"Comforting the Disturbed, Disturbing the Comfortable"

Remembrance '06

2006-06-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

Composed on Memorial Day, I just now am posting this experience.

I sit on the grass next to Alex Carbonaros flags. There are two of them, one an American flag, the other a Texas flag. Much of his family still lives in Houston. Its late in the afternoon, but I sit, and cry a little as I speak to him. His mom is my friend.

I stop and get up to fetch water from the car. The little pot of live white daisies is wilting and dry. As I walked away, I hear a voice say, Are you one of Alex's family?

I don't stop, but keep walking, my eyes now swollen and red. When I return, she is still there. She works with his uncle, and we finally introduce ourselves to one another. "Christina" stays as long as she can, then we hug, and she departs. She took picturess and will send them, but I forget where or to whom. The air is feeling thicker now.

An old woman walks up with an accent, and her companion. We begin to talk a little. I tell her my name, and she introduces herself as Alex's grandmother. I hug her tightly and tell her how sorry I am. I explain to her that I know his mom. I never caught the couple's names, but as she left, the grandmother looked me in the eye and said, I still cannot accept that he is gone. A tear never fell from her eyes. This is one stage of a loss, common to all losses. Denial.

Her daughter (Alex's mom) would call me this evening, and sob as she describes her day at Arlington National Cemetery, and says there must be 40 new ones since Alex was laid to rest last Tuesday and when Bush spoke, she says his words were met with stone cold silence. All I could do was sob with her and promise to be available should she want to talk. We plan to get together when she comes to town.

All around, as far as the eye can see are American flags- one for each American GI death in Iraq and Afghanistan as well as the Code Pink representation of all those innumerable civilian deaths. The scene is sobering, and beautiful.Yesterday, (after hugs all around) it was VFP Jim and me, and a precious few others standing in line, planting those flags as the names were called out- and shortly after we began, I looked up and noticed that this 'human line' to put them in the hard ground kept growing longer. There behind me was my father, a 78 year old WWII vet who served in the Air Force. He was visiting from Dallas. He had a flag in his hand, and kept 'recycling' in line, even after the heat had gotten to me. He read names as well. He was proud to participate and contribute. I was proud of him.

Interestingly, passers by began to join the line, a Latino man who began taking two, then four, then six flags at a time, a black family with children, a jogger, a young man who lost a relative in the 911 incident. a cyclist still wearing his helmetit was amazing!I'd done three TV interviews and one radio but never saw myself. It isnt about me anyway. But off the cuff, one seasoned Houston reporter asked me why they were disallowed to photograph the coffins draped in flags...my response was that it might be the same reason "they" really don't want folks to see these flags en masse- and that perhaps the tandem question (and same answer) is "why do the malls advertise Memorial Day sales?" What draws 'us' to where on a day like this, and why? If it didn't go over her head, it surely may have been a baited question in the first place. When she asked me what "stop loss" meant, my jaw dropped. Surely she understood more than she let on...or did she?

As we prepared to close yesterday, Jim stood in the center of the display with a trumpet. I did see that on TV but I also caught a live glimpse of the crowd watching in silence during taps. My father stood and saluted. He was the only one who did. He said, in his final, simple observation, "No one wins in war".

Now I sit and quietly observe as the sun begins to set. There are people walking around, looking curiously at the display. Some of them are taking pictures. One is looking for a lost friend, his t-shirt says "Iraq". I sense he is a vet. I softly cry again, visibly sad, and can feel the presence of wandering strangers. They avoid getting too physically close to me, keeping their distance, presumably giving me space, obviously uncomfortable with my tears, and yet curious about the story surrounding this particular flag and the little pot of daisies. I hold still, in secret. The tears quietly flow.

A child yells from behind me as he and his family approach. "Cool!" he says, "Thousands of flags!" His excitement is in his voice, but his awareness is not there yet. Oh, if he only knew what those flags stood for. What will he say when he learns? What will we do when we all learn the truth?

Occasional vets come and go. A black pick up truck finally parks curbside after circling awhile. The riders display a U.S.flag out one window, and a POW/MIA flag from the other. They get out and stand on the sidewalk, both dressed in BDU pants. After 10 minutes of quiet conversation they leave.

To my right, I hear the voice of a very young girl. "Oh, these are WWII", the child tells her mother. "No," her mother replies, and her explanation is not decipherable now.

Silence again. I water the daisies again and they've perked up. Several hours have passed. I look up to see the small crowd changing once again, coming and going, solemn and respectful. In the distance, a woman with a baby that she carries in a sky blue sling walks among the thousands of flags- and when the breeze gently blows, they all obey in unison, exactly waving in identical fashion. The momentary view is exquisite, as breathtaking as is the entire display itself.

A car alarm interrupts this quiet scene, the train whistle blows in the distance as riders catch a far away glimpse of the flags. There is light traffic; I can hear the cars passing along Fannin Street. Many of the living continue to slowly walk among this beautiful, sad representation of the dead. I still sense the people who walk around me quietly as they slowly come and stare while passing by, but still, no one will get close. There is no warm hand on my shoulder.

Once the Quakers came, I walked up the gently slope to talk with them. Next to the civilian shoe display, they carefully unfurled their banner reading 'War is not the answer' and stood in silence, heads bowed as the sun set. We will talk again soon.

Tomorrow I would not return. Tomorrow would be reserved for an unexpected 'meltdown'. But to experience this day and take part in this incredible effort to educate the public (and nourish a few dying flowers), it will all be worth it. I mean the experience and meltdown, not the war. Not the death.

To Those Who Wait

2005-11-06T04:59:00.000-08:00

Last night ended the week long vigil this community had contributed to. I say 'community' because each night at 6pm, flags were planted to commemorate a fallen soldier in the Iraq war. You'd think humanity would have evolved past the need to kill itself this way, but greed hasn't left the race yet, so they fight and kill at the command of greed, hatred and illusion themselves. And they are heros, each of them in their own right, for they fight for the values we struggled for so many years ago. Chris is yearning, now dieing to come home. He's depressed, bored, restless. So I now ask, "Well why are you there?" and he now says, "I don't know". What now worries me is his morale is gone, his pat answers disappeared, and he's quite unhappy.

But the vigil still happens, and Jim said we hoped there wouldn't be a 3,000th milestone. We'll take those flags down today, and I will show up. For some reason, I just could't go each night as I had promised. I can't figure out exactly why, but all I know is I couldn't go. And each night, another peace group came and produced their own event, and every night, he was there, and I wasn't. Until yesterday that is.

Yesterday morning Katie and Dakota and I went to the funeral service of Will Betzner, a young man my twins went to high school with. Will was the most amazing person, his eyes burned right through to your soul in hues of sparkling blue, his hair dark and curly, tossed about his face framing it gently, and his smile infectious. He was a most curious kid, and he talked and talked, and often listened as well. A couple years ago he ate one too many mushrooms on New Year's eve, and came to me to try and figure out what happened to his mind. We decided he opened his kundalini too fast, and it all came rushing out, taking months for his eyes to focus again normally. At the tender age of 19 he knew he could hold no grudge with anyone, and was a friend to everyone.

On November 2nd he was killed in a tragic car accident in Dallas, and Friday night I got word he was gone. His mother was there but wasn't. She was burying her only child. The emotional drain made the day seem longer than it was, but I hung in there, waiting and actually dreading the memorial in the evening. I was ready for all this to be over, and still no speech was writing itself, so I just allowed it to happen once again.

Katie was curious about setting a coffin in the ground, so we waited until everyone had left the graveside, and suddenly the backhoes and tractors emerged, the men in blue work clothes appeared, and I described the steps it was taking to put Will in the ground. Her curiosity satisfied, we drove around looking for my grandparent's graves but couldn't find them. It's a crowded place, that cemetary.

We left for the vigil, and I was anxious, still not understanding my own apathy and resistance. Then we arrived. I'd had lots of problems finding speakers for this final night originally intended to be interfaith and ecumenical. Ramadan had superceded the Islamic leaders' availability, and the Christian leadership never responded to the call. Yet here was Fr. Wahl, appearing out of no where, admiting his decision to just show up, and he wanted to walk among the flags that stretched farther than the eye could see.

There was Pam, with her flute, opening with Ashoka's Farewell. Margd was there, Chas showed up, and Amy, ever ready to do her part. It would be Amy's third time here, but my second. Even Mary was ready to step up to the plate, and read a couple poems. When we assembled the flags she was worried about MoveOn, but now she was ready, and eloquent in her simple message to the group. And Jim decided to speak at last. The hour was filled to the brim, and the crowd was thin, but fully present. Old faces and new ones peered through the candlelight, and Herb brought the sound system, and made announcements himself.

Now, I began with a recitation of Flanders Fields, and kept going. I tried to speak from my heart, and describe the weird space I'd been in but the "flow" was escaping me. I pushed on. As I continued I was approached by a man who lived on the street, his driveway blocked by an attendee's car, so I stopped and announced. I began reading accounts and perspectives of combat warriors, but the candle I held caught the plastic holder on fire, so I stopped again, blew it out, and kept going. The light on the makeshift mic stand fell on my papers as I spoke, so I stopped and picked it up off the ground, then tried again, this time just skipping my own thoughts, and introducing Margd. Then I stood to the side as she began.

