I found this video on the web this weekend. The nub of it is the guy in question did the video for the girl in question. The video explains the rest. If it doesn’t put a smile on your face, dial 911 and get some help.
It’s come again. The day when we honor our fallen as a nation.
That sums up my feelings pretty precisely. I’ll spare you the screed about mattress sales, car sales, liquor store events, and special discounts on patio umbrellas this “holiday” weekend. I take the holiday and view it as Holy Day. I spend this weekend honoring my comrades. I understand why many don’t “get” the day or what it means to people like me, but it still galls me that far too many view it as an opportunity to get in an extra round of golf and nothing more.
I have friends who went out and never came back. Friends and colleagues who died as a result of what they did for this country. I’m counting those lost to suicide and depression from the stress and strain of the lives we led on active duty as having fallen in the line of duty. The list of the fallen I know is growing far too rapidly. It started with two classmates in the Navy over 25 years ago who crashed on the deck of a carrier, skidded over the edge and were never recovered, and hasn’t ended yet. I like the video posted above, but it neglects the Cold War. Many brave men died in that conflict on forgotten outposts and in silent combat far from the publics’ eyes. Lest we forget, we won that war, defeating the monsterous evil that was the Soviet Union.
Monday I will get up early, go and have breakfast at Mickey’s and then head home to shower, shine my boots, and put on my jacket and tie. I will proceed to Resurrection Cemetery and lead the military service after the Catholic Mass. I consider it an honor to be allowed the opportunity to speak on behalf of my comrades to the assembled people.
Please don’t misunderstand me, but Monday is not the day to honor the memory of your Grandmother Alice who never served in the military. Do that on her birthday or the anniversary of her passing. Alice was undoubtedly a fine woman but she’s not the reason for the day. If you would like to get a flavor of what the day is about take a trip to a local military cemetery. Gaze out at the rows of uniformly spaced white stones that represent marching legions of defenders fallen in defense of our liberties. If that’s not possible geographically, head to your nearest cemetery and look for a military headstone. There’s lots of them out there, usually plain vanilla with name, rank, branch of service, etc.
Take a minute to look for the ones where they passed away during a period of conflict, usually as a young man or woman between 17 and 40 years of age. Give them a moment’s reflection and consider who they might have been, and the fact that they gave their life so that we may live our lives in freedom. They were once alive, young, vibrant, and looking to the future. They trained and went forward when ordered to do so, many of them volunteers. All of them, even the ones who were scared to the core of their being, were brave beyond measure. They saw their friends go down around them and kept on going until they paid the ultimate sacrifice as well.
I suggest that this weekend you spend ten minutes in quiet contemplation of what these warriors gave to preserve our nation. And then go online to a reputable military charity and make a donation so that the living have a bit of comfort in their service. I annually donate to a charity this time of year to honor my comrades. A few of the places that I spend my coin are listed below. Each of them is a reputable charity with a good record.
God bless those who have fallen. God bless those who serve.
Recommended Charities:
http://www.soldiersangels.org/
After two years of writing seriously I’ve got a confession to make: I didn’t have a desk until last week. I’d moved about from place to place, desks at my old church, my desk at the “day job” before my shift started, my wife’s desk, and wherever I could fit my laptop or tablet including picnic tables and cafeteria tables in the rainforests of Belize.
No longer. Behold the new “office” –
The world headquarters.
The desk pictured here has been around the world just like me. Long ago, when I was young, muscular, and had some hair (I started going bald when I was 19) this desk was purchased for our apartment in Spain. That was in an era when most correspondence was still handwritten and you needed a place to sit and write those letters to your beloved husband who was out at sea somewhere we won’t talk about. Yes, it was my wife’s desk.
When we moved back to the “world” the desk spent some time in Eagan and then moved to it’s current location in our house almost 20 years ago. In those 20 years it became crammed with the most amazing collection of useless crap. Enough staples to last three lifetimes, Passover cards for every member of the Jewish faith for the next 2 years, wrapping tape, dried out pens, coins, several pairs of scissors, scraps of paper with people’s addresses… you get the picture.
Almost a month ago my wife started a fight she couldn’t have imagined by simply organizing the junk in the basement. I walked down the stairs to do a load of laundry and was amazed that she’d neatly piled up the deritus of a lifetime in organized piles by … well, subject matter for lack of a better term.
