Day 243

I'm sure I've mentioned it in previous posts, but if not, I play the piano in church each Sunday afternoon. Today, in church, the chaplain was chiding us to ensure we kept in touch with our loved ones back home. He didn't go into specific detail, but he did say that many people here are not calling or writing home that are causing maritial problems. I have been as guilty as those with spouses with my lack of communication. I'm not trying to make excuses for my lack of contact, but I think I have an excuse. The time here is flying by. I find it hard to believe that tomorrow is June. I have only 3-1/2 months until I'm out of this camel spider, lizard infested sand hole. To me it appears that I am almost done. We're almost at double digits on days remaining. From my point of view, I am almost home. Perhaps others think the same way, foregetting we still have more than 100 days remaining. If I have brought any discomfort to anyone, if I have caused, through my lack of communication, pain, if I have made somebody say, "What have I done to make him angry enough to ignore me", I am truly sorry. However, I have shut off the Skype and will spend the rest of this day watching movies and washing my clothes, so don't expect any phone calls within the next few hours, but I do hope to be better at my oral communication skills.

Day 242

Not much new on this side of the planet. It's still hot and dusty. It is so hot I actually saw a bird burst into flames today as it was flying by my office. I think a combination of the heat and the energy it was expending to remain aloft combined in a rare form of spontanous combustion. You see, this is why I feel it is unsafe to engage in physical activity in this country. A theory not held by the First Sergeant. I had a fun day earlier this week when Tim Johnson paid me a visit. Tim used to drill with us in the 188th Army Band in Fargo before he joined the ranks of the quitters. He accompanied a bugle player from the 34th ID Band for a performance at a Memorial Day Ceremony here. I drove them around post so they could make contact with the units' to line up jobs. It sounded as though they had many productive meetings. Can't wait to see the other North Dakota guys. The internet connection where those guys are is a bit limited, so if you don't hear from them, fret not, as they are all doing ok. Aaron should be here some time this coming week. I haven't seen Tim in two or three years, we live about a five hour drive from each other, and we had to travel over 7,000 miles from home to see each other face to face.

Day 235

Day 234

Gold Bond Powder is tingly!

Day 233

Never again will I complain about the heat of a North Dakota summer. The heat here is actually painful. To get an idea of how hot it is, imagine opening the oven door to check the roast. I'm sure most of you had to do this because the bulb had burned out. I had to do this because I never cleaned the oven window. That blast of heat hits you in the face and an automatic recoil moves you back a bit to escape the brunt of the heat. Now, apply that feeling to your entire body. But here, there is no way to escape, no where to run. Recoil all you want, but it won't do any good. Actually it makes it worse, as you're moving, making the sweat roll faster. Other people have said it feels as though the heat of a blow dryer is blowing in your face, all the time, over your entire body. I stand outside, in the shade, and it is so hot my ears hurt. I climbed on the roof of my office today and it was so much hotter up there that my eyes started to water. We have small birds everywhere here, either finchs or starlings. It is so hot here every bird you see is actually panting. (Of this, I am not kidding.) If they had long tongues like dogs, I'm sure they'd be hanging out of their mouths. I have been getting to work at about 0630, and it is about 85 degrees already. It's hitting temperatures around 120. And it's supposed to be in the 140's soon. They do not allow fresh eggs here, so I can't fry one on the sidewalk, but if there are any other experiements anyone would like to attempt in this heat, let me know.
When I ponder the great inventions of the 20th century, I always thought of things like landing on the moon, cell phones, the internet and breast implants, but nothing beats the invention of the air conditioner. When I get home and can have a beer again, that un-named inventor will get a silent toast and a word of thanks from me. (I'd toast with water, but it just seems tacky.)
On a non-whiney note, I have been in contact with advisors and instructors at UND about my return. I didn't realize how pumped up I was about my return until I read an email I had already sent to an advisor at UND. Please allow me to 'cut and paste' a portion of that email for you.
"I've been racking my brain over the last few days and I do not remember ever consulting with an advisor in the four years I attend UND in the 1980's. I want to ensure this time that my path to success is paved with the cobblestones of ensconced wisdom and not littered with the gravel of ignorance and indecisiveness."
I'll be the first to admit that I laid it on just a little thick. But you've got to admit, it's a cool sentence.
And then the reply I received confused me. The advisor suggested four classes. Four classes? That can't be right. Back in the day when I was a music major I had to take eleven classes to get twelve credits. Then I remembered that each band is classified by the U as a lab and is therefore worth only one credit. Never mind the fact that each band meets four or five days a week all semester, we still only get one credit. So if I only take four classes a semester, what am I supposed to do with all that extra time. Study or something?