I know she had afew beers before she came into town, nervous and not knowing what to talk about. We'd discussed it an hour before, and I just asked her to talk about exactly what she was talking to me about. We decided it was hard, really hard to speak to an unknown crowd in honor of dead troops we loved so much who died in a war we hate so much. How do you talk about them without screaming out in frustration, addressing the truth we all know is there, this war based on lies of the admistration that sits in greed and is willing to take our young to their deaths for their own gain? Her experience with the other mothers of war had her stymied, had me stymied.

She did address the dialogue they'd all been having, and she was in pain as the mother of a conscientious objector, feeling now like she belonged nowhere. And where is the group of parents of these fine young soldiers who cannot go to war? There are some who would disrespect her and her son, and even threaten his safety, her safety. Their children are their heros, our heros, and we came to the conclusion that once they enlist they belong to us all.

As I listened, the sprinklers came on and I got wet. I introduced Amy, noting first that I nearly caught on fire, and now was drowning. Amy was brilliant as usual, her honor of the soldiers apparent, and her loss defined by her eloquence. She is the only Gold Star Mother for Peace we have, and she is alone in this huge city. I tried to tell her earlier in the week what I'd been going through, driving down the street and bursting into tears for no apparent reason. Her explanation was that we are walking between the living and the dead, and it's a difficult space to maneuver. Maybe this was it. I couldn't get a grip, or figure out why.

I began to read another soldier story, this one in opposition to this war, the last one in favor. As I reached the conclusion, the battery in the sound system went out, and the traffic made it difficult to hear, so I just kept turning the system on and off, off and on, and managed to hurry through the end, bringing up Chas.

Chas had to speak to the crowd without amplification. He spoke from his heart, unprepared but powerful. He is so precious, and so appropriate, respectful and truthful. He ended his talk with his love for music, and spoke the line to a song he was fond of..."I pledge allegiance to the world, and to humanity"...

By this time, Jim had run a power line to the podium so we had amplification again, but Chas had to struggle to get his talk on. I noticed Rene placing her tape recorder near him as he spoke, and now she had to move it back again. I read a prayer, and introduced Fr. Wahl. By now I was no longer present, and began to become self conscious again. How these things get pulled off I don't know, and couldn't figure out so many unanswered questions I had. But we pushed onward to the end. Had I finally given up to the futility of the peace movement in this awful time?

Pam played "America, The Beautiful". It was nearly over, I thought. Nearly over. And yet, it isn't nearly over at all. Jim did announce that we would gather the next day to take the flags down. The crowd moved towards the middle of the flags to plant five more, and taps was played.

It was now that I began to find answers. There were two families there who recently lost their children in combat, so Amy exchanged information with them, as they were interested in joining GSFP. One young boy stood before me, having lost his 19 year old brother in May, and he was clearly grieving, his eyes swollen and red. He was speechless, and Chas and I tried to tell him his brother died for us all, with dignity, with honor. We uprooted his brother's flag and gave it to his mom. He was searching for meaning, and it wasn't coming easily. The only uncomfortable moment was when a guy dressed like an American Indian took opposition to our attempts at consoling the boy, and he spouted how he disagreed, that the brother died for lies.

There was a couple who came from the Quaker house, and heard Margd. They told her there were others like her with children who were CO's and she was invited to join them. She suddenly "belonged" again. As she drove home she called to say she'd met a young man walking amongst the flags with a big red snake (I kid you not) whose brother had committed suicide after learning there was something wrong with his head, a tumor in the brain perhaps. He didn't want to burden his parents with treatment or worry. Of all places, under what conditions did this brother show up to run into her? They were both from the same community south of town.

And Chas stopped for a sandwich and ran into friends who offered him their extra tickets to a concert last night...and one of the bands playing was the one who recorded the quote he used in his talk..."I pledge allegiance to the world"...

And Galend and Jim decided they'd take on the lifer officers, recently retired from military duty who will debate the legitimacy of the war for a locally produced PBS program. The producer was seeking IVAW members, but the only ones in town are Chas and Katie. I sensed they'd be chewed up and spit out, neither of them having seen real combat in S. Korea, both out of the military by choice, not retirement. Now they were off the hook. A big thanks for VFP for protecting them.

The community was served. This was my assignment, to serve them in whatever way finally revealed itself to me. I only had to get out of the way. Good things do come for those who wait.

The 2,000th Soldier

2005-10-26T16:48:00.000-07:00

Well who really knows if this number is accurate I keep saying. I dunno really, I don' t believe much coming from the administration since the Downing Street Memos surfaced and proved it all a huge farce. That's a mild statement considering what else floats in cyberspace, the wild west of all rumors.

Many people are writing about this number. Many others are more eloquently stating the obvious and the not so obvious. I wonder sometimes how to actually blog when I don't feel like writing, not interested in putting the energy into it all. So I wait. When the spirit moves me, I write it down. And when I'm not moved, I make notes, and try to capture that fleeting moment later. Right now I don't feel like doing this.

So I took the short trip to the liquor store, bought two packs of Spirits, and a half pint of Jack Black and decaf. I'll kick back tonight, and wait for my ambien refill to be approved tomorrow.

I heard the best quote from T- she quoted Gandhi. He once said: "When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won." There's alot in that one sentence...quite alot.

Petra did the math, and figured out how many, based on the current run of dead and wounded we shall see by the tenth year, that figure Cheney threw out carelessly...and it's dreadful. If they think people are pissed now (and if they give a shit) they ain't seen nothin' yet!

I emailed Lietta this morning and shared with her the recent conversations with Chris, and the most brilliant thing he tells me is that he doesn't know why he is in Iraq. Doesn't know...when I ask him, he answers as if it's a quiz with a right and wrong answer. But I remind him there is no right or wrong in reality, there's only 'what's so'.

And so he just is sick of it all, bored, and wants to be home with his family. He is missing the firsts of his daughter who 'doesn't know his face'. She is cutting her teeth now, has one poking through and a 'next one' right beside it. And she's funny, curling her tongue over it, wondering what this hard rock is in her mouth.

I got a call from KPFT today, but didn't pick up the message until after they wanted a return call. Probably a good thing I missed that call, I have no idea what I would've said. I'm not in the mood for interviews anyway. I feel kinda depressed and dark, I only want to lay around and chill. But the house smells like the cat box, and the dogs are in at night to cut their mess in half, so my work should be halfed as well.

The speakers are lining up nicely for the first Saturday of the memorial we'll have. No one will committ for a week from now, except Margaret and Chas. And Amy. Her performance will have to be a repeat unless she can muster up something else to share. And I come away from the keyboard thinking, "We'll just read names to the drum beat."

Maybe this is what happens when you come down after the bus tour. Like a hard high after a hit of window pane, you come down, and it's not comfortable. What goes up must come down.

Except the number of dead soldiers in a war. That number never comes down.

The First Tooth

2005-10-21T09:02:00.000-07:00

I just discovered Dakota's first tooth breaking through the surface of her lower jaw. It's interesting that she's growing so quickly, and it's a privilege watching it all happen. Sometimes I wish Chris was here to see it all happening, but no such luck. The last time we spoke I asked him about a return date from Iraq. All he could say was that there are only rumors about it.

So we wait.

We keep waiting. Annie just called and is on her way to New York City. I shared with her the drama at Terry's and she shared with me the experience of the return of Matthew. She said the eagle had landed. She was blown away by the quality of the tears...she described them as pure mother's milk. She said all the things I told her about the wait were right. I pluck this from her email.

Interesting note.. Matthew was one of 12 Special Forces Marine Reconns..two were killed in Iraq. At the gathering in San Antonio where the families were screaming and making merry welcoming their loved ones, a separate mom arrived to hug the other Marines for being with her son in his last moments. She came to hug those whose were the last men to see her son alive. Think about that one today!

All Eggs in One Basket

2005-10-08T07:14:00.000-07:00

I've had a funny feeling for a couple days now about Margd and what is ultimately under her skin. I sense it there, as if I contributed to it, but 'i't remains unaddressed and unchecked. Realized, checked, challenged, I am nowhere further than I was three days ago. I realize that I've tended to put all my eggs in one basket with her kindredship, occuring like a friendship, and notice how quiet things are in and out of the activst community here. I wonder why, and wish I had more answers. I wish I could connect all the dots...

Interestingly, I just came from a lunch yesterday with David, who most likely knows better than I about the national interests under the guise of peace 'activists' and really, I trust him implicitly. This throws me off, like a curve ball, but in a sense also settles unanswerable questions about the leadership abilities of LF and crew.

Still I know something's off when it's off, and I can't shake this one. I confronted Margd about it yesterday, and was given a lame excuse for her inaction, which as another local points out has consequences the same as action taken.

I've decided not to blog in depth about the tour and problems I saw firsthand there. The thing was thrown together "on a wing and a prayer" in the words of Nikki, who in her inexperience, supervised and made decisions that in my view were flat out mistakes. It's a done deal at this point.

The MFSO community here is virtually non-existent, has been from inception and remains so in spite of several attempts at bringing them all out to play, and I'll discuss with Charlie tomorrow and feel out a new channel. Where was it that I heard, 'to see the light, you first have to feel the heat'? This question now remains; are we ready and willing to 'feel the heat' in order to 'see the light'? Or is it really less painful, less bother, more popular to keep our heads burried in the sand, hidden away from any light source that might be available?