And that’s when the fight started: the fight to reclaim our home from sloth and clutter. Over the past month I’ve hauled several loads of books to the Veterans’ Home and Goodwill. I’ve hauled toxic waste to the Ramsey County center. And every week our trash can has been stuffed so full that the need arose to use a dirt tamper to smash it down and cram in some more.
As each layer of yuck was peeled away it became clear that my “temporary” desk on the coffee table was now a fixture for almost ten years and needed to come to an end. I realized that the computer desk in the attic was too big to fit anywhere in the house (that’s why it’s in the attic) but the rolltop desk purchased from Muebles Lluyot with hard earned cash would be ideal.
I’m back. I went to see if I could find that link to Lluyot and then started looking for bars, restaurants, and maps where we spent our time off. Then I had a warm feeling thinking about the day we bought all that stuff and arranged for it to be delivered. And right now it just dawned on me that the desk, my dining room table (next to me) the china cabinet and the stereo cabinet that fill this room all came from one store in Rota, Spain. Including the rugs that all of it sit on. Not always good memories of that place and what happened there, but Lluyot and the furniture are part of the good glow that comes when memories come flooding back after several decades.
Where was I? Telling you about the coffee table (which we bought at the Navy Exchange in Rota… see a trend?) where the laptop and it’s predecessors had roosted for a decade. That wasn’t an acceptable spot to write from any longer. I’m writing longer now than ever before and my half-century old back hurts when I sit on the floor and write. Time to join the adults at the big table.
So, the desk got cleaned out. It’s amazing how little of the junk in the desk had any place in my life anymore. Maybe that’s a metaphor for the whole house cleaning. All of the things you really need are probably in your pockets and your heart. For me that’s a love of Jesus and my family. Most of the rest of it would never be missed and the rest could be replaced. Most of our photos are out on a server somewhere these days and the books? Well, they fit in my pocket on the Kindle.
Now I’m really babbling. I’ll put an end to your misery. I have a desk. It’s a desk full of memories and potential. Thanks, Lluyot for selling me my future 26 years ago.
For over 20 years we’ve had aquariums in our home. At one time they were the focal point of our apartment and our life as a married couple. Many was the Friday or Saturday night we’d sit on the floor like young couples do looking at the tanks and talking. It was a romantic and wonderful experience.
We learned a lot about those tanks, helped out a friend in his aquarium store and became even more expert. In the early nineties we bought our house. We hired a carpenter to come in and build custom racks for the tanks in the basement. Power was wired in and the final thing moved from the apartment came in buckets of water.
Time went by and going down to our unheated basement wasn’t much fun. We kept the tanks going for a time, but when my wife became ill it was overwhelming. I kept the fish alive, but as they died off the tanks were decommissioned. Partly it was the cold basement, partly the time taking care of her, partly the new dog who lived with us upstairs.
The tanks have sat empty now for about fifteen years. Stuff got piled on the racks, it became a ditch zone for things we didn’t know what to do with at the moment. A few weeks ago my wife started to clean up the basement. Now, about 5 trash cans later and several trips to Goodwill, we’ve made some great progress.
This morning the tanks went out the door. I have a coworker who is part of a large reptile society and he graciously took the tanks off my hands. Some lucky iguana fans will have a nice big home for their friends next week at the monthly meeting. Three really big tanks, two smaller ones (still big, around 20 gallons.)
A part of my heart went with those tanks. A part of my life before illness grew larger than Friday night. A piece of my soul that was calmed by the motion of the bubbles and the fish swimming back and forth.
Now we move on. The racks will be used for something, likely storage for all the things that just don’t fit somewhere else but you don’t want to chuck because you do use them from time to time.
I wish it was 1991 again, on a snowy Friday night with my wife. I miss those days.
I’ve written two novels now, and have a few more in progress. But what I often forget is that I’d already written two books years ago. Children’s books. No gun-play, no terrorists, no alcoholism, no nada.
I don’t know why that never creeps into my feeble little brain, as they’re very nice books.
Yesterday it smashed right through the every day world and screamed at me! Lauren, the gifted young artist I work with on the book, has finished the cover. And, she came up with a great title. Mine was a bit feeble. You can follow her here: Lauren Mattson.
So, ready for the unveil? It’s below the fold. I’m as excited about this as I was about the novels. (Really! This is way more fun and way more beautiful.)
