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.
09 October 2011
11 September 2011
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.)
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.)
29 August 2011
26 July 2011
A Lifetime Dream... Soon to Come True
I'm an hour early, which for those who know me well is an indicator itself of my excitement.
I have always been fascinated with in-flight refueling. Had I been able to join the USAF, that was the job I wanted - the Boomer, the crewmember who operates the refueling boom.
But, Life didn't work out that way. No biggie... but, it's always been there... the desire and fascination.
I've had fleeting opportunities before to fly with a tanker, but inevitably, there was always something that came up or prevented it from happening.
Yet, here I am again. So far, so good. It's my closest yet! On the other side of a wall sits a USAF KC-135R, and with any luck, I'll soon be IN it.
So, here we go... I cannot sit... I physically can not as I'm far too excited. I've been up since 0330, and completed a nearly 2 hour drive to get here. I've even interrupted my PCS chaos to be here, and as we all know, that time is precious.
But Dreams take precedence over practicality.
I am SO READY.
03 July 2011
Congratulations, Dad!
While I'm working and taking care of patients, as I write this, my Dad and his fiancee should be wrapping up their wedding vows.
Congratulations to both of you!
24 June 2011
Father-Daughter Ball
Tonight, M & I went to our first Father-Daughter Ball. I suppose it's one of the few nice benefits to my orders being delayed.
What an experience! First of all, due to the air-conditioning not working, it was hideously warm. But, aside from that...
It was really something to see all of these Soldiers (and one Airman, and one Soldier from Chile!) dressed in their finest uniforms, most with enough ribbons and awards and badges hanging off of them that finding fabric wasn't always easy. And the girls... wow, they were of all ages. I saw many barely tall enough to reach the knees, all the way to some who were just about to crest into impending womanhood.
It was not your typical military formal event.
First, people dance what they know... so, it was something to see the MSG with 20+ years dancing with his lil' young-un... and doing one of the finer "I'm a Little Teapot" that will sadly never be seen on Dancing With the Stars.
But, what struck me most were the slow dances. Reading uniforms, many of these Soldiers had missed 50% or more of their dance partners lives. The floor, and aisles, were packed as all of us ensured we had a chance to dance with the best dates we'll ever have.
Many were probably like me, teaching their girls how to dance. For me, that was interesting, as I am the epitome of the wallflower/white boy who can't dance. But, SHE didn't know that!
I choked back tears during the songs, "There Goes My Life" and "Butterfly Kisses". I am blessed with my little girl. And it was my Honor to have that dance. One day, I grudgingly accept, she'll have her arms wrapped around someone else and will be nestled into him... and I'll have to give her away.
But, she'll always be Daddy's Little Girl, and I had the First Dance. I suspect neither of us (nor many others there) will ever forget.
24 April 2011
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30 March 2011
T's Message to Mommy
18 March 2011
New Torture Device
Whee!
14 March 2011
Update on The Foot
Well, I'm sitting at the hospital waiting on a new prescription. We had the Big Unveiling of the surgery site. I was eager to see what it looked like. It'd been covered for almost two weeks, and finally, would see how things went. Did the pain come from the surgery, the foot itself, the bandage...? Well, it turns out I'm making good progress. No infection, light swelling... I just have to stay off of it still (ARRRGGGHHHH), still no water- thus no bath or shower (see previous ARRRGGGHHHH), and I can now begin the torture sessions of increasing mobility through interesting little devices. So, I await more of my sweet, wonderful drugs... and it was nice to experience fresh air. But soon, back to confinement. Wheeee. Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android |
06 March 2011
07 February 2011
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.
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.
31 December 2010
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 inThank you for this poem. It's very, very true.
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)
30 December 2010
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.
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.
24 December 2010
20 December 2010
21 November 2010
What do you think was the greatest invention in your lifetime?
The personal computer. It revolutionized the flow of information, eventually to all corners of the globe. From that flow of information, everything else follows - new inventions, quest for knowledge, even revolutions in government.
01 November 2010
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.
22 August 2010
Last Combat Brigade Leaves Iraq
It's quite the news this week. The "last" combat brigade has left Iraq. The war is over! Yay!
Or...
Not quite.