And so, it seems to me that as time passes around me, the dust settles and the eggs eventually hatch. The fertile ones, anyway. Additionally I have little choice, other than waiting it all out, and remain hopeful that 'truth' will finally rears its glorious head among the lies still floating in the water we are all swimming in. Urgency envelops me all the time, and I don't need or want someone else telling me to do something, pressuring me, cajoling me when I don't feel comfortable with it. Still, Lietta reminds me all the time that I'm "on the bus" now and forever. Somehow this doesn't occur as pressure at all. Sometimes then, we just have to take the risk that all the while whispers, "Watch out, this one will hurt." Pressure continues to mount everywhere.

"Ice wedged fast beneath the rock
This morning begins to melt.
Under the moss, the water
Will be feeling out a new channel"

Here comes the sun... and I say,' it's alright'.

On The Road

2005-09-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

Who knew?

I stayed behind on the launch of the Bring Them Home Now Tour from Crawford and helped arrange Houston, then flew out to join the Northern route folks who had arrived in Minneapolis. At the time of this writing I'm back home, the explaination available on the web site...www.bringthemhomenowtour.org

I'm going to write some juicy stuff about the individual stops as time permits. Exciting, isn't it, to be living on this planet at this time!

For now I'm just gonna pluck from my own writing on the main page of the tour site and pick up later as time permits. And how about that baby! She's a looker isn't she?

This is getting good, folks. Stay tuned!

North Tour 'Swan Song'

September 13th, 2005

Sherry Glover's granddaughter, Dakota, in Crawford, TX

As I walked in that hot Crawford ditch August 6th, I sensed the cartilage rip in my left knee. By the time we reached Detroit I couldn't bear my weight on it. I had to leave the tour and return home. I'll need surgical repair of tear, scheduled for next week. I envisage myself temporarily 'in the stands' for a short time, and remain anxious to get back 'on the court'!

Secondly, my son in law, currently stationed just south of the Syrian-Iraq border checked in last week to say it would be a few weeks before he could call home again. Now I understand why. The media reports some sort of insurgent movement into Iraq along that border. Communication shuts down when a soldier is killed until the family is officially notified by the DoD so I owe my daughter the support she needs right now, and hopefully it will be only a matter of time until we hear from him again. Meanwhile, Dakota, my only grandchild doesn't know her father's face.

I addressed a crowd at a short stop in Highland, Indiana at the war Veteran's memorial. It was here I realized the true importance of this tour.

Anna, a 72 year old woman sat in front of me. Her son was killed in Vietnam 32 years ago. Today, Anna would join Gold Star Families for Peace. For a brief moment we embraced, and Anna whispered to me as we wept.

"I'm so sorry I've been silent for such a long time."

"No regrets, Anna. We 'arrive' when we 'arrive' ", I told her, and met Anna's eyes through my tears. I then thanked her for the courage to finally speak the truth which I know for her, as for all of us, is very hard to do. I promised her I would keep speaking out if she would!

For now, I leave with this memorized quote from George Bernard Shaw. It forever echoes what remains in my heart.

"This is the true joy in life- the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one: The "being" a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."

"I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can."

"I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for it's own sake."

"Life is no brief candle to me; it is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."

Duty calls. Won't you join me and Anna?

In gratitude and service to humanity,
(my name here)
MFSO Houston

Minnesota & Wisconson

2005-09-06T07:46:00.000-07:00

We ended up staying in the home of the Cradwicks. We arrived after the well attended church gig in the dark, Tammara clutching at the wheel always, and sleeping in the camper at night. I bunked in with Morrigan, and when I woke up that next morning I arose to a house with an elevator and four floors, and a lovely lake out the back balcony. My knee was bothering me, but I perserved. We had places to be....

And we arrived at the capitol building in St. Paul I think. It was a well attended event, Cathleen Rowley was there, and a senator who's name escapes me, but her son was killed in Iraq afew months ago. The speakers were awesome, the locals that is. And the rain came down.

We stopped at an Italian resteraunt leaving town and were joined by local organizers. People wanted to be with us as long as possible. They all seemed hungry and sustained by what we were doing. And there was a distinct energy around Cody. And Tammara. Still we were briefed about media and pres conferences. This was the first time I learned about hostile questions and how to handle them.

And people give us roses wherever we go.

Beatrice Salvador would hook up today with the central route, and Bill Mitchell would as well.

We arrived in Maddison Wisconson to a press conference where no press arrived, but a lone admirer did. His name was Tyler Mertes, and he is a law student. Tyler began to come with us where ever we went in Wisconson.

We stayed at Deb Kanutson's house for two days. Things were begining to get weird, but Deb was awesome and a great hostess. After lunch at Lila's we went out to the memorial Sunday Sept.4th, at "Arlington Midwest"- a good 45 mintues from Maddison. Karen was to join us there, and as Al had predicted, she liked to run the show. A nice lady, her speeches were written, read, and took lots of time. It disempowered her actual message, but before she joined us, she had already decided we would read the names of the Wisconson and Illinois troops who had been killed. This would be a moving and draining event.

No time like the present

2005-09-05T07:33:00.000-07:00

No time or place like the present! I’ll take some time teasing out from memory my hand written notes starting with a few slogans from t-shirts and signs at Camp Casey...

“Anything war can do, peace can do better”, “NEVER DOUBT”, “Tyranny Response Team”, Who Would Jesus Assassinate?”, “Fighting Terrorism Since 1492”, “Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved through understanding- Albert Einstein”, “If any question why we died, tell them ‘because our fathers lied!’”, “A patriot must be prepared to defend his country against his government”, “Be the change”, “Just peace works” etc. There was a moment when we watched John Ashcroft on a large screen singing “Let The Eagle Soar” (barf) while the two adjoining screens showed protestors marching against war, and the Patriot Act history, heading up to the beginning of this war starting 3-13-03. I felt a cool breeze, and watched as cel phones recharged, bloggers typed madly on laptops and children played in the background.

The next day I kicked off the speeches as Katie took photos. Damn it was hot and muggy under the tent, but the crowd was great. ABC news interviewed me and God knows who else. Dakota and Katie and I visited Joan Baez for awhile before she went on. We got some great photos of her playing with Dakota and as we left her lean-to, she motioned her hands in the air over Dakota’s head, and mumbled some sort of foreign language, a prayer type of gesture I guess. By 7:05 that last Saturday night, the crowd had thinned, but the weather had cooled and the food was awesome.

September 2^nd- New Orleans is out of control today, and I arrived in Minneapolis around 10:25am. I’d gotten up at about 4:45am and Cheryl picked me up at 6:30 then dropped me off at the airport. She hung around to pick up a rider for the Southern route, now in Houston and departing for Louisiana in spite of the hurricane. I’d spoken the night before at the rally in Houston, and was wiped out but couldn’t sleep.

I was picked up by a lovely older couple, Bob and Jean Heberle. They took such great care of me, letting me rest on a spare bed in their modest quiet little house. Bob was a VFP’er locally, and Jean fixed me a BLT that was to die for. I knew right then I’d need to gather addresses to properly thank these gracious people all along the way.

I thought I’d learned to travel light back during my trip to France, but here I was lugging three bags and forgot to pack pants. That would be remedied later in Chicago. But for now, I was in Minnesota. I was already giving phone interviews from the Heberle house and later would speak at Joan of Arc Church. I beat the bus to the church.

As it pulled up I watched in amazement. What I am about to do is way out of the box. I’m ready.

Out came the bus contents- Cody and Patrick from IVAW. Cody’s mom is Jeri of MFSO, Patricks mother is angry due to two deployments (one to Iraq) , and he’d only be with us a short time, his unit now being activated to New Orleans. Al and Raphael Zappala lost lost their son and brother, Sherwood Baker in the war. Tammara Rosenleaf, a newer MFSO member who showed up in Dallas for the VFP conference and was now on this tour. She never left Camp 1 in Crawford. Her young husband is due to depart for the middle east in November I believe.

There were three people coordinating for this group, and two of them were struggling for power and control already. Kat Doyle had joined late, and took the place of Marci, who was evidently resentful and angry. Morrigan was young but trained in media interface and coordinated the media for us. I learned that Mike Ferner and Mike Hoffman would later join us as would Stacy Bannerman and Karen Merrideth. Patrick would leave, I would leave, Karen would leave temporarily, and Kathleen would be killed off. The people literally breathed in and out of each venue.

Meanwhile, Back at the "Ranchette"...

2005-08-18T08:01:00.000-07:00

We were on the road as early as possible. Before getting about 20 miles out of Houston Margaret’s cel phone started ringing. It was Amy. She said “Cindy is going to Crawford this weekend and staying until the prez hears her out.” I imagine we were among the first to know, and by the time we got to Dallas, the word had spread like wildfire.

The conference was awesome except the times we got lost trying to find the hotel from the University campus. It was actually less than five minutes away, but we looped and looped from highway to highway, frustrated, tired, and in desparate need of a good night’s sleep. Finally Dick Underhill explained the back way, and we relished in the speed at which we began to arrive.

The workshops were impressive with a lineup that was stellar, the tables chock full of information and video DVDs- one which Margaret picked up and still is raving about- “Get this, and show it to everyone you know” she said a week later...”it will blow you away.” It’s called “Beyond Treason”. Now you’re on your own in exploring it.

