of some graves", what would be not as bad as reported?  The only thing I can think of would be... no lost accountability.  Anything else IS as bad as reported.  These are the graves of our servicemembers... and their spouses.  The Heroes of our Nation.  All cemeteries are special; our veteran and national cemeteries especially so.  However, while the cemeteries across the nation are likely known only to those connected to the ones interred there, Arlington is special.  It's immortalized in stories, poems, movies...  and this video from Trace Adkins:  Arlington.  Listen to the words.  The Army has dedicated an entire regiment, the Old Guard, to tend to those at Arlington.

Arlington is special.  Hallowed ground.

So, to refer back to the innocuous column from the Army Times, what are these issues?

From Salon, there are allegations of graves not marked, remains unknown (and no, not the ones at the Tomb of the Unknown).  Also, there are further allegations, of general disregard by the staff for mementoes and meaningful items left behind by those who visit the graves. 

Sigh.

When I first heard about this, my immediate question was... "How?"  And I think it comes back to how a certain jadedness sets in.  It's common wherever you work.  When I was at a call-center, I reminded my agents that while the customer may ask what to them were "stupid questions", to the customer they were the first time they'd asked the question and it was certainly important to them.

In the hospital climate I work in now, it is certainly easy to slide into your patients becoming just a procedure... not a person.

We encountered this a few years back at Walter Reed.  The scandal there brought down generals and the Secretary of the Army.

Who will answer to these allegations?  Will criminal charges be pursued?  If the fundamental notion of your job description as a Superintendent of a cemetery is to properly inter and care for the remains of our fallen, then I presume that allegations of misplaced and/or unknown remains and poor care of the cemetery will reflect a gross failure in that position, at a minimum.

Properly?  Punish.  Make the example.  Let it be clear that in a time where media and protesters can seem to almost revel in counting the numbers of our dead that our fallen are not merely numbers, not merely another task to do before going home for the day - they are our fallen Heroes, and more importantly, they are, or were,  meaningful to someone.  They were at least a Son or Daughter, and quite possibly also Husbands, Wives, Brothers, Sisters... Fathers and Mothers.

A key part of working there should be the fundamental realization and internalization of that simple fact.  If that's not possible, please work somewhere else.  There are thousands who would gladly work there and who would show the proper respect to those permanent residents of Arlington.

In the meantime, let's see our senior officials take immediate steps to ensure the command climate at Arlington properly reflects the special nature of Arlington.  It's not a lot to ask those charged with the care of the cemetery to give a damn; after all, those in their trust gave every last measure.

Memorial Day

I had to work.  I didn't want to be there; none of us did.  But, hospitals are open 24/7/365, and people still get sick and hurt.

We had struck a deal that we would work Memorial Day in exchange for getting 4th of July off.  To be honest, it seemed like a good deal.  It's difficult for me to wrap my head around the concept of "celebrating" Memorial Day.  To me, it's more a time for somber reflection.  Given that the mass public has merged Memorial Day and Veterans' Day into all-encompassing "Thank those who serve" holidays, it's easier to just work, anyway.  (Granted, I like that the public does want to thank the troops, but... I feel like channeling Monty Python and saying, "I'm not dead yet!")

So, I'm at work.  And quickly, the discontentment of our shift sets in.  We discover that there will be no civilians joining us.  Admittedly, it rubs us a bit the wrong way because it is a "military" holiday.  Unlike Thanksgiving, this is a holiday about the troops and it was easy fodder that the troops were working while the civilians were home.  And then, we realized the normally scheduled military shift wasn't coming in, either.  Some shifts are more equal than others, apparently.  Yes, we'd all agreed to work our normal schedules, yet somehow the military techs scheduled to work Monday morning were... absent.  So be it.  We'll embrace the suck and do our job.

And we did.  While we were short staffed by over 70%, we tackled things well.  Sure, we were being bitchy and griping, but it was the fun sort.  We kept coming up with new ways to complain.  It's what Soldiers do... fairly well.  Gripe.  Time-honored tradition.