We still have 50K troops in Iraq, and they're now called "Advise and Assist Brigades". Snort. Whatever. The point that the media seems to have missed is this: Have the insurgents and al-Qaeda withdrawn the last of their combat troops? No?
Hmmm... then I guess the war isn't over (sorry about the timetable), and that brings us to one last salient point. When the bullets and IEDs and other explosive munitions fly between people, it doesn't matter if they're called "combat" troops or not... it's still combat.
War doesn't end because of the press release announcing it's over... it ends when both sides agree it's over. Whether by treaty, defeat, annihilation, whatever.
Or...
Not quite.
We still have 50K troops in Iraq, and they're now called "Advise and Assist Brigades". Snort. Whatever. The point that the media seems to have missed is this: Have the insurgents and al-Qaeda withdrawn the last of their combat troops? No?
Hmmm... then I guess the war isn't over (sorry about the timetable), and that brings us to one last salient point. When the bullets and IEDs and other explosive munitions fly between people, it doesn't matter if they're called "combat" troops or not... it's still combat.
War doesn't end because of the press release announcing it's over... it ends when both sides agree it's over. Whether by treaty, defeat, annihilation, whatever.
So INCREDIBLY Frustrated
I'm scouring my hard drive for a picture of the "Four Generations"... Great-Grandmother, E's Mom, E, and our daughters... can't find it.
This is becoming a quest now. I MUST find this... Thought I might have posted it here, but, I can't find it here, either. GRRRR.
This is becoming a quest now. I MUST find this... Thought I might have posted it here, but, I can't find it here, either. GRRRR.
14 August 2010
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.
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.
04 August 2010
03 August 2010
Comfort Zone Camp
These folks are Saints. Watch the video.
If you know of a family that needs help, they should contact CZC... or, if they have questions about what it's like, I'll chat with them.
If you know of a family that needs help, they should contact CZC... or, if they have questions about what it's like, I'll chat with them.
30 July 2010
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!
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!
29 July 2010
What A Difference 150 (or so) Years Makes
A tad over 150 years ago, the States were arguing with the Federal government. Large among the debates were the concepts that the states are sovereign and they could nullify Federal laws (see: Nullification).
Now, we have the Federal government trying to nullify State laws because they encroach upon the sovereignty of the Federal government.
Back then, it was part of the path to tearing the Union apart. And as opposite as the scenario is now, it's quite likely the more things change...
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Idle Thought
Given the current administration's penchant for laying blame at others' feet... if the war in Afghanistan ends up being a colossal failure, will we have leaks and statements from the White House about how the strategy was right, but poorly executed (for any multitude of reasons) by those in the theater (i.e. the troops)?
24 July 2010
There's *Always* A Story...
I often, even now several years later, receive notes, comments, emails, and so forth from people who tell me that our story is "very sad", and "quite tragic". I have long since learned not to argue, no matter how much I wish to demur, because I know one simple, horrifying truth.
There's always a story. Today's local paper carried the story of SPC Clay McGarrah and his bride... widow, Emily. It's heartbreaking, as all such tales of Love and Loss are.
I'm glad, quite honestly, to see it carried above the fold on the front page of our paper here in NC. The family is from a small town in Arkansas, and no doubt, it was the whole page of their local paper. I say I'm glad because as those who are connected to the War(s) will tell you - to most, it doesn't fit into their daily thoughts at all. Lebron, Oil, Mel, President Obama... our nation's media, in some part due to our public consciousness and consensus, has declared that the War isn't usually newsworthy.
It's newsworthy to those connected to it. And in communities all across this country, that connection is very strong and is shared by the whole community. And when Loss occurs, the community comes and helps the new widow, the family without a son or daughter, try to shoulder the burden.
And try to face a new day.
I was caught by the eyes looking out from the picture of the bride holding her folded American flag. I've seen those eyes, too often, in the mirror. I feel for her... knowing she'd do anything to hold her Love again instead of that folded piece of cloth.
I invite you to go and read... http://www.fayobserver.com/articles/2010/07/24/1015733?sac=Home.
57 days. Seven years... a lifetime shared... a lifetime lost.
My thoughts go out to you Emily. To you and Clay, "Thank you". Thank you for all you've given to our country. Your town is small, but in the end... you are part of something big... you're a part of all of us.
17 July 2010
#6
Today was... is... a special day on the calendar. Six years ago, the above picture was taken.