Meanwhile, back at the convention, Friday night Cindy spoke, and announced her trip in the morning to Crawford. Dave said, “We have a whole unit here now, and tomorrow we’ll send out a platoon”. I followed the line of cars behind the Impeachment Bus.

The conference was really worth the money and time spent, speakers included Stan Goff, Anne Wright, Coleen Rowley, Jesselyn Radack, Camilo Mejia, Dhar Jamail, and of course Cindy. I loved Jim Hightower, and he delivered the humor as usual, with wit, truth and Texas drawl. Remarkably, the veterans in attendance with the military families and such blended together in solidarity and spontaneous strength. Who would imagine on Friday night at dinner we’d begin what is yet to be determined as a historical landmark and peak event in the social movements of America?

I couldn’t have known how spiritual Brian Wilson really is or that there were those who wouldn’t forget my name and face. I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet the young soldiers who’ve returned from Iraq now, and seen their own gentle recounts of experience serving honorably and living up to and beyond their agreement in the contract they signed afew short years ago. I’d never have seen or heard of Dr. Satoru Konishi who lived through the Nagasaki bombings at age 16. And I would never have known Cindy Sheehan was a vegetarian who eats fish if I’d not shared a meal with her on the eve of her action.

We traveled out in caravan following the Impeachment Tour bus, and made the trip mid morning that Saturday. David Cline had announced the night before we were ‘sending out a platoon’, that there was business to accomplish the next day. Resolutions had been drawn up and were to be presented and voted on, but it looked like Cindy was already upstaging this important business meeting. I started to stay behind, thinking the worst and wondering if Crawford actually had a jail. Stan said “Cindy is gonna get arrested and we aren’t here to bail her out or defend her.” He was right, but up to now there have been no arrests. Still, in recall of the ’04 elections and protests at the Republican convention in NYC, I shuddered at the thought of being held with 50 others in a make shift bull pen out in the hottest part of the Texas day. Margaret phoned to say there were glitches in rides back and I tipped my doubt towards going for the whole enchilada, and headed out, catching up with the group just before they arrived at the Peace House in Crawford.

The Sheriff warned her as she stood in the small gathering that he could take her message for her, but she stood firm. He escorted us all with his own posse, and we reached that triangle in the fork of Prairie Chapel road and got out to begin walking. The media was already swarming, Jesselyn had contacted afew friends in the media having checked with us first for permission...and they showed up evidently en masse. They were marching down the middle of the road, we were instructed to march in the ditch. At about a quarter mile toward the Bush farm, they stopped us, cars positioned nose to nose in the road, and said this was as far as we would be allowed to come, since someone apparently stepped onto the road. The ditch was at some points pretty high, unmowed, and full of fireants.

It was here that Cindy and Amy and I think Deedee sat down, refusing to budge an inch, and the group began performing for the media. “Bush killed her son! Bush killed her son!” they yelled. The cameras were clicking, the equipment whirling away, and the microphones began to come out. Margaret and I held onto that MFSO banner she had made the day before we departed for Dallas. There was something important happening, and we had no way to gage the full impact that was about to unfold. There was to be presential representatives sent to her, offering to pass her message on, but she was having none of it. She was going to personally deliver her vision on her own.

Cindy was determined to stay in Crawford as long as Bush was there on vacation- reported to be 5 weeks, longer than any vacation of any president, including himself, had ever taken. Meanwhile, there is a war going on, and 17 marines were killed during the first days of this event. August ’05, as it turns out, has become the bloodiest month since the beginning of the US led occupation of Iraq. Public polls are beginning to tip towards an ever-growing loss of support for the war efforts, and many are beginning to wake up and question what has now surfaced as pre-known information about the 9/11 incident. Bush had just previously given a speech where he said the marines and all those who’ve ultimately sacrificed their lives have done so for a “noble cause.” Cindy wanted to know exactly how he would explain this 'nobility', and said “He doesn’t get to use my son’s good name to justify this lie any longer.” She won’t leave until she speaks to him and has her say. The country has shown to be stimulated and moved by her steadfastness and has come to accompany and support her. I picked up a black t-shirt at the Peace House that sports the phrase, "If you're not outraged, you aren't paying attention! www.afterdowningstreet.org"

Jump forward to Wednesday. After returning from Dallas trip I decided to go again to Crawford with Katie and Dakota. By this time, Cindy was asking me if I had imagined this would happen. I confessed, how could I ? It was beginning to get scary. But people were coming in from everywhere, all over the world now. I stood in the living area at the Peace House late that night, Rolling Stone magazine on my left, Fox news and radio on my right. Everyone was giving interviews. A lovely young man approached us. “I’m Dante,” he said...and I saw the photo of his brother in uniform right there on his chest. It was Dante Zapalla. Tall, dark and handsome, he twinkled as he reached for and held Dakota. “I want one of these!” he said as he smiled. We spoke awhile, the three of us, and he took notes. He would eventually take our story and include it in one of his published articles that are now appearing on the MFSO, Common Dreams, and alt net sites.

“You’re Sherwood Baker’s brother, aren’t you?” I asked. Yes we was, and would I be willing to speak on Saturday at a rally being planned? I wasn’t on their list. MFSO had a meeting earlier that afternoon but we didn’t make it in time, and missed the call for a Saturday rally line up. Lietta had arrived, and was already getting eaten by the fireants as she was now camping at the site known to the world as “Camp Casey”. We were able to talk a while but I miss her and wish I could sit with her a while longer and talk more. That was the thing, I realized that this online community was now becoming real for me, there were real people behind the names I read about, and lots of love to go around. People were arriving with supplies, money was now being donated. Kay and Hadi were doing interviews and helping each and every person with whatever was needed. It was simply amazing. I could barely pull myself away, and when I did we finally arrived in Houston at 2am, jazzed and dazzled, ready to go back again. Balancing the home fire tending with action, I did. But I was missing the good stuff. Or was I?

By Sunday Lietta had posted: "It's about our soldiers ... always was and always will be. The Interfaith Service this morning among other things emphasized the dignity of military service and being a soldier.

The coalition between MFSO, Gold Star Families, VFP and the many others has coalesced in a powerful way and an effort needs to be made to strengthen linkage, joint efforts and mutual support of that dignity of our loved ones.

The callous political behavior of the pro-Bush demonstrators in Texas reveals a fundamental disregard of that dignity, preferring instead to say and do what it takes to support their guy. The "We Don't Care!" act implied strongly that "We support Bush ... We don't care ... and Bush doesn't care."

Bottom line is that the dignified life and duty of a single soldier is worth more and deserves much more than treatment as a political cause in such a way that leaves so many who may never be in harm's way behaving badly at the behest of manipulators who do not have the welfare of our military as the highest good of all concerned.

Camp Casey has never taken its eye off the soldiers and the willful actions of leaders and a president that have placed them in entrapment. The pain of those at Camp Casey in seeing regard for their loved ones and their own sacrifices ridiculed as mere opposition to a politcal party was palpable.

The more that kind of mindless support for Bush in the absence of recognition of the dignity and worth of those serving in the military, the greater the power of Camp Casey. It is for us to move it further in each of our localities.

If we do that, the silent majority will awaken and be a force Bush and his henchmen cannot manipulate. That is why attempts to smear Cindy have not generated the national reaction intended. They are losing.

No more killing .... no more. "

I passed it on, (replying to all) to Melissa, who had posted about vigils being formed on the Code Pink Houston lists- and never saw it come through. I wonder now if that list is being censored...

Everyone was talking, the media was picking this up and holding it now, and more people were heading out to Texas. The Peace House volunteers were sticking push pins in a map of the US using the list of people who signed in. Cindy said that Wednesday alone there was an estimated new 750 who had come through. And the weekend wasn’t here yet. Blogs were being set up and enhanced. Opportunities for contribution were opening. By the next day or two over $100,000.00 would be given and cards and flowers were coming in from everywhere. The VFP group brought the white crosses from California’s Arlington West” and a makeshift memorial was set up in the ditch. It would be knocked down and damaged on Monday August 15^th by a zealous right wing nut case in a pick up truck who would be arrested for his stupidity. He's charged with criminal mischief. But there are responses being posted now, one is outstanding. I want to post it, so here it is:

Mr. Northern:

I am a Veteran of the Iraq war, having served with the 4th Infantry Division on the initial invasion with Force Package One.

While I was in Iraq,a very good friend of mine, Christopher Cutchall,was killed in an unarmoredHMMWV outside of Baghdad. He was a cavalry scout serving with the 3d ID.Once he had declined the award of a medal because Soldiers assigned to him did not receive similar awards that he had recommended. He left two sons and awonderful wife. On Monday night, August 16, you ran down the memorial cross erected for him by Arlington West.

One of my Soldiers in Iraq was Roger Turner. We gave him a hard time because he always wore all of his protective equipment, including three pairs of glasses or goggles. He did this because he wanted to make sure that he returned home to his family. He rode a bicycle to work every day to make sure that he was able to save enough money on his Army salary to send his son to college. At Camp Anaconda, where the squadron briefly stayed, a rocket landed inside a tent, sending a piece of debris or fragment into him and killed him. On Monday night, August 16, you ran down the memorial cross erected for him by Arlington West.