And then, the day changed.  We got a patient, a very special patient.  Now, I can't tell you who he was, but he was a Medal of Honor recipient.

What are the chances?  A MoH patient on Memorial Day.  Naturally, we couldn't resist learning more about who was coming in.  His citation was... humbling.  In today's Army, most of us worry about survival.  We do everything to ensure our survival.  And in the medical field, well... we're not likely to be charging the enemy any time soon.

My Patient, a member of Company X, distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action against the enemy.

His platoon, in defensive positions on Hill XXX, came under ruthless attack by a numerically superior and fanatical hostile force, accompanied by heavy artillery, mortar, and machinegun fire which inflicted numerous casualties on the platoon.
His comrades were forced to withdraw due to lack of ammunition but My Patient, although wounded in an exchange of grenades, continued to deliver deadly fire into the ranks of the onrushing assailants until a ruptured cartridge rendered his rifle inoperative.
Immediately leaving his position, My Patient rushed the enemy armed only with rifle and bayonet.
Fearlessly engaging the foe, he killed 6 of the enemy before falling unconscious from grenade, bayonet, and bullet wounds but his heroic action momentarily halted the enemy advance and enabled his unit to counterattack and retake the lost ground.
The indomitable fighting spirit, outstanding courage, and tenacious devotion to duty clearly demonstrated by My Patient reflect the highest credit upon himself, the infantry, and the U.S. Army.

 Let's read that again... his rifle was inoperative.  He'd already been wounded.  His buddies retreated.  It says he charged armed only with rifle and bayonet, but... the rifle was inoperative.  He's charging machineguns armed with a knife and a club.  And he's wounded.  He was 20 at the time.  Just 20.

I'm not sure about others, but... when I read citations like that, I can't help but wonder... would I do the same?  Could I do the same?  Machismo requires me to say, "Of course!"  But, in reality... I don't know.  I'd like to think I could... that I would... but, it's the Medal of Honor precisely because such actions are rare. 

And so, I'm helping him through multitudes of exams.  Some of them, I'm standing there holding him during his x-ray... he's much older now than from the time of the citation... but, his sixty year old wounds are still plainly visible.  The effects permanent.  And to see the wounds radiologically...  My respect increases.  And I stand there, holding him.  Looking into his eyes.  And he to me.  The trust in there to help him find what's bothering him.

I think of all the speeches and ceremonies he's been to and heard over the years; the pomp and gratitude that comes with living to receive the Medal of Honor.  And my vocabulary fails me.  And I know he wants to just be himself, to not be identified only by the Medal... but, I can't help myself.  I lean down and whisper, "I know you've heard it many times, but... 'Thank you' for your service."  What else can I say?  And I don't want to focus on it.  He is a patient...

And right there, with him, I didn't want to complain about working any more.  I was honored to have been there... to have my life path intersect, however briefly, with someone so special.

But it turns out, that that wasn't why I was working that day.

Towards the end of the day, another of the long stream of patients came in.  Nothing special indicated on this patient's chart, but... little did I know.  She says her foot hurts.  So, I start a foot exam.  During the exam, I notice her extensive tattoos... memorial tattoos.  and they're excellent and quite detailed.  I compliment her on her tattoos.  And as the words come out, I notice the date on the dog tag... the man memorialized... died a few months ago.

And, her voice starts to waver.  I look, and it's like looking back in time and into a mirror.  I see me... a few years ago.  When the pain was still incredibly raw and on the surface.  When you're trying to go on, trying to put a brave face for the world, trying to... play the role the world wants you to play - that it's all ok and you're moving on.  Yet, inside, you can't... you're nowhere near ready.

The exam can wait.  I start to talk to her... and share my experience.  Her eyes meet mine and lock.  The desperation... the hope... to meet someone who knows, who has been there.  We talk for quite a bit... I run x-rays throughout the exam... but, mostly, I talk.  She really is a peek back in time.