To the beautiful lady with a really cute smile in that picture: You're missed, Sweet.
15 July 2010
Hi. Do you accept guest posts? I would love the opportunity to submit an article to kafstorm.blogspot.com about traumatic brain injury as it pertains to the military. Brain injuries are common amongst military personnel. Unfortunately, the symptoms are n
I'm up for a guest post... one condition - I maintain editorial control. (I promise not to edit gratuitously, but anything inappropriate, OPSEC, etc...)
12 July 2010
Small Army
Everyone always thinks of the Army as big. Hundreds of thousands of Soldiers, HQ is called "Big Army", and so many times, you feel like just a small cog in the Big Green Machine.
And then, Life throws you a special treat.
This past weekend, a friend arrived and started house-hunting. He just finished a 1SG tour in Korea and is taking up with 82nd CAB. Haven't seen him since Germany/Afghanistan. Very cool and with an awesome sense of humor.
And as an added bonus, this am I'm walking through the DFAC, and I spot... another friend, last seen in VA, but also from my time in Germany & Afghanistan. It seems he's been here for awhile, except not, because he just redeployed back from his visit to the 'stan.
It's SO good to see familiar faces. Especially from my "past life." They are well and truly missed.
Today is a good day after all.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
05 July 2010
14 June 2010
Intertwined
Good morning. I've already been up for several hours, and it is a beautiful day.
Today is a major holiday for many, especially in my line of work. However, for far too many in our country, it is as celebrated or known as Arbor Day.
Interestingly, it is actually TWO days of note: Flag Day and the United States' Army's Birthday.
These two days are closely intertwined, as one is empty without the other.
The Army was born on 14 June 1775, predating the Declaration of Independence by slightly more than a year. The United States Army has experienced many highs, and lows, in its storied history. Glorious victories, humiliating defeats, examples of Courage and Valor, and sadly, despicable acts of criminal wrongs - all can be found in the Army's history.
On Army flags, you can find now over 180 campaign streamers. These streamers document the many cases where the Army has seen action, oft in battles lost to the history books. Scrolling through the list of streamers is easily a reminder of our nation's history - as our country expanded and encountered challenges from other nations and from within, the Army was there. (Of interest, if ever given the opportunity, definitely watch an Army streamer ceremony where each streamer is attached to the Army flag. It's dramatic.)
Two years after the Army was born, and nearly a year after declaring our Independence, the Continental Congress adopted our national flag. Ever since, the flag of the United States, in its various incarnations, has been carried proudly to all corners of the world and seen both deeply below the surface and from the roof of the world. It's also been carried to the Moon.
On the right shoulder of my uniform, there is a patch of the US Flag. It's commonly thought to be backwards, yet it is meant to be viewed as if it's always advancing. The flag would not be without the US Army (to be fair, our sister services also play an important role). And throughout history, armies follow and fight for their country's flag. Is it any wonder that one of the more iconic images in our nation's memory is the raising of the flag over Iwo Jima (yes, yes, I know... It was raised by Marines, and we love them for it)?
Our own National Anthem captures the spirit of the meaningfulness of the flag flying, as remembered during the Battle of 1812. The capital already burned, our nascent nation's future was easily at stake as the British worked their way north. In Baltimore, they came upon Fort McHenry. A pitched battle ensued, and there was serious question as to whom might prevail.
"Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,..." and "...Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there." captures that vision of the next morning seeing the flag still flying defiantly.
Today, there may be much grumbling as people start a fresh week at work. However, it is a special day. Today, we (should) honor both our Army which has stood watch on the erstwhile ramparts of our nation and the Flag which has flown over our free land and home of the brave. May they both continue to do so.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
09 June 2010
As Feared...
Yesterday was a primary election in 12 states. For months, we've read about how America is fed up with the people in Congress. The approval rating is in the low teens.
Tea Parties are held across the country.
"Throw the bums out!" is the common outcry.
Yet, yesterday... 97 out of 98 incumbents survived. So, essentially... as feared... "They're all bad, except for my guy... he's good."
Sigh. Is there any hope for real change?
Tea Parties are held across the country.
"Throw the bums out!" is the common outcry.
Yet, yesterday... 97 out of 98 incumbents survived. So, essentially... as feared... "They're all bad, except for my guy... he's good."