One of my Soldiers was Henry Bacon. He was one of the finest men I ever met. He was in perfect shape for a man over forty, working hard at night. He told me that he did that because he didn't have much money to buy nice things for his wife, who he loved so much, so he had to be in good shape for her. He was like a father to many young men in his section of maintenance mechanics. They fixed our vehicles with almost no support and fabricated parts and made repairs that kept our squadron rolling on the longest, fastest armor advance ever made under fire. He was so very proud of his son-in-law that married the beautiful daughter so well raised by Henry. His son-in-law was a helicopter pilot with the 1st Cavalry Division, who died last year. Henry stopped to rescue a vehicle belonging to another unit on what was to be his last day in Iraq. He could have kept rolling - he was headed to Kuwait after a year's tour. But he stopped. He could have sent others to do the work, but he was on the ground, leading by example, when he was killed. On Monday night, August 16, you took it upon yourself to go out in the country, where a peaceful group was exercising their constitutional rights, and harming no one, and you ran down the memorial cross erected for Henry and for his son-in-law by Arlington West.

Mr. Northern - I know little about Cindy Sheehan except that she is a grieving mother, a gentle soul, and wants to bring harm to no one. I know little about you except that you found your way to Crawford on Monday night in August with chains and a pipe attached to your truck for the sole purpose of dishonoring a memorial erected for my friends and lost Soldiers and hundreds of others that served this nation when they were called. I find it disheartening that good men like these have died so that people like you can threaten a mother who lost a child with your actions. I hope that you are ashamed of yourself.

Perry Jefferies, First Sergeant, USA (retired)

Pretty strong, huh?

We went back Saturday and made it just in time to step onto the stage and speak. I had no speech prepared, and was limited to three minutes. Dante suggested that I speak to the experience of that first day a week ago, and today so I introduced my grandchild and described the transformation of the area over the course of the previous week. (Dakota has a onsie we made with an iron on transfer- it has Chris’ picture on it in his uniform standing in the sandbox, and the text says, ‘I miss my Daddy- Bring our troops home now!’ and on the back that yellow ribbon sporting the phrase, ‘ Keep my Daddy safe’) I told the people who listened to organize when they got back home if they couldn’t say here. Light a candle, get a group to light them. And we will be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that...and the crowd cheered. Medea Benjamin asked for my contact information. And we left again, pulling away really. It’s so hard to leave the energy being generated by this phenomenon.

Fast forward to Thursday. There are vigils now being held almost nightly. CNN is on the ground in Crawford reporting hourly, and producing specials on Cindy and Camp Casey. Strangely enough, I’m not getting any email. The Camp is scheduled to move today to a closer location approximately a mile from the ranch. The rancher who is sympathizing with Cindy is ironically a cousin to a local who decided to shoot his rifle into the air last week. His personal remarks about it? “This is Texas. I’m just practicing for the opening of dove season.” When asked if he was trying to send another message the smart assed red neck bubba said, ‘You figure it out.” And lo and behold, his blood kin has taken a shine to Cindy Sheehan and will give her permission to use his property to set up and await the president who stubbornly refuses to speak to her.

I had hoped to return as soon as possible to Crawford. I sure want to see Joan Baez. They say she’s coming this weekend. Of course now we have a situation. Cindy's mother had a stroke, she's left Camp Casey as of yesterday, but lo and behold, others are holding down the fort. It's amazing.

David Rovics ( who performed at the conference and rode to Dallas with us) e-mailed from the road. He’s written a neat piece about Cindy. This situation is moving very quickly now, and it’s rumored that the Freeland bunch from here will descend upon the little peaceful group this weekend which will keep some away. Too bad he's gonna miss the chance to "control" things on the ground there. Lietta has finally started to post again. Apparently her fondest memory of me is of my demonstration of lady-like "naturing", Texas style!

Houston has decided to mature a bit in it's solidarity. Several group met this week checking their ideologies at the door, and discussed the best way to form a Camp Casey, Houston. They are ready to set up in Hermann Park across from Mecom Fountain (where vigils are being held at night) as soon as Monday. I've been emailing back and forth with an organizer, and I understand they're now looking to support the troops, not gut them as suggested in a recent town hall meeting intended to pique thought regarding war...the targets being militarism, the media, and corporate greed and profit. Margaret is in San Marcos getting her Alan ready for college, Amy welcomed her new grandson on Thursday morning. I'm it for now. I put in a call to Nancy, but she hasn't returned it yet. Margaret was able to reach her for guidance with what's about to pop in Houston, and we're committed to keeping these basic tenets if the rest of the peace community is gonna back us: 1. End the war now, 2. Bring the troops home now, 3. Take care of the troops upon their return, 4. No war based on lies! If the focus doesn't at least dovetail on these main points, we disengage. We refuse to bring anything less than the light of integrity on MFSO.

Sometimes I want to just go somewhere, to a place where there are no people. And then again, for brief moments lately, I want to be in the middle of the energy and solidarity, never wake up from a wonderful dream. Then the baby cries...

...to be continued

Are We There Yet?

2005-06-20T06:07:00.000-07:00

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

* * * * * * * * *

Are we there yet?

How many times do you remember saying this phrase or hearing it from the children as you travel from one point to another?

I couldn’t sleep in this morning, the musings in my head dominating those precious moments of unconsciousness and restful peace. We just aren’t there yet!

Last Sunday George went into the other Vet Center having a recent site visit from the regional office, and he left pissed I think. So pissed at the incompetence he covered up for so many years he slammed into a pole and killed himself on his way back home. Actually, the official ruling was at first a heart attack of the widow maker kind, then diabetic coma behind the wheel. Who knows. And who knows what he found at the office just before he left. Between clients Friday night we went to the wake. We decided to skip the funeral Saturday; the Texas heat would have surely put another of us on the other side of that grass.

Today and tomorrow F gets to hold his own "dead wood" accountable for thirty years of milking the system designed to serve our vets. His method of dealing with the stress was to go out and buy himself a new Harley –Davidson. I hear him opening the back gate now to bring it out for work. The pressure and strain of working in the system is just "too much" for some, and insurmountable for others. So they turn their eyes away, and he just rides, and feels the wind and sun as he goes from one point to the other, dreaming of a road trip to New Orleans for a conference. I worry about all the hardware in his back that screams at him every day and never gives him a moment’s peace. I guess it's all about balance.

C called yesterday from Northern Iraq. I ask always how he is, he explains the mail truck was blown up, and all the mail burned. At least he received the ramen soup packets, and the noodles weren’t all broken up! It’s hot there, he’s tired. He feels he's missing out, and although I don't confirm it, I secretly know he's right. And I akwardly wished him a happy first father’s day as I watched his baby daughter sleep peacefully.

I notice an interesting thing, a most amazing revelation about newborns. They are empty, and void of any evil whatsoever. They are pure. They are Buddhas, fully enlightened beings, uncompromised in “no” conditioning. Then we get hold of them, and start the process of driving the neuroses and dysfunction into them.

I heard recently that the child born in the US today will be strapped immediately with $20,000.00 worth of debt because of the mismanaged war C is in now. And I recall typing those words in the listserv I left, “Even a terrorist was once some woman’s little baby”, and I stop for a moment to think of the innumerous circumstances surrounding each of us individually, that came together and gave us life. (This muse is not intended to defend acts of violence and terrorism- quite the contrary!) Each of is us unique, yet designed the same way. I just know awareness is what is missing for those who continue their argument and defense of the insanity we call “war”. But what an opportunity and responsibility we have with our new little ones who arrive now, at the beginning of the 21^st century! I conclude some people don’t want to "wake up".

Overwhelming, frightening, joyful, and sad all at the same time, I think of Cindy and her greatest loss, and can see her face in my mind’s eye as she testified last week before a Congressional hearing with Conyers and the Downing Street Memos. She will never know the joy of holding her own grandchild, her Casey gone now forever. And I am ever hopeful that her efforts will yield sweet fruit, her energies released from the unexpected death of her precious son she harnessed in a positive,constructive way. I feel both her pain and a slight twinge of guilt as I rock Dakota gently back to sleep, and wonder what will happen when and if her father returns from the God-awful conditioning of the sandbox. And they will leave the nest, this child leaving the only home she knows, beginning again. There are many new beginnings in the span of a lifetime.

But for now the bills are paid, there are lilies blossoming in the pond at the end of the waterfall in back and we can still afford gasoline. Those particular flowers need the mud and darkness to emerge from and reach for the sunlight if they are to finally pop above the surface of the water and open in full glory. I have to keep remembering their subtle lessons and wonder if this mud we, as a country, are stuck in is rich enough in smelly organic substrates to produce the flower we all yearn to produce.

Dakota turned 7 weeks old yesterday and is beginning to sleep through the night, her mother nearly crazy with exhaustion and worry about her father. The breast feeding stopped right after he went back to the war zone. She will survive on formula and soon get her shots. She will cry. She is so beautiful.

I plan to move on to efforts in pushing for a governmental Department of Peace, though I hear some legislatures feel it’s only another place for corruption. Don’t we have enough as it is? Corruption that is. Haven’t we learned about accountability and what to do with it? I conclude once again, some people don’t want to wake up.

The lawyers argue with one another on another "justice" listserv I’m on. They're proud of the 'system', and admit there are those who function within it who are bad, and incompetent. As one of them said, if you've never engaged in this system you think it's perfect and unflawed. If you've been in it from any angle you know it's not. The imperfection angers some of them, but as in all systems there are those who work it for their own gain, and from what I’ve seen the bigger the system, the more places "rats" can hide out. And the White House is huge.

