A Message From Bill

My dearest friend of a thousand years has been encouraging me to listen to Crosby, Stills and Nash on Pandora. I'm a paying subscriber, because of its flexibility to my moods, so had been planning on getting around to it (really I was). Then I got two more nudges from other places to listen to Crosby, Stills and Nash. It was a quorum, and so today I plugged in CSN and within minutes realized that the music was speaking to me in a very specific way today. And so, with thanks to Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young, Taylor, Fleetwood Mac, The Zombies, and the Beatles:

The Message

Just a song before I go.

Carry on.

If you can't be with the one you love,

Honey, love the one you're with.

Never going back again

Running on empty.

Jackson Brown in my dreams.

If I can get you to smile before I leave--

--Can't you see the sunshine?

--Can't you just feel the moonshine?

I'm dying ain't I?

I'm on the dark side of the moon.

It's the time of the season for loving.

To everything, there is a season.

Turn, turn, turn

A time to every purpose under heaven.

You were going your way;

I was going mine.

Can this road be taken at all?

Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again.

Get back to where you once belonged.

There is that fine sense of humor when I'm feeling down.

Crazy love.

Nobody left to please.

Bye bye, baby.

Know I love you.

Write if you think of it.

Salute

I just spent the past eight days with a group of 300 or so of my closest friends, my fellow vets. We were Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines -- and there were even a few Coasties in there, as well. Some of us were first-termers-and-out, others gave a few more years, and a good many of us went for the whole Monty and stayed 20-30 or so years. Now, to be clear, I don't know all these folks intimately but in a sense we have intimate knowledge of one another.

We've been there, where-ever there was and were ready to do whatever our leaders required of us. Sometimes our leadership was in synch all the way up the chain of command, and sometimes it wasn't. The American Civil War, whose sesquicentennial we commemorate this year, was such a time when there was schism in our national leadership, and I can only imagine the horrendous torment of facing your former comrade and classmate across the battlefield.

I served from the end of the Viet Nam War through the Cold War and Desert Storm. I served on Okinawa and in the Republic of Korea and in one of the most beautiful little towns in the country, San Angelo, TX. My son served in a forward support position, but behind the lines of battle, during the Iraqi containment and the invasion of Iraq, and has since put boots on the ground in a DoD supportive role. My niece serves still and has only returned to the mainland from her first overseas  assignment. She was on Okinawa for twelve years, excepting some time in training and in the air over hostile territories. My father and my uncles served. My great uncles served. We are Army, Navy, and Air Force (with Air Force leading the pack, by the way). We invested in this country with our lives, and we expect that the promises made to us when we took the oath of enlistment will be kept.

And that's what I meant when I said that I spent the past eight days with 300 of my closest friends. We know that we and our families are at risk. We know this especially because of who we are. We are the County Veterans Service Officers all across the country, and we see the crippled veteran.There are sooo many ways to be crippled -- and these wars we have been involved in have been especially crippling. Our VietNam vets are coming down with diseases tied to Agent Orange (aggressive cancers, Parkinson's Disease, diabetes, and more). If they were there, they were exposed. Our current crop of returning vets have suffered injuries on an astronomical scale. Devastating brain injuries, loss of limb, losses that you cannot imagine. Not to mention the crippling nature of poverty. We also see his widow (or her widower) and his or her orphan. And while the cost of living has increased in the last several years (gas and groceries), recognition of that in VA income tests hasn't changed. So a WWII widow grossing $13,000 a year in Social Security, before taxes and medicare premiums of about $7000, is considered to be too affluent for VA widow's pension. How would you like to pay your rent, utilities, and groceries for a year on $6000. Maybe you'd like cable TV to keep you company since you can't get around much anymore? Or maybe you'd like to travel to see your grandkids? Did I mention that poverty is crippling?

We see the veteran and his widow and orphan, and we see the dangers in this economy. We were at risk on the battlefield and we are at risk at home. I thought we were better than that.