Sigh. Is there any hope for real change?
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:
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.
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:
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.Arlington Cemetery superintendent retiring
The Associated PressWASHINGTON — The superintendent of Arlington National Cemetery for the past 19 years is retiring.
Posted : Wednesday Jun 9, 2010 7:54:49 EDT
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.
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.
Awards Ceremony
Frustrated. No, ticked. Ok... I'm not sure what word I want to use.
Such *horrible* behavior by parents at M's award ceremony. Constant talking, talking on phones, and general disrespect to the students receiving awards. It's tough to teach T good behavior when surrounded by bad behavior. Really, could you not catch up on your various husbands' prostate problems, restraining orders, and how other children didn't really earn awards until later???
Kudos to the parents who did show up, even the one who reeked of alcohol (hey, she did make the effort...)
Jeers to the parents who left (noisily) after their kid's name was called.
Humorous moment: "Perfect Attendance, but not here today..."
Guess it's the way of the world today... Everyone gets awards. Not kidding. As they called names, the student would stand. 14 classes... Every kid stood for something. If every one gets an award for being special, what is special?
Ugh.
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04 June 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
- 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 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.
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.
12 May 2010
06 May 2010
Continuing the Development
Well, having completed my board work, almost having my degree done... It's time for the next step. It's time to pass the Registry.
So, I'm off at a class to help me pass that! Here's hoping it goes well!
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02 May 2010
Finished! I DID it!
(And I found an Army 2LT the last 2 miles, so in true Army fashion, we SPRINTED the final tenth of a mile!)
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National Cathedral
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7.5 miles. Taking my first
7.5 miles. Taking my first break. Get some oranges, bananas, and refills of my water & Gatorade. Must stay hydrated!
Just a little stroll...
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Today' Route
As we walk back to the Washington Monument - From MARYLAND - we'll pass the National Cathedral, Fort Reno (highest point in the city - translation: HILLS), Department of State, Embassy Row, Lincoln Memorial... And many other exciting places.
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Made a slight modification to
Made a slight modification to my outfit. I added a "Happy Birthday" sign!
Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday, E! Today would have been #43 for you.
You are missed, and loved, still and always.
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Good Morning!
Well, I've been up since around 4...
All checked out of the hotel, and heading back to the Walk site.
Today, 13.1 miles, and we'll finish back at the Washington Monument. It's a slight drizzle right now, but should ease up soon.
Excited!
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01 May 2010
I've enjoyed a great massage,
I've enjoyed a great massage, dinner, and good company! Now, back to the hotel for shower & rest. Tomorrow: The final 13.1 miles!
Apparently, the White House Correspondents
Apparently, the White House Correspondents Association dinner is in my hotel tonight. Think any reporters want to cover a great story??
Too cool! Just saw Air
Too cool! Just saw Air Force One! Too many trees for a good pic, but it was close!
21 miles down... 5 to
21 miles down... 5 to go. Starting to pick up a blister, and my arthritis is painful. BUT, no matter... 5 to go!
9 to go!
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Open Invitation (Challenge?): In 364
Open Invitation (Challenge?): In 364 days, who wants to meet me in DC for next year's walk? Can walk with me or be on Crew... Join Me!
My long stride and few
My long stride and few breaks is slowly taking me close to the front. We're spread thinly now. Keeping myself company with cadences! :)
Halfway There!
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Passing Georgetown Hospital... The Mammo
Passing Georgetown Hospital... The Mammo department is out cheering us on! Go Mammo!
Lunch time! 9 miles down...
Lunch time! 9 miles down... 17 to go. Taking a short break... It's a beautiful day!
Union Station!
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3 miles!
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IMG00017-20100501-0659.jpg
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Seen so far: Save 2nd
Seen so far: Save 2nd Base; Save the Ta-Ta's; Don't Let Cancer Steal 2nd!; Wonder Women...
Saw Marine 1 go by
Saw Marine 1 go by a bit earlier. Hello, Mr. President! Why don't you come walk with us?
One question: MEN... Where Are
One question: MEN... Where Are You? Men die from BC, too! And even if they didn't, these are our WOMEN! Come on, men... Be MEN! Fight!
Waiting to Begin...