And I try to offer her that Hope.  To cut through the tons of grief counseling BS that she's no doubt heard... from people who haven't lost their True Love prematurely.  And we talk... and talk... and she talks... and I reassure.  I don't promise that it ill get better.  I tell her that it doesn't... that she will adjust and adapt to it.  And the healing is long-time.  To not feel rushed... no matter what The World expects of her... To take it at her own pace.

We hug... I feel the desperation and rawness in her clutching embrace.  And I know why I worked today.

Memorial Day... barbecues and beaches for some... for others, the reason for the holiday is all too close.  The wounds of war are long-lasting, and we carry them either on our own bodies or in the Hearts of those who love us and hold us close... waiting for us to come home, whether we actually do or not.

What an Honor it was to work this Memorial Day.

Now Hear This. Now Hear This... Code BLUE. Code BLUE...

At my hospital, PA announcements are very rare. Purposefully so, as to ensure that when there is one, it gets our attention.

The most common of the rare announcements is the Code Blue - Cardiac Arrest. (Other terms you may be familiar with: "Coded", "Flatlined", or needing CPR.)

Tonight, after a busy night, we'd slowed down... and then, over the PA...

"Now hear this. Now hear this. Code Blue. Code Blue in ******."

I learned something new, or I'd just never noticed because of other things going on, but... Radiology Techs respond to Code Blue, too.

So, off I and another tech got moving. Quickly. We went to the ward where a patient was lying in his bed, while 10+ staff worked feverishly to keep him alive.

At one point, I counted over 15 responders, including security, nurses, respiratory techs, doctors, staff, and... two Radiology Techs. People rotated through doing the chest compressions as you can tire out easily.

Over the next 20 minutes, this team fought to keep him alive. I started to wonder if perhaps, he might not make it. It had been a long time. The odds didn't seem to be in his favor.

The family was called. I hoped that in their haste to rush to the side of their loved one that they'd be safe and not need their own emergency care. I can only imagine how some might react if called in the middle of the night and told their loved one had gone into cardiac arrest and may not be around long.

The other tech and I continued to talk... discussing various things, the shift, death, CPR, E... it meandered.

And then, beep.... beep... beep... I looked and could see his chest moving. He was making it! He wasn't going to die... not now, at least.

The crowd thinned, and we moved in and got out pictures to help document what may have caused the cardiac arrest.

And another successful day. I like my job!

Valentines Day

Well...

Today is Valentine's Day. Seemed like just another day, here.

I remember well when I got excited about V day, but then, there was someone to get excited about.

One day, so I'm told, that excitement will return. I think I'm going to look forward to that.

In the meantime, I guess I've saved a little bit of $$$... LOL

I hope everyone else had a good day.

Movies That HIT Me

I caught the tail end of "City of Angels". Ugh... I love this movie, and yet, it's so gut-wrenching to watch. Especially the end... seems very... familiar.

Let's not forget "What Dreams May Come"

Or "My Life".


There are quite a few that both reach out and touch me, and sometimes, sucker punched at the same time.

"Dear John" got me the other night... and I couldn't even figure out why. But, it did.

Wonder what other movies might have these effects?

Pink Glove Dance

A friend sent this to me... and I'm touched.

I also just ordered a box of pink gloves for me to use at work! Oh, that should definitely get the conversation going... LOL!

I don't see a military hospital ever doing this - which is a shame... sometimes we're so busy maintaining our "military bearing" that we lose ourselves in it.

Amelia Earhardt

Just finished watching the movie Amelia. I thought Hillary Swank was fantastic as the world's, to this day, most famous aviatrix, Amelia Earhardt.

I was especially touched by the quote at the end, which I've heard many a time in various forms:

"Everyone has oceans to fly, as long as you have the Heart to do it. Is it reckless? Maybe, but what do dreams know of boundaries?"

As I continue facing my various challenges in Life, I'm reassured when people (like today by a close Friend) tell me that the Heart I show will get me through it.