When I sat down to write this piece, I was contemplating the origin of the salute that is shared between comrades in arms. I won't go into the arcane rules the modern day soldier follows. The origin, though somewhat romantic, was very functional. It began in the days when knights, and those rich enough to afford their own army, wore protective helmets with visors. When they would meet one another on the road, if they were not hostile they would lift the visor and make eye contact and exchange a greeting. Perhaps, "Good morning, good sir." To not return the salute would be an insult at best and a hostile act at the worst. These little bands would come to know one another, and when an outside force attempted hostilities, they would band together. Over time, they established protocols so they could tell their side from the hostiles, and the salute evolved as one of those protocols.

The salute has a long and honored history as a recognition of the respect we have for each other. That is why I hope you will join me in a salute to my fellow vets, and to his widow and orphan. Don't let them be forgotten.

Goodbye Maxwell

You may recall a song from the Beatles Abbey Road album called "Maxwell's Silver Hammer." McCartney said in 1994 that the song merely epitomises the downfalls of life:

Maxwell's Silver Hammer is my analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as it so often does, as I was beginning to find out at that time in my life. I wanted something symbolic of that, so to me it was some fictitious character called Maxwell with a silver hammer. I don't know why it was silver, it just sounded better than Maxwell's hammer. It was needed for scanning. We still use that expression now when something unexpected happens.

Most of us living in those days didn't need an explanation. We got it. And for the past 40 some years, when things would get weird or crazy or awful or all three, I would blame Maxwell and his silver hammer. Today was one of those days.

It started out well enough, another beautiful Colorado day. Barely a cloud in the sky and the promise of a warm spring day. I drove to Castle Rock to do my twice weekly gig at the Veterans Service Office helping vets and their families negotiate the VA system of applications for benefits. My plan was to get caught up on assistance letters: letters to vets who have applied for benefits offering continued assistance. My colleague was busy finishing up the paperwork from his first client of the morning when another vet came in and he asked me to handle it. "Of course," I replied, not realizing that Maxwell was hiding behind the door giggling.

The very tall, very good looking gentleman sat down and I began the interview and that's when the hammer struck. My vet was applying for disability compensation because he had been recently diagnosed with terminal lung cancer probably induced by exposure to Agent Orange in Viet Nam. I'm already working through the stuff around this being one year from the time my husband Bill began showing the signs of his fatal exposure to Agent Orange, and "bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer came down on her head."

Professionalism won out over the temptation to make it all about me, but for the hour or so that we sat together completing his application, I fought back tears and the desire to go screaming off into the Tulgey Wood.  I put together the strongest application I have ever worked on. I must have used the word EXPEDITE a dozen times, at least once on each form and on the outside of the envelope I put it in. By the time we shook  hands, and my vet left the office, I was toast. Drained.

It gets better. Maxwell wasn't done with me. I went to my Tuesday night poker game at the Celtic House Pub, and no sooner did I walk in when one of the regulars, whom I hadn't seen in a few months, gets in front of me and demands to know where Bill is. I swear this creature was at his wake! Before I could stop myself, I said "He's dead. He's been dead for nearly a year. How could you not know this?"  I could hear the distant cackling of insane laughter.

The day ended on a good note. A long intimate conversation via Skype with my sister-friend in Hawaii. It seems Maxwell has been busy there as well; however, what he doesn't know is that we're too old and too wily for him to be very effective anymore.  As the two of us laughed together thousands of miles apart, Max left by the back door. Good riddance!

Happy Feet and Aching Heart

I got a pedicure today. There's no denying that it is an especially hedonistic delight having someone clean, massage, and pamper your feet with decoration. Mine were in critical need, having not been attended to since my trip to Hawaii in March. Now they are beautiful and happy feet again.

