Packing the house continues, albeit abated. How can one person have so much stuff that never gets used? I think I have gremlins stealing stuff from other people and leaving it at my house. Interesting theory, but I have yet to find anything I was unable to identify as belonging to me.
Maybe it's the reverse theory of the 'missing sock from the dryer'. You put 14 individual socks into the dryer and are only able to retrieve 13 socks. Where is the last sock?
Perhaps, over the course of the 14 years I've been in the house, enough socks have been lost to band together and form new matter, turning themselves into the extra stuff I'm finding all over my house. Or maybe not.
But I digress.
I have a story to share before I leave Camp Grafton.
The Camp Grafton parade field is no more. Civilian contractors have removed the grass and are replacing it with concrete and block to build the new RTI facility.
One of the first things they had to do was remove the flag pole from the center of the parade field. As it's protected as a historic monument, the National Guard has to retain ownership.
When it was uprooted, the ball on top of the flagpole, the truck, was removed, gawked upon, and laughed about.
Why? Because it's full of bullet holes. I can hear the echoes of years past, "Hold my beer and watch this."
The pictures speak for themselves.
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