We erect our own boundaries around ourselves more than any one else. If we follow our dreams, we can accomplish... anything.

My Love for Government Indoctrination Centers

I took M to school this morning (after a two hour "snow" delay). While signing her in, I noticed on the window sill the American flag - all balled up and waiting forlornly to fly from the flagpole.

After M was on her way, I asked the receptionist if she'd like me to raise their flag for them. Figured why not, being in uniform and all... Seemed a reasonable request.

She demurred, saying the custodians would ensure it was raised.

Sigh.

I countered with, "In that case, could someone please fold it properly so it's not sitting balled up on the window sill?"

She, without looking, tells me that it's not balled, but actually folded. Right.She then proceeded to get the flag, and... place it in a drawer.

I continue my love for Government Indoctrination Centers.

First Writing

For the past year, or so... I've been blocked. SERIOUSLY blocked. Not been able to write. Nearly nothing. You may have noticed the blog itself has slowed to a crawl.

Anyway, the other day, I had a very interesting experience, and shortly afterwards... felt the urge to write again.

And here it is. It's not my best stuff, and it's pure flow. When I write, I never know what I've written until I go back and read it anyway.

Unfiltered confusion
Random discombobulation

Complete and open weakness.

I don't like feeling this way. So unavoidably defenseless. Outside of my comfort zone. And yet, not only here I am, but perversely I seem to be seeking it out.

Why?


Perhaps I've grown comfortable with my relationship, or rather lack of one, with god. It's certainly been easier. I can be pissed at him, and anyone who asks will feel that I'm justifiably angry and will leave it alone.

But deep down, in the lower sub-basements of my mind and soul, I don't think I've truly wanted that. Over time, I have felt cheated. Cheated out of so much.

Quite frankly, Life has sucked. I have had the absolute Love of My Life ripped from me, and done so as I begged and pleaded through prayer for it not to be so. And if there was ever an example of Robert Frost's two roads diverging in the wood, then surely that must be it. While there have been a few Distinctive Markers in my life time, no one stands as large nor as prominent as that one.

I've oft looked back and seen that day as god essentially giving me (and the whole family) the finger. As we prayed, and pleaded, and hoped against all hope for a different outcome, he essentially said, “No, and I'm not going to tell you why.”

As Life branched off onto this new path, it has been one of unending (and in my view, unnecessary) pain and suffering. Family ripped apart, children lost, chaos reigning. And... for what?

For what purpose?

That's been my question all along, I suppose. What purpose does this serve? I will happily suffer whatever I need to... I like to know why I'm suffering. And I don't know. I have no idea. I don't know why my family is suffering. I don't know. And not knowing, for me, is another kind of pain altogether.

And today, a man talked about serving out your purpose. It could have been the proverbial lightning bolt from the blue... aimed right at me.

For you see, I don't think I've ever really “lost” my faith – as I like to tell people – so much as I have shunned it. Sort of a hissy fit, perhaps... but if he didn't want to help us... or even clue us in on what he's up to, well, he doesn't really need me now does he? And if he can give me the finger, I can give it right back. Screw me? SCREW YOU.

And I have become comfortable in that. It's so easy to not have to put work into a relationship. And I didn't really want his love anymore anyway, seeing as he seemed to have a strange way of showing it. It's like how we marvel at women in abusive relationships... why don't they just leave? I felt emboldened... I'd done it... I'd left. SCREW HIM.

Like I said... comfortable. Until now.

A new friend has thrown me completely off my game. She's approached, saying he's speaking to her... trying to reach me. Says I'm not hearing him. Well, I can't argue that, because ever since I heard his silence that one day and night, can't say that I've been really wanting to hear anything else from him. Hate and Anger run deep and long.

Yet, she's quietly persisted, but not pushed. Just been there. I won't say a beacon of light, or the Hollywood halo of light around her. Think of it as maybe a lone match flickering.