The pure pleasure of the experience had a tender side as well. It was not quite a year ago that I sat in this same shop, having learned that my husband was probably terminal, and wept through my pedicure. It was quite alarming to the technician, who thought she had injured me and became even more gentle with her ministrations. Of course, the more gently she touched me, the harder I wept. I could not/would not cry in front of Bill, and the healing touch of another person had opened the floodgates.

One of the things Bill and I had enjoyed as a couple was going for pedicures together, particularly in the summer. He was that comfortable with his masculinity. Additionally, he had some of the nastiest toenails on any human being, and I really didn't like messing with them. We would sit and soak our feet together and chat while one of a dozen or so southeast Asian women trimmed, and filed, and buffed our toes. We worked out more than one or two family problems while our feet were groomed. It was an activity that ended when his left leg was amputated in December 2006. I didn't get pedicures as often after that. I still don't go as often as I should to keep sandal-ready feet. Today was the beginning of Memorial Day weekend, however, and pool-opening is tomorrow. It was a matter of public safety that my feet be tended to.

Besides, I had a gift certificate that I needed to use: Bill's last Christmas gift to me. I'd held on to it since Christmas 2009. Bill was a Scot. He would have hated it if I didn't use it and the money was wasted. And that is why, once again, I found myself weeping while my toes were dancing.

Heading West

I've been on the road or camping for 16 days now and it is beginning to show on me. Last evening when we pulled into the All Seasons RV Park in Goddard KS, I was down to my last pair of shorts and I was wearing them. My wild white hair hadn't been washed since Port Aransas and the inside of the camper is beginning to resemble the inside of a hermit's shack. My guess is that the first impression people must get when they see us coming is that maybe they want to avoid contact because something just isn't quite right. But there are a group of carny workers camped here also, so I fit right in. As Josh says, "the smell of cotton candy and fear."

It was very cool traveling yesterday -- as in cold! The temps were in the high 40s when we arrived in the Wichita area and, with the wind, it felt like 41. After I got the camper unhitched and set up, we huddled inside with the heater going and I nearly wept when the dogs would indicate they needed to go outside in the cold and wind.

And talk about tight quarters! These camper spaces are the closest I've ever seen. I share the hookups on one side in the six foot space that separates me from the neighbor and the two picnic tables in the six feet that separate me from the neighbor on the other side. I was afraid I might even be heard talking in my sleep last night!

It's gray and cool again today, but we're staying one more night here. There is a promise of some sunshine later today and I want to do some exploring in Andale and St. Joe (just north of here about 3 miles). Andale was where my grandmother and her twin, my great Aunt Mathilde, were born over a hundred years ago. We lost my grandmother in 2007, and Mathilde passed away only a few months ago, so it is a pilgrimage of sorts to honor my ancestors.

On the day I left on this trip, I found a note from my son attached to a Ford ball cap as a going away gift (it will be the one memento I keep from the Bronco). The note read, in part, "Have a great time and find out something new about you or the world around you." I have followed his instructions. Every day that has passed has brought new things to see, from birds I've never seen outside of an Audubon book, to new insights and understandings about my environment, to a new awareness of who I am in this early autumn of my life. These things happen without leaving home, but travel accelerates the process and the solitude of this trip has increased my sensitivities.

So, now I will be turning west and heading for home. By the time I arrive I will have driven close to 3000 miles in the days I have been gone. At 9.5 miles to the gallon (pulling the camper) and an average cost of $3.89 a gallon, it has not been an inexpensive way to travel, except for the lodging and food costs. I'll have hitched and unhitched a total of 18 times, at least 15 of those times totally unassisted (I take some pride in that as a woman of a certain age). I had only one minor accident, if you could call it that. I clipped one corner of the camper with a tree branch in San Antonio, and it left a boo boo that will have to be looked at when I get home. Oh, and there is the 5" bruise on my right knee from where I walked into the hitch in the middle of the night. But, as Josh says, it hasn't really been fun unless somebody ends up bleeding.