Day 231 - Benchmark 4

In starting all of this, whatever this is, I never intended to have this as a benchmark, however when I received a notification email earlier this evening, I shed more than one tear of joy. I was informed in the email that my application for readmittance into UND was approved and I will begin classes as a full time student beginning January 2010. I didn't know how big a deal this was to me until I read those words. Getting back into school makes this silly-ass adventure of mine worth it; all of it. Now all I have to do is get home. I got hold of my Dad today. He is going to meet me at Ft. McCoy at the tail end of our de-mob. If I end up getting sent to Fort What-cha-ma-call-it for an extended stay for surgery and rehab, it will be some time before I can get back to North Dakota. If they release me to North Dakota for the surgery and rehab, we can have a nice ten-hour catch-up on the ride back. Plus the camper I am buying is kind of on the way back, so we can stop and pick it up. Oh Happy Day! I love my people. I am their sovereign. Pull!

Day 230

Those of you who know me are aware of the fact that my mind works in strange and mysterious ways. I read a question today in the blog of Matt Black that has me thinking; where did Yoda dissapear to? Well, where did he go? The setting for Star Wars was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, so obvioulsy there is no religon we would know, such as Buddaism, or Christianity, or Islam. The main office of the Jedi was constantly referred to as the "Jedi Temple". Was the word temple meant to be as we think of it, as a place of worship? Or does its title have different meaning? Why did he and Obi Wan simply dissapear, when none of the other Jedi dissapared when Senator Palpatine ordered the execution of the Jedi as he and Vader were establishing the Empire? Both Yoda and Obi Wan appeared to be at peace when they dissapared, yet after Vader killed the Emperor and was with Luke Skywalker at the end of his life, he did not dissapear, yet he said he was saved and appeared to be at peace. Luke set his body upon a pyre. Yet at the party with the Ewoks, Obi Wan, Yoda and Anikin all appeared as beings of energy. Without dissapearing, did Anikin end up in the same place as the others, or was he just visiting? Is there only one heaven, or is one shared by beings from different galaxies? Will we, upon our entry into the next life, see only those of us from earth, or will we see others? And how about the clone war. When those guys die, will there be millions of them who all look alike walking around? If you have a conversation with one of them today, how will you know which clone to speak with tomorrow, to continue the conversation? Perhaps they don't enter a normal afterlife. The story told of a galaxy far, far away is full of epic, mythic themes, so perhaps our fighting, warrior-like Jedi end up in Elysium. They may have their own little corner of the afterlife where none but those who die a soldiers death may enter. It's all so confusing. Good thing I don't dwell on this sort of stuff.

Day 229

To post this thought or not? That is the question. 'Tis it nobler to keep ones mouth shut and be safe, or to post a comment which may burn any last bridges which may have existed? To hell with it; post away. Back in 1997, some time around April, I took a week's vacation from work at the North Dakota Military Academy. By day three of the break I had a vivid dream. Upon waking I said to myself, "Cool dream. I haven't dreamed like that since,..since,..well, since the last time I took a week's break from work." I wiped the tears from my eyes and shortly thereafter began looking for employment elsewhere. The primary reason I left the Military Academy for other work; they stole my dreams. About a year ago I spoke with a mentor of mine who, after listening to me complain about not being able to make a difference in my job, made the suggestion that I quit. Honestly, until he said it, the thought had not entered my mind. One thing lead to another and I find myself here, and upon my return, if UND will allow, I shall re-enroll into school, get a degree, followed by a real job. Fast forward to 2009. In the past few days it has seemed to me that my mojo is returning. The funny thing is, I didn't know I'd lost it. And maybe I didn't lose it. Perhaps it was only buried, deep, deep, deep within what was left of my trodden-upon psyche. That's the problem with having your mojo chipped away, one small piece at a time; you don't notice it until it is all gone, or so buried you can't find it. Seven years of working in a dead-end job, being told by one supervisor and then another that I was performing my job incorrectly. I would open the Army regulation and show them I was following the regs to the letter, only to be dismissed as a trouble maker. It seemed as though everybody else knew I was doing my job incorrectly, but had no input on how to do it correctly. On and on this went, for seven years, slowly erroding my will to be an independent thinker and have the ability to make decisions for myself. Woe betide the employee who will not roll over and play nice. Which, of course, is what was wanted from them. There was no conspiracy between them. All they want, or any supervisor wants, is a nice, quiet day. They don't want people rocking the boat. (All boats rock; show me a smooth running operation and I'll show you an operation that's hiding something) They want peace and quiet and a paycheck. (And coffee) So, bit by bit, over seven years, I was slowly beat down and gradually dismissed. The job I had; loved it. I enjoyed being 'the guy' people came to, to get their food. I enjoyed being 'the guy' who fixed their problems. I derived satisfaction from knowing I helped somebody through their crisis. More than once since this deployment began I have told several somebody's that I had my fire, or oomph, beat out of me. But now, I think I'm getting my fire, and my mojo, back. I feel spunky. I feel like I'm making a difference. I am a squad leader of soldiers on a combat zone. (That wakes you up in a hurry.) I am the NCOIC of the PAR Team. (19 of us) I am the assistant supply sergeant for a unit, as of this morning, of 374 soldiers. (No pressure there at all) I am making a difference for the first time in a whole lot of years. I no longer feel beaten down. Come on world, bring me your problems. I will no longer stumble into the world with my head lowered. I shall face them, head held high, open wide open, ready to embrace all of the issues. No longer will I allow the will of the oppressor (supervisor) be turn me against mysef, if only to make their life easier. Will I stumble? Yes. Will I trip? Yes. Will I screw up? Yes. But I'll do it with my eyes open wide, driving forward. On the worse days there will be a Hughie shaped hole in the door. Bring it on! I'm over here! If anybody thinks I will ever return to my goverment job, they are sorely mistaken. That job may not have stolen my actual dreams, but just as bad, or not even worse, it stole my life's dreams. Stumbling from a do-nothing life to a can't-to-anything job and back again is no way to live. Not that I was living; I was existing. Piss poor way to get through life. By the way, over here, I dream almost every night.