It’s not really hard to be blue in a red state. But it is dangerous. I got a call from Tracy yesterday, and she told me about the murder of her husband, an Air Force colonel near retirement age, and the death threats he received prior to his demise. The DoD ruled suicide, though his hands and feet were bound with duct tape. She is looking for those Jacovik amendments. She knows the text, but can’t find it in constitutional law. Pandora has nothing on these families who lose a loved one in the military. So many puzzle pieces obviously don’t fit. They cry 'foul' and the military is quoted by one mother as “pathetic”, what they think you’ll believe about their investigations and excuses once the information is recognized as a lie, and checks and challenges begin to rise out of their pain. Then they're stonewalled.

And Jan, who has been working the case of her own lost son from 12 years ago tries in vain again to warn the Tillman family regarding what they are about to embark on. I realize that when this sort of thing happens to you, the college education goes out the window, and one can become an “expert” in almost anything from AIDS to autism. But I also see that even with all the information and education, regardless of the source, without accountability measures in place one is stonewalled and left to grapple forever with the results.

How much more will my grandchild be strapped with in debt as we ungratefully go into this illegitimate war another day? At what cost do we say we’ve had enough, and hold accountable the people who rip us off and lie to us again and again? How much more are we willing to pay? Are we disturbed enough yet? If not, what will it take? How much discomfort can we bear ourselves, and how much are we willing to watch a fellow human endure? How 'dark' can a human being really become? Apparently darker than I ever imagined.

Are we there yet?

Where's the love?

2005-05-15T08:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long time now. Since the last post I've had the grandchild arrive, started a job that I'm not wild about, and managed to bring C home from Iraq. This little baby knew how to get that done, and I cooperated.
C is telling us the stories now and they're not good. Well, war is hell. Or is that a cop out excuse to defend myself?
The baby is beautiful. The Mom is awesome. The Dad doesn't want to go back to the sandbox for the next year, and his nerves are shot.
Will Mommie be a casualty of the ready reserves?
I showed him a copy of F 911 last night, and he was pretty restless. I don't intend to compromise his morale, but I do want him to understand how much I support him, and how disturbed I am at how he is being used. It was a good refresher to watch the film. I hear another is out and will be shown at Cannes.
We may try to get away next weekend for girl time along with several other goddesses. My activism has ground to a screeching halt, and I can't find time to vaccuum or grocery shop.
Time is standing still. Too still. Or maybe it's a good thing to have it stand still. Trying to stay in the moment takes plenty of practice.
I don't feel like posting today, but in my effort to recover the username and password here I am. Maybe later.
On the other hand, maybe it's a good thing to post when I don't feel like it.
I wonder how T's blog is comign along...time to surf a while, and clear my head.
The Halliburton protests are on their way, and the time is ripe for standing and gathering in front of the recruiters to say "stop stalking my kids". It will be interesting to see who shakes out and actually takes action. All the agreement in the world won't make a difference.
Where the hell did the love go?
C leaves this week for parts unknown as his unit is moved North while he was here meeting his new daughter. It took three days of travel to get him home. He hates it, but he's not about to run, it's not who he is.
I'm worried about what this crap is doing to the healthy ones, the ones who at least start out that way, and already he shows signs of ptsd, hypervigilence and the likes of it all.
I have more questions than I do answers. Who do I ask?
And who will tell the truth about the innocents who are disappearing?
And how do we all stay positive in such an important window of time?
I am not present to love at all now. It's there, I'm not present to it though.
More to come, maybe even pics.

no matter how it feels

2005-03-06T08:27:00.000-08:00

Today it feels 'scary'. I'm in the thick of perceived threat, so I am afraid. I've cancelled yet another opportunity to speak out, my truth. Not ultimate truth, just mine. So I must be a bit of a hyprocite by promoting the idea that the truth should be told no matter how it feels.

Like a child who is asked, "Did you break that vase?" and answers truthfully only to be spanked with a paddle, or a belt, I feel wary and tired, afraid to say what plainly appears as a naked emperor to me. It dosen't feel safe here anymore, and everyone is separated, divided into camps that bitterly oppose each other. Welcome to America. I want to run away like a child but it's just not a practical solution as an adult. So I stay frozen in fear. But I'll survive.

I try to stay "mid-stream" right now, but find myself clinging to a rock in the rapids that are beating me from all directions, or so it seems. If I would just let go, I'd float along again as I should, but the unknown downstream is bringing on that big chill that I know is reptillian conditioning and intended to protect my life...fight, flight, freeze.

Well, the Metta Sutra would be a good post now, and read again, and help to rediscover a noble way to live. 'Frozen in fear' isn't noble, nor is it really living. And that's the truth!

"This is what should be done
By one who is skilled in goodness,
And who knows the path of peace;
Let them be able and upright,
Straightforward and gentle in speech.
Humble and not conceited,
Contented and easily satisfied.
Unburdened with duties and frugal in their ways.
Peaceful and calm, and wise and skillful,
Not proud and demanding in nature.
Let them not do the slightest thing
That the wise would later reprove.
Wishing: In gladness and in safety,
May all beings be at east.
Whatever living beings there may be;
Whether they are weak or strong, omitting none.,
The great or the mighty, medium, short or small,
The seen and the unseen,
Those living near and far awary,
Those born and yet-to-be-born,
May all beings be at ease!

Let none deceive another,
Or despise any being in any state.
Let none through anger or ill-will
Wish harm upon another.
Even as a mother protests with her life
Her child, her only child,
So with a boundless heart
Should one cherish all living beings:
Radiating kindness over the entire world
Spreading upwards to the skies,
And downwards to the depths;
Outwards and unabounded,
Freed from hatred and ill-will.
Whether standing or walking, seated or lying down
Free from drowsiness,
One shoul sustainn this recollection.
This is said to be the sublime abiding.
By not holding on to fixed views,
The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision,
Being freed from all sense desires,
Is not born again into this world."

This is the nobelest way of living.

Yes, I broke that vase. Sorry about that!

A Minor Event

2005-02-18T07:25:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been awhile since I've posted anything and revisiting the blog shows me to be more careful when trying to underline!

We received a call from the Ob nurse who tells me Dakota's mother has too high of a response to her glucose tests, so they want her back in asap for a three hour one. Okay. When she gets back from her last visit with Chris who deploys in March, we will go. Meanwhile, back at the ranch I am frantically trying to balance out my interviews, and personal appointments while maintaning the family in the comfortable tradition in which is is accustomed.

Dakota's mother-to-be tells me she had a nightmare this week and woke up with the fire flash in her dream...er...nightmare... as she witnessed in the abyssmal drama of the inner mind an explosion of great proportions, and the demise of her husband. The news stories and other sources of information have conditioned her already, and the worst case sceanarios are creeping silently into the recesses of her mind. Out they come, rudely disturbing her peace and daily living moments. Even in her sleep, her concerns are making their way into her consciousness, demanding attention from her. She was startled, and screaming out as she rolled over next to her young husband, and reached out for him to console her and assure her he is alive here and now, and he loves her so.

Rather than reposting articles that are already available to the general public or at least those who are fortunate to own a TV or computer (and there are many who still do not for a myriad of reasons) I will begin to use this medium as a sort of journal, if for nothing else, as a therapeutic way of venting and releasing my own demons. If no one reads, it doesn't matter.

Dakota is my grandchild, my first, a girl. Her reception into this world will be one of mixed joy and sadness, since only one parent will be available to welcome her. Her father will be in the sandbox for a year and leaves in a couple weeks now, for a still unknown destination. Already I see her existance as miraculous and a teacher of lessons yet to be learned. I worry about her future, and the immediate future of all mankind as we continue to blunder into depths unknown to all those who are not actually present.

I've inadvertantly stumbled onto things I wish now I never knew about. In my efforts to bring comfort to the disturbed I find parents of soldiers whose deaths are untimely and unexplained. Some feel the suicides are a last attempt at escape from the judgement of their peers. Others are certain the whole story has not been told, their circumstances unconvincingly putrid. The intuition always tells the truth, yet we are so conditioned to blow it all off as imagination. The most recent "theorist" I've met is a woman who's son died several years ago, and she is convinced that his death was a result of murder, and an elaborate cover up was set in place she explains. She has done her due diligence in my opinion. And she continues to hit wall after wall, and subsequently is reinjured, raped once again by what she identifies as an abuse of power. Perhaps it has become her addiction, the revictimization of a lone soul who can find no company.

I think we've all experienced abuse of power in one degree or another. Her case is an extreme one, and she has developed many metaphores to explain it all. She also has reached a point where she is so raw from the pain and ignorance shoveled on her by the "authorities" she once depended on for answers, that it is difficult to hear her, but if you strain and listen, her grief continues to haunt her, twisting her logic into contorted imagery and imagination. Yet she puts her heart on the line each time she reaches out and always comes up empty, angry, sick and tired. How much can a human bear as they struggle for vindication and completion?

We are such amazing creatures, always reaching for the light in our moments of darkness that too often stretch into minutes, hours, days and years. Humanity never ceases to delight me with it's good and bad, positive and negative, love and hatred.

I could go on, but I will stop for now and see if I can return and tease this out more. Meanwhile, I prepare to welcome Dakota, an American Indian name for "Friend". Will my sole preparation be enough to see her through her own moments of doubt and pain? At this point, I remain doubtful, yet I cannot and will not surrender.