Camping in Port Aransas, Texas

We are camped in a typical southern beach resort RV park, with RV spaces that are too close together, but it is early May and the snowbirds are on their way home to Wisconsin to enjoy spring and their one month of summer before fall when they pack up and head south again, visiting the Grandkids in St. Louis or LA on the way. As a result, we have only one close neighbor to our east (I know this because the sun rises on one side of the camper and sets on the other), and lots of space on our western side to enjoy the sunset, but most especially to enjoy the bird lagoon out our window.

What a beautiful gazing point. Perfect for a sometime bird watcher with a fondness for waterbirds. I watched two herons do the dick dance over the fishing hole for about a half hour before the real owner got totally fed up and chased the interloper away. Here is what we have seen from our window so far: Great Blue Heron, Great Egret, Reddish Egret, Cattle Egret, Roseate Spoonbill, Brown Pelican, Kildeer, Laughing Gull, Grackle, several types of Sandpiper (I'll have to get the bird book out to begin to distinguish between them), Plover, and Black-Bellied Whistling Duck (no kidding?).

We are also right next to a very nice bathhouse that is delightfully handicapped equipped. It definitely makes life easier with Berinda!  For those who don't know, my oldest daughter probably suffered some kind of brain damage at her birth in Song-tan Si Korea in 1974. She was left with right side weakness (known as hemiparesis), a seizure disorder, and mental disabilities which places her in the lower age groups intellectually on standardized tests. However, I am always surprised at how much she observes around her. She doesn't miss much, and keeps me straight with reminders about where I have put things.

We are eating simply and getting lots of walks, at least the dogs and I are getting lots of walks. I have to coax Berinda out for a walk a couple of times a day. It is uncomfortable with her leg-brace and she resists it. I probably would too. But the beach is so close and with its packed sand makes for a long lovely walk along the gulf.

The internet for the trip has been generally unreliable, and at times impossible for getting an evening email or two out. My thoughts of posting to this blog every day of the trip were dashed with an attempt at poetry that was lost in the cyberspace above Lake Nasworthy. The connection at Lackland allowed us a Skype call with Josh and another quick one with my friend Vali before we lost the signal completely. This wouldn't have been so bad, but it seems there was no T-Mobile service anywhere on Lackland, either. I felt like I was getting a clear message to put the cell phone and the computer away for a while!

We might have to go out and go shopping today just so we have some kind of activity for Berinda. It isn't yet warm enough for a swim in the pool -- perhaps tomorrow if the winds let up a bit and the temperature actually breaks 80. I would be happy just sitting and watching the birds come to the pond and the clouds float by. I'm beginning to remind myself of my grandfather! I guess I could fit right in here with the folks who've built decks up to the door of their travel trailers -- nah, not so much.

Lake Nasworthy (aka Lake Nasty Water), San Angelo, TX

I got some momentum going today and made it all the way into San Angelo. Actually, the conditions everywhere else were so poor, I thought it made more sense to go someplace I knew I would be comfortable and safe and pay less for two nights camping than I did for the one night in Santa Rosa. On the roads between Santa Rosa and Big Spring, TX, I drove through headwinds and crosswinds that were brutal. The sky was red and gray from the dirt in the air -- no blue. In places, the dirt was blowing at a 90-degree angle across the road and looked like a swiftly flowing river. It made the driving a very sporting adventure.

Shortly after I drove through Big Spring, in addition to the winds, I ran into the smoke from the fires that have been burning all over West Texas. The smoke persisted the rest of drive to San Angelo from Big Spring. At times the visibility was less than 1/2 mile, and the air was acrid. I saw only a small burned area east of Big Spring, but know there are many square miles burning to produce such smoke. It certainly made for a spectacular sunset this evening. It is not as heavy here as it was west and north.

I'm going to "flake out" on you early tonight. I am showered and, again, one dog walk away from a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is a reunion picnic for a group of Viet Nam era veterans called The Doggers who are commemorating the Fall of Saigon. Perhaps, there will even be pictures to share! Good night!