Day 226

I don't know where these people learned how to drive, but their instructors should be strung up by their thumbs over a smoking pit of ten-day old garbage while being forced to listen to country music. I'm sure you've all seen video of local Iraqi's driving down the highway. If not, find a video on YouTube. It's scary. I am a what is called a Fobbit; one who never leaves the FOB, or post. I don't have to put up with the locals driving habits. Those of the American soldier, and civilian contractor, here on the FOB, are enough to give me nightmares. Maybe it is because they all know how poor a driver they are that they do not trust anybody else. People pulling right out in front of you because they looked right, but not left; driving the wrong way on a street, because it's closer; not understanding who has the right of way at a four-way intersection, when we all have stop signs. Hey! When it's your turn to move through the intersection, go! Don't sit there waiting for me just because you never learned when it was your turn. That's right; wave eight or nine other vehicles through. Never mind the five or six vehicles behind you, waiting, not so patiently, so they can travel to their destination. The geniuses of one unit here decided that when driving over a berm, with an extremely top heavy vehicle, the vehicle should be turned so it is at a 45 to 60 degree angle to the berm. Why did they have more than a half dozen roll-overs in a week? They couldn't figure it out. Somebody had to travel with them for a few days to pin-point the problem. Now that they are tackling the berm straight on, there are no roll-overs. I propose a new rule; nobody is allowed behind the wheel of a vehicle if their ACT score is in the single digits. (Is it digits or digit if there is only one?) Maybe this would be better; nobody is allowed behind the wheel of a vehicle until their ACT score climbs out of the single digits? Nope, we're back to digits again. I have it now; nobody is allowed behind the wheel of a vehicle if their ACT score falls below double digits. Ah, I get to use digits and it's even correct, and I don't have to worry about the singularization issue. What was I saying? Oh yeah, drivers. One day soon I will have somebody take a picture of me on each of the two vehicles in my section to post here. On Camp Grafton I drove an electric gator year round and here I sometimes drive a gasoline powered gator. Our other vehicle is a hummer which is not allowed on the roads, outside of the gate. It is a soft top with no doors or air conditioner or additional armor. At least it means we don't have to walk. 124 days left, but who is counting? Me!