But, it's been a bright light just the same. She's talked to me... and listened to my hate. My anger. And not shunned me. She's understood it. Told me I'm justified (Damn STRAIGHT!), and still the light shone. She still continued her diplomatic shuttle. I sort of see her in that role... shuttling messages back and forth between two nations that have no urge to talk to each other... but need to. Thankless task. And she's embraced it! Curse her for it.

I was comfortable in my distance. I didn't stop believing in him, after all... more I felt he'd stopped believing in me. I hadn't left him, you see – he'd left me. Us. And it's not easy to forgive the SOB for doing that.

And what made this all so awkward is that she's giving me messages that he's ready to welcome me back. Where does he get off? I want my apology. I want my mea culpa. I want to know WHY all this suffering. What has it been good for? What good works has this accomplished?

What is the purpose?

And we're back to that question. The purpose. A timeless one – Man's always wondered the Meaning of Life. Well, I'm not worried about such grandiose ideas... I've merely wanted to know my purpose. I cannot believe in a god who advocates needless suffering. If he's truly involved, if he's working his way through his creation to this very day, then I refuse to believe that he lets things happen mindlessly, because that's too close to perverse amusement. Therefore, suffering has purpose. What's mine?

What's my children's?

What's Ellicia's mother's?

And on and on the ripple effects have spread. What is all this suffering for?

The part that has really killed me, and has crystallized so sharply for me is this. I don't get to know. And thus I'm being introduced to a new definition of Faith. For many, Faith means believing in what you can't see – god. Well, I see him everywhere I look. I believe in his existence; I couldn't deny it if I tried, and I'm pretty good at arguing both sides of an argument.

It seems I have to take on Faith that the suffering serves a purpose. What will be, to me, a secret one.

I don't like it. It's out of my control, and I don't like not knowing. I am a resourceful person, and I can learn anything I want to learn – find out anything. I've had at times networks of people spread across the planet that quite often would bring me news before it ever hit the common knowledge. I like to know things.

And I don't get to know this.

I don't even get to know when the suffering will end, or I suppose, if.

But I do want to know MY purpose. What am I supposed to be doing with my Life right now? A boat tossing on the seas seems to have more direction than I.

Obviously, there's caring for my children. And I'm doing that the best way I know how, no matter how much I feel I fail them on a semi-constant basis. I'm told I do okay, so I must believe in that. Or go crazy.

My work seems to be a giant tease. I have great opportunities – chances to excel, to lead and develop Soldiers... but there always seems to be a “snag”, and there's also chances to help people... to tend to them, to treat them and yet, I always seem pulled somewhere else.

My beliefs are challenged as I love my country, and yet I must prepare, MUST prepare for what I foresee as its rapidly approaching end. One area of my life that I've had rarely misfired is in my ability to read and predict the political landscape. For once, I'd love to be wrong. I hope I am, but doubt I will. But, there is always hope for change.

I have developed friendships without which I doubt I'd survive another day. And most of those may truly be acquaintances, or buddies, but I count myself blessed (and if it's a gift from him, then I'll take it) to have my three F-R-I-E-N-D-S. They are the only people on this planet, outside of my children, for whom I'd give up everything if only asked. And they know me deeper than anyone. I'm lucky to have them.

It's a chaotic landscape my life. I wish it were not so. I miss what once was, my surefooted readiness and preparedness for each day. The confidence that I knew what was coming, that I was ready for anything.

That I knew what I was doing.

But the past is past, and that is gone. I have to look forward to what is coming.

For as it's said, the past is prologue. And if that is true, then all of this must be leading to something, no? Chapters in books aren't written just to be discarded as irrelevant to the plot.

Put another way – and I hate this phrase – everything happens for a reason.

What is my purpose?

Why am I doing this?

What is coming?

Why can't I see just a peek... help me prepare? I want to do this right.


What is coming?

Which brings me back to... today. Today, I heard a man ask that very question. What is our purpose? And directed that we serve our purpose.