I know I'm supposed to be here. Dropped off by Jefferson Memorial. We're starting by Washington Monument. The energy is already picking up as the sun is rising...
I'm stretching, and set to go. I have a small Camelback and, of course, my PINK water nottle. Hydrate, hydrate.
My emotions are running strong. This city means a lot to me. This weekend... Well, it's E's birthday weekend! I'm trying to keep the tears at bay.
We were dropped off at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. Our son was named for him.
It is a beautiful morning... No clouds... It'll be very H-O-T later. No matter. The sunrise is beautiful.
There's no other place I'd rather be...
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On the Bus!
Up & on the bus to the opening ceremonies site. When you're energized like I and all these ladies are... WHO NEES COFFEE?!
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Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
30 April 2010
Avon Walk for Breast Cancer 2010 - Live Blog
Getting *lots* of compliments on my tattoo...
I think my legs are getting in more photos than my face! LOL
Should I be jealous? Nah...
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Avon Walk for Breast Cancer 2010 - Live Blog
Already, we're all taking pictures, swapping stories...
No negative faces...
I'm modifying the slogan, a tad: In it to E nd it!
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Avon Walk for Breast Cancer 2010 - Live Blog
En route to DC! Not only do I love the chance to go to DC, but it's time for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer! I'm super excited!!!
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Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
18 April 2010
(You Too Can) Be the Accident!
There used to be slogans out about "Be the Change."
Well, on my drive back home from the Blues, I saw a few folks dertermined to Be the Accident.
Listen, if you want to go above the speed limit, that's one thing. I do it myself (I know, shocking). If you *really* want to speed, and I'm thinking Autobahn-esque levels of 90/95 MPH, ok. Use caution and *Do What You Can Handle*.
**DO NOT** chop your speed from 95 to 55 (in a 70 zone), especially through the suddent and heavy application of your brakes, because ou see Mr. Policeman on the side of the road. Even more true if he isn't even in his car and has no hope of magically reading the display on his radar.
Doing the above will surely cause you to Be the Accident, unless the other drivers in your pack happen to be better at driving than you are.
If you can't handle the speed, and the consequences, slow down and move over.
Sheesh.
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13 April 2010
30 March 2010
Less than 39 Days
In less than 39 days, I will walk 39 miles in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Washington, DC. I walk in memory of my wife, who died from breast cancer, and in support of those many women – and men – who will need a cure to this disease.
As part of my commitment, I have agreed to raise $1800, but I’m not there yet!
Each year, the Avon Foundation helps over one million women receive mammograms; this is a fundamental method of early detection of breast cancer. With cancer, the best weapon is Time; the earlier it is detected, the better one’s chances for survival.
Please join me and help me meet and surpass my fundraising goal. My personal web page is http://www.avonwalk.org/goto/WalkForEllicia2010 and donations may be made online. I can also accept a check mailed to me made out to the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.
As always, I thank you for your support. I’m in it… to END IT!
Reid
20 March 2010
18 March 2010
If you could only read one magazine for the rest of your life, which would it be?
"Air and Space Smithsonian" I love it... and if you know me, you're not terribly surprised.
16 March 2010
Sometimes Work is Slow...
... and sometimes it's quite busy.
So far, tonight is one of the busy ones. I walked in and before I even set my stuff down, I was told to go relieve an OR room. I did, and I spent the next four hours up there. Not too bad, as it was an interesting case. I like watching the surgeons work.
Tonight, they were mending a guy's shoulder. I heard them say it was supposed to be a 90 minute case. They'd already been going for awhile when I got there, so it must have ended up being about five hours. Still interesting...
I'd hoped to get some chow when I came down, as I'd worked right past dinner. No, we turned out to be very short-handed and busy. Just that kind of night.
But all in all, it's still good work!
Four Left
There are only four left...
The next shuttle launch, of Discovery, is scheduled for no earlier than 05 April. I SO want to go, but don't know how I'll swing it.
Sigh.
The next shuttle launch, of Discovery, is scheduled for no earlier than 05 April. I SO want to go, but don't know how I'll swing it.
Sigh.
15 March 2010
No, She Didn't Lose a Fight
I'm going to have to keep her under wraps - as cute as she is AND with so many missing teeth, she's liable to be named Miss Junior North Carolina!
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