Day 222

For those of you who do not know, my trip to Germany in March produced a MRI which showed that I need to have surgery on my knee. Due to certain restrictions during the recovery and rehab process, it is deployment ending surgery. The doc told me that since I've messed up my knee as much as possible, I can wait until my tour is compete and have the surgery upon my return to the United States. For those of you who provided me with your advice, thank you. I really want two things; to get out of here and to get on with my life. I need to be on orders for a year and a day to qualify for 60% of the new GI Bill, so I need to wait until my tour comes to its natural completion. If I leave too early, and get less than a year and a day, I'll receive 50% of the new GI bill, and that extra 10% will make a big difference over 4 years. So, here I sit, waiting for another 128 days so I can leave. I've decided to have the Army do the surgery and keep me on orders until I am medically cleared. I was a bit concerned over this option. My room mate's brother was here on an earlier tour and needed surgery upon his return. It's been a year since his surgery and he is still on a medical hold. We have a soldier who left here in February for surgery on his arm, and he is still waiting for the surgery to take place. Upon further questioning of my room mate, I've learned that his brother was shipped home for both the surgery and the recovery. At my screening at demob station, it is my intention to beg, plead and, yes, even cry if necessary, to have the surgery done in Minot at the Air Base and also do the rehab there. Even if I can't get in my car and drive all over the U.S. when I get back, at least the Army can pay to fix my knee and keep me on Army orders, and Army pay, until I'm cleared. And even if I am on orders and can't start school full time in January as I had originally planned, it gives me an excuse to spend the spring and entire summer pulling my camper all over the States. I'll have an extra month, or several months, or several extra months of pay to spend, so why not enjoy it? Baseball in outdoor stadiums; jazz festivals; Disneyworld; Disneyland; camping the Florida Keys; deep dish pizza in Chicago; a philly steak sandwich in Philadelphia; being a dead-head and follow Jimmy Buffet around the country for a month; spending four weeks touring the entire Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.; camping in every national park in the lower 48 states; having an ice cold beer on Bourbon Street in New Orleans; maybe even fly to Europe and spend time as a tourist. I'm already old as hell, and starting my life over again is a bit silly now, so what's another few months, if need be? And if I have complications and I'm on orders an additional 4-1/2 months, with my acculimated leave, I'd hit the 18 month mark, which means I'd qualify for 70% of the GI Bill. But with my luck, I'll be on orders an additional 28 days or something like that, and come home about Halloween. It is what it is, and in this case, it is what it will be. In case you're wondering how it is, the eight of us in the HHC section are all ready to go home, now. The fun of this deployment has run out. I am the only one in HHC not of the Kansas Guard. To my knowledge, there is not ONE of us who will remain in this unit upon our return. I know I've whined in past posts, but it's beyond that now. We're at the point where we expect to be treated like dirt by everybody else. If I didn't need that GI Bill money, my knee would have a sudden and painful flare-up tomorrow morning. Oh well, it is what it is, and whining won't fix stupid. At least, it hasn't yet. :)

Day 216

I've found a new technique for making it seem as though time actually passes. I'm not sure there is such a thing as the 21st century outside of the US and European zone. Anywho, the passage of time seemed to move faster when I started thinking of my remaining time as four and a half months. And then in two weeks I can say 4 months, and so on. I never thought that four and a half months would seem like a short time. Speaking of time, I had an interesting email the other day from the admissions office of the University of North Dakota. It seems as though they want me to appear before a panel to explain why they should allow me entrance back into UND. This hardly seems fair, as nobody bothered to invite me to a board when they kicked me out 21 years ago. I replied to them that I had a bit of a problem making it to the board on their time frame. Once they knew I was a bit further away than Whitey's, they said I didn't have to be there. They did send me a form to fill out for their review to see if they should allow me back in. What should I put in the form they sent me to convince them to allow me back in? Let me think. Oh yeah, how about, "I'm 21 years older and the government will be paying all of my fees, plus my living expenses." The panel meets on the 14th of May. After that I'll receive an email with their decision. I'll let you know how it turns out. Only 4-1/2 months to go!

Day 214

The pneumonia is gone and so, it appears, is my malaise. Thoughts of the future, getting home to see family and friends, are a boost to the spirit, and about the only way to make it to the next day. We had an interesting event earlier tonight. My immediate supervisor, Charles Craig, and his wife, Monica Craig, both here with the 287th, renewed their wedding vows. The ceremony was on the roof of the Chaplain's office with the Ziggurat of Ur in the distance and about 50 people in attendance. (I knew that everybody in attendance had to be in the Army; they were all there 5 minutes early). They asked me to play for their ceremony, and in honor of their friendship I think I did an ok job. Had I known they were going to march down the isle, rather than glide, I would not have had to learn so much of each song. A short phrase of each tune would have been more than enough. As it was, Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, of which I figured the final twelve measures would be enough, ended up being shortened, on the spot, by the four measure I skipped. (and still got looks from people that I needed to stop) The Trumpet Voluntary, final eight measures, went, while not quite at circus tempo, moved faster than the composer intended, I'm sure. It was a neat ceremony. Monica received special permission from the Brigade Commander to wear a civilian dress for the ceremony, and only in the building, or as was this ceremony, on top of the building. As the sun was setting behind the ever present wall of dust, the temperature in the mid 80's, birds of Iraq chirping in the nearby trees, with 50 people in attendence, on the second of May, it was like a cry to break the bonds of winter and to finally allow spring into the world. Granted our winter was in the 60's and 70's every day, but I believe the metaphor is apt. While not really listening to the ceremony, I looked over the heads of the crowd, past the Chaplain, past the Craigs, past the post, and looked at the Zig. Historial and biblical records show that Abram, to become Abraham, lived there. One of the earliest figures of the bible, post flood, lived two miles from where we were, while two people, deeply in love, renewed their wedding vows in front of the people they care about. Talk about a circle of life. If that's not a metaphor for spring, I don't know what is. Only 136 days left, but who's counting?