My blood ran cold. I had goose bumps and chills. I had initially feared even being at that place. And then, I'd found myself not just wanting to be there, but pleading with my temper-tantrum throwing son to please stop, because I wanted needed to be in there. I desperately wanted to go inside. And then once there, I found I couldn't leave. My feet were sewn to the floor. I had to hear this.

And I listened. And my blood ran cold. My heart raced and slowed. I felt horribly uncomfortable and still couldn't leave. I had to be there. What chilled me even more was the thought in my head that there was no more important place to be than right there, right then at that moment.

Haven't felt that in awhile.

I'd missed most of the church service. The singing, or whatever else this church does. The preamble.

I'd even missed the first part of the sermon.

All I really had the chance to hear was... Serve your purpose.

And I am so very freaked out by this. I've shunned and stayed away... and the one time I go back... the first time I go back... with so many interruptions and challenges and reasons to run away.... I hear only half a sermon and it's message is: Serve your purpose.

Alright, god, you have my attention. Want to tell me what it is?

A Good Thought

“Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us. Let your watchword be order and your beacon beauty. Think big.”
—Daniel Burnham

Voting 'Present' on Afghanistan

President Obama’s speech Tuesday night has been widely dismissed and panned in a rare display of bipartisanship.  Democrats (or Liberals, if you prefer) are not happy because he promised to send more troops and deepen the war effort.  Republicans (or as they’re sometimes known, Conservatives) are not happy because he didn’t send enough troops, set a deadline for withdrawal, and didn’t seem truly committed to The Cause.

 

Our President, who we remember from a year ago being swept into office amidst universal acclimation, love, hope, and nearly God-like adoration, managed to tick off just about everyone in the country in one speech.  Truth be told, by initial reports, a lot of folks around the world may not be too pleased either.

 

So, how did Mr. Obama, after nearly three full months of careful, ponderous debate… considering every possible option… have managed to blow it?   What’s particularly surprising is that he did it in a way that should have surprised… no one.  Mr. Obama has previously shown a predilection for avoiding conflict, decisiveness, and wading bravely in front of a movement.  As much as the previous White House occupant was mocked for his self-declaration, there was truly little doubt that he was a ‘decider’.  Mr. Obama, on the other hand, in his Illinois legislature days showed a favored choice of not voting more liberal or conservative, but just… Present.  The Safe alternative.

 

I have little doubt that the previous three months consisted of the President desperately wishing for this particular choice to pass him by.  He’d have given Michele’s right arm if he thought it might have helped matters.  Anything but make THIS decision.  Essentially, it came down to:  Should he aggressively advance the war, giving General McChrystal everything he asked for and needed to win, OR should he follow what he’d suggested for Iraq and begin the return home of our troops?

 

It was a decision fraught with consequences.  With his popularity, and political cache declining, his marketability and power in Washington is steeply dissipating.  This is currently evidenced by a Health Care bill which, once promised to be done by August, may be lucky to be completed before Christmas, and even then, it won’t be pretty.  He would risk annoying a major constituency in some way no matter what he chose.  Here he was, the most powerful man in America, able to fire CEOs, win Nobel Peace Prizes based on 12 days of work experience, and he’d been reduced to damned-if-he-did-and-damned-if-he-didn’t.

 

It’s ironical isn’t it that the President, who as a candidate had mocked his opponent as not being ready for the crisis 3 am phone call, was now wilting in the face of just such a decision?  Even more so when that former opponent, now his Secretary of State, was speaking far more decisively and clearly about the decision ahead.

 

So, what did Mr. Obama do (besides hope for a sudden change in the situation)?  He did what he often does, try to please everyone.  He didn’t vote Yay for war or Nay – bring them home.  He voted Present.  Do both, yet neither.

 

And pleased no one.  Not one person.  There’s something to be said for being decisive, after all.

Song That Touched Me...

I've had this on my iTunes for a bit... and it's just really touched me. So, I thought I'd share with you here...