"Even a minor event in the life of a child is an event of that child's world and thus a world event." (Gaston Bachelard) How wise we would be to heed these words!

Healing doesn't mean 'forgetting'...

2005-01-26T13:54:00.000-08:00

I hope this counselor does't mind if I post this here. I woke up to the news of a helicopter crashing in Iraq today claiming the lives of 31 Marines and yet another bunch of soldiers on this same day.
I am all too reminded of the grief of losing a child to death. The 7th anniversary is coming...every year on my birthday, I have to remember again and again.
It won't stop until I die, until that last birthday.
Life is so fragile. So fragile...war seems like such a squander of good precious life...

********************************************************************

MY OLD FRIEND GRIEF

My old friend Grief is back. He comes to visit me once in a while just to remind me that I'm a broken man. Surely there has been much healing since my son died six years ago today,and surely I have adjusted to a world without him by now. But the truth, we never completely healed, we never totally adjust to the loss of a major love.

Such is the nature of loss that no matter how much time has passed, and no matter how muchlife has been experienced, the heart of the bereaved will never be the same. It is as though a part of us also dies with the person we lose through death, or other forms of permanent separation. We will be all right, but we will never be the same.

And so my old friend Grief drops into say hello. Sometimes he enters through the door of my memory. I'll hear a certain song or smell a certain fragrance, or I'll look at a certain picture and I'll remember how it used to be. Sometimes it brings a smile to my face, sometimes a tear.

Some may say that such remembering is not healthy, that we ought not to dwell on thoughts that make us sad. Yet, the opposite is true. Grief revisited is grief acknowledged, and grief confronted is grief resolved.

But if grief is resolved, why do we still feel a sense of loss come anniversaries and holidays, and even when we least expect it? Why do we feel a lump in our throat, even six years after the loss? It is because healing does not mean forgetting, and because moving on with life does not mean that we don't take a part of our lost loved one with us.

Of course, the intensity of the pain decreases over time if we allow grief to visit from time to time. But if the intensity remains, or if our life is so dysfunctional years after the loss we may be stuck and in need of professional help to get unstuck.

Sometimes my old friend Grief sneaks up on me. I'll feel an unexplained but profound sadness that clings to me for days. I'll recognize the grief and cry a little, and I can go on. It is as though the ones we have loved and lost are determined not to be forgotten.

My old friend Grief doesn't get in the way of my living. He just wants to come a long and chat sometimes. In fact, Grief has taught me a few things about living that I would not have learned on my own.

Old Grief has taught me, over the years, that if I try to deny the reality of a major loss in my life I end up having to deny life altogether. He has taught me that although the pain of loss is great, I must confront it and experience it fully or risk emotional paralysis.

Old Grief has also taught me that I can survive even greater losses, and that although my world is very different after a major loss, it is still my world and I must live in. It has taught me that when I am pruned by the loss that come, when I let go. I can flourish again in the season and bring forth the good fruit that comes, not in spite of my loss, but because of it.

My old friend Grief has taught me that the loss of a loved one does not mean the loss of love, for love is stronger than separation and longer than the permanence of death.

My old friend Grief may leave me for a while, but he we'll be back again to remind me to confront my new reality, and to gain through the loss and pain.

"I will turn their mourning and to joy. I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow." (Jeremiah 31: 13)

The Author of this article, MR Adolfo Quezada, is a Tucson counselor.

Equal Time for Soldier's Truths

2005-01-22T04:19:00.000-08:00

(Bear with me here, Kids, this'll be a pretty long read.)

"It's often said that there are two (at least- and sometimes more) sides to every story. These pieces are written by two different soldiers with different perspectives- and they've both "been there" and speak their realities from their own viewpoints. Which one do we subscribe to? Who and what do we believe? What is YOUR truth today? Will it be exactly the same tomorrow?

We are continuously influenced by the media, and by our communities, and now by the material available in cyberspace. We take it in, digest it then draw our own conclusions. If we are to effectively formulate our own opinions and assessments we have to keep opened minds (or not) and allow for views (or not) we may or may not share. All is open to interpretation and quite naturally skewed by our own unique conditioning. Differences yield dimension and unlimited possibility. All is not necessarily black and white! Do you have technicolor in your thinking?

At the end of the day, we'll 'decide' one, and 'choose' another. Another option is to just choose, then choose, then choose again. What I like about these stories and viewpoints is that they are generated by a first hand view...and what I don't like about 'em is that they are sometimes misused by others to justify a position that cannot or will not alter/falter.

What I love about my mind is that I can (and do) change it anytime I want to! It keeps other people on their toes! Can you change yours? Is it easy to do, or is it a struggle? What do you love about YOUR mind? Do you have the courage to take a stand and say, "I changed my mind..." in the face of "How dare you think for yourself"?

Warning: Some may disrespect the ability to think critically and quite possibly call you a 'flip-flopper' if you do (particularly if your view doesn't align with theirs)! Sound familiar? Thoughts? Comments?"

-eyes wide opened

************************************************************************
Media's coverage has distorted world's view of Iraqi reality
By LTC Tim Ryan
SPECIAL TO WORLD TRIBUNE.COM
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Editors' Note: LTC Tim Ryan is Commander, Task Force 2-12 Cavalry, First Cavalry Division in Iraq. He led troops into battle in Fallujah late last year and is now involved in security operations for the upcoming elections. He wrote the following during "down time" after the Fallujah operation. His views are his own.

All right, I've had enough. I am tired of reading distorted and grossly exaggerated stories from major news organizations about the "failures" in the war in Iraq. "The most trusted name in news" and a long list of others continue to misrepresent the scale of events in Iraq. Print and video journalists are covering only a fraction of the events in Iraq and, more often than not, the events they cover are only negative.
The inaccurate picture they paint has distorted the world view of the daily realities in Iraq. The result is a further erosion of international support for the United States' efforts there, and a strengthening of the insurgents' resolve and recruiting efforts while weakening our own. Through their incomplete, uninformed and unbalanced reporting, many members of the media covering the war in Iraq are aiding and abetting the enemy.
The fact is the Coalition is making steady progress in Iraq, but not without ups and downs. So why is it that no matter what events unfold, good or bad, the media highlights mostly the negative aspects of the event? The journalistic adage, "If it bleeds, it leads," still applies in Iraq, but why only when it's American blood?
As a recent example, the operation in Fallujah delivered an absolutely devastating blow to the insurgency. Though much smaller in scope, clearing Fallujah of insurgents arguably could equate to the Allies' breakout from the hedgerows in France during World War II. In both cases, our troops overcame a well-prepared and solidly entrenched enemy and began what could be the latter's last stand. In Fallujah, the enemy death toll has exceeded 1,500 and still is climbing. Put one in the win column for the good guys, right? Wrong. As soon as there was nothing negative to report about Fallujah, the media shifted its focus to other parts of the country.
More recently, a major news agency's website lead read: "Suicide Bomber Kills Six in Baghdad" and "Seven Marines Die in Iraq Clashes." True, yes. Comprehensive, no. Did the author of this article bother to mention that Coalition troops killed 50 or so terrorists while incurring those seven losses? Of course not. Nor was there any mention about the substantial progress these offensive operations continue to achieve in defeating the insurgents. Unfortunately, this sort of incomplete reporting has become the norm for the media, whose poor job of presenting a complete picture of what is going on in Iraq borders on being criminal.
Much of the problem is about perspective, putting things in scale and balance. What if domestic news outlets continually fed American readers headlines like: "Bloody Week on U.S. Highways: Some 700 Killed," or "More Than 900 Americans Die Weekly from Obesity-Related Diseases"? Both of these headlines might be true statistically, but do they really represent accurate pictures of the situations? What if you combined all of the negatives to be found in the state of Texas and used them as an indicator of the quality of life for all Texans? Imagine the headlines: "Anti-law Enforcement Elements Spread Robbery, Rape and Murder through Texas Cities." For all intents and purposes, this statement is true for any day of any year in any state. True — yes, accurate — yes, but in context with the greater good taking place — no! After a year or two of headlines like these, more than a few folks back in Texas and the rest of the U.S. probably would be ready to jump off of a building and end it all. So, imagine being an American in Iraq right now.
From where I sit in Iraq, things are not all bad right now. In fact, they are going quite well. We are not under attack by the enemy; on the contrary, we are taking the fight to him daily and have him on the ropes. In the distance, I can hear the repeated impacts of heavy artillery and five-hundred-pound bombs hitting their targets. The occasional tank main gun report and the staccato rhythm of a Marine Corps LAV or Army Bradley Fighting Vehicle's 25-millimeter cannon provide the bass line for a symphony of destruction. As elements from all four services complete the absolute annihilation of the insurgent forces remaining in Fallujah, the area around the former insurgent stronghold is more peaceful than it has been for more than a year.
The number of attacks in the greater Al Anbar Province is down by at least 70-80 percent from late October — before Operation Al Fajar began. The enemy in this area is completely defeated, but not completely gone. Final eradication of the pockets of insurgents will take some time, as it always does, but the fact remains that the central geographic stronghold of the insurgents is now under friendly control. That sounds a lot like success to me. Given all of this, why don't the papers lead with "Coalition Crushes Remaining Pockets of Insurgents" or "Enemy Forces Resort to Suicide Bombings of Civilians"? This would paint a far more accurate picture of the enemy's predicament over here. Instead, headlines focus almost exclusively on our hardships.
What about the media's portrayal of the enemy? Why do these ruthless murderers, kidnappers and thieves get a pass when it comes to their actions? What did the the media show or tell us about Margaret Hassoon, the director of C.A.R.E. in Iraq and an Iraqi citizen, who was kidnapped, brutally tortured and left disemboweled on a street in Fallujah? Did anyone in the press show these images over and over to emphasize the moral failings of the enemy as they did with the soldiers at Abu Ghuraib? Did anyone show the world how this enemy had huge stockpiles of weapons in schools and mosques, or how he used these protected places as sanctuaries for planning and fighting in Fallujah and the rest of Iraq? Are people of the world getting the complete story? The answer again is no! What the world got instead were repeated images of a battle-weary Marine who made a quick decision to use lethal force and who immediately was tried in the world press. Was this one act really illustrative of the overall action in Fallujah? No, but the Marine video clip was shown an average of four times each hour on just about every major TV news channel for a week. This is how the world views our efforts over here and stories like this without a counter continually serve as propaganda victories for the enemy. Al Jazeera isn't showing the film of the C.A.R.E. worker, but is showing the clip of the Marine. Earlier this year, the Iraqi government banned Al Jazeera from the country for its inaccurate reporting. Wonder where they get their information now? Well, if you go to the Internet, you'll find a web link from the Al Jazeera home page to CNN's home page. Very interesting.
The operation in Fallujah is only one of the recent examples of incomplete coverage of the events in Iraq. The battle in Najaf last August provides another. Television and newspapers spilled a continuous stream of images and stories about the destruction done to the sacred city, and of all the human suffering allegedly brought about by the hands of the big, bad Americans. These stories and the lack of anything to counter them gave more fuel to the fire of anti-Americanism that burns in this part of the world. Those on the outside saw the Coalition portrayed as invaders or oppressors, killing hapless Iraqis who, one was given to believe, simply were trying to defend their homes and their Muslim way of life.
Such perceptions couldn't be farther from the truth. What noticeably was missing were accounts of the atrocities committed by the Mehdi Militia — Muqtada Al Sadr's band of henchmen. While the media was busy bashing the Coalition, Muqtada's boys were kidnapping policemen, city council members and anyone else accused of supporting the Coalition or the new government, trying them in a kangaroo court based on Islamic Shari'a law, then brutally torturing and executing them for their "crimes." What the media didn't show or write about were the two hundred-plus headless bodies found in the main mosque there, or the body that was put into a bread oven and baked. Nor did they show the world the hundreds of thousands of mortar, artillery and small arms rounds found within the "sacred" walls of the mosque. Also missing from the coverage was the huge cache of weapons found in Muqtada's "political" headquarters nearby. No, none of this made it to the screen or to print. All anyone showed were the few chipped tiles on the dome of the mosque and discussion centered on how we, the Coalition, had somehow done wrong. Score another one for the enemy's propaganda machine.
Now, compare the Najaf example to the coverage and debate ad nauseam of the Abu Ghuraib Prison affair. There certainly is no justification for what a dozen or so soldiers did there, but unbalanced reporting led the world to believe that the actions of the dozen were representative of the entire military. This has had an incredibly negative effect on Middle Easterners' already sagging opinion of the U.S. and its military. Did anyone show the world images of the 200 who were beheaded and mutilated in Muqtada's Shari'a Law court, or spend the next six months talking about how horrible all of that was? No, of course not. Most people don't know that these atrocities even happened. It's little wonder that many people here want us out and would vote someone like Muqtada Al Sadr into office given the chance — they never see the whole truth. Strange, when the enemy is the instigator the media does not flash images across the screens of televisions in the Middle East as they did with Abu Ghuraib. Is it because the beheaded bodies might offend someone? If so, then why do we continue see photos of the naked human pyramid over and over?
So, why doesn't the military get more involved in showing the media the other side of the story? The answer is they do. Although some outfits are better than others, the Army and other military organizations today understand the importance of getting out the story — the whole story — and trains leaders to talk to the press. There is a saying about media and the military that goes: "The only way the media is going to tell a good story is if you give them one to tell." This doesn't always work as planned. Recently, when a Coalition spokesman tried to let TV networks in on opening moves in the Fallujah operation, they misconstrued the events for something they were not and then blamed the military for their gullibility. CNN recently aired a "special report" in which the cable network accused the military of lying to it and others about the beginning of the Fallujah operation. The incident referred to took place in October when a Marine public affairs officer called media representatives and told them that an operation was about to begin. Reporters rushed to the outskirts of Fallujah to see what they assumed was going to be the beginning of the main attack on the city. As it turned out, what they saw were tactical "feints" designed to confuse the enemy about the timing of the main attack, then planned to take place weeks later.
Once the network realized that major combat operations wouldn't start for several more weeks, CNN alleged that the Marines had used them as a tool for their deception operation. Now, they say they want answers from the military and the administration on the matter. The reality appears to be that in their zeal to scoop their competition, CNN and others took the information they were given and turned it into what they wanted it to be. Did the military lie to the media: no. It is specifically against regulations to provide misinformation to the press. However, did the military planners anticipate that reporters would take the ball and run with it, adding to the overall deception plan? Possibly. Is that unprecedented or illegal? Of course not.
CNN and others say they were duped by the military in this and other cases. Yet, they never seem to be upset by the undeniable fact that the enemy manipulates them with a cunning that is almost worthy of envy. You can bet that terrorist leader Abu Musab Al Zarqawi has his own version of a public affairs officer and it is evident that he uses him to great effect. Each time Zarqawi's group executes a terrorist act such as a beheading or a car bomb, they have a prepared statement ready to post on their website and feed to the press. Over-eager reporters take the bait, hook, line and sinker, and report it just as they got it.
Did it ever occur to the media that this type of notoriety is just what the terrorists want and need? Every headline they grab is a victory for them. Those who have read the ancient Chinese military theorist and army general Sun Tzu will recall the philosophy of "Kill one, scare ten thousand" as the basic theory behind the strategy of terrorism. Through fear, the terrorist can then manipulate the behavior of the masses. The media allows the terrorist to use relatively small but spectacular events that directly affect very few, and spread them around the world to scare millions. What about the thousands of things that go right every day and are never reported? Complete a multi-million-dollar sewer project and no one wants to cover it, but let one car bomb go off and it makes headlines. With each headline, the enemy scores another point and the good-guys lose one. This method of scoring slowly is eroding domestic and international support while fueling the enemy's cause.
I believe one of the reasons for this shallow and subjective reporting is that many reporters never actually cover the events they report on. This is a point of growing concern within the Coalition. It appears many members of the media are hesitant to venture beyond the relative safety of the so-called "International Zone" in downtown Baghdad, or similar "safe havens" in other large cities. Because terrorists and other thugs wisely target western media members and others for kidnappings or attacks, the westerners stay close to their quarters. This has the effect of holding the media captive in cities and keeps them away from the broader truth that lies outside their view. With the press thus cornered, the terrorists easily feed their unwitting captives a thin gruel of anarchy, one spoonful each day. A car bomb at the entry point to the International Zone one day, a few mortars the next, maybe a kidnapping or two thrown in. All delivered to the doorsteps of those who will gladly accept it without having to leave their hotel rooms — how convenient.
The scene is repeated all too often: an attack takes place in Baghdad and the morning sounds are punctuated by a large explosion and a rising cloud of smoke. Sirens wail in the distance and photographers dash to the scene a few miles away. Within the hour, stern-faced reporters confidently stare into the camera while standing on the balcony of their tenth-floor Baghdad hotel room, their back to the city and a distant smoke plume rising behind them. More mayhem in Gotham City they intone, and just in time for the morning news. There is a transparent reason why the majority of car bombings and other major events take place before noon Baghdad-time; any later and the event would miss the start of the morning news cycle on the U.S. east coast. These terrorists aren't stupid; they know just what to do to scare the masses and when to do it. An important key to their plan is manipulation of the news media. But, at least the reporters in Iraq are gathering information and filing their stories, regardless of whether or the stories are in perspective. Much worse are the "talking heads" who sit in studios or offices back home and pontificate about how badly things are going when they never have been to Iraq and only occasionally leave Manhattan.
Almost on a daily basis, newspapers, periodicals and airwaves give us negative views about the premises for this war and its progress. It seems that everyone from politicians to pop stars are voicing their unqualified opinions on how things are going. Recently, I saw a Rolling Stone magazine and in bold print on the cover was, "Iraq on Fire; Dispatches from the Lost War." Now, will someone please tell me who at Rolling Stone or just about any other "news" outlet is qualified to make a determination as to when all is lost and it's time to throw in the towel? In reality, such flawed reporting serves only to misshape world opinion and bolster the enemy's position. Each enemy success splashed across the front pages and TV screens of the world not only emboldens them, but increases their ability to recruit more money and followers.
So what are the credentials of these self proclaimed "experts"? The fact is that most of those on whom we rely for complete and factual accounts have little or no experience or education in counter-insurgency operations or in nation-building to support their assessments. How would they really know if things are going well or not? War is an ugly thing with many unexpected twists and turns. Who among them is qualified to say if this one is worse than any other at this point? What would they have said in early 1942 about our chances of winning World War II? Was it a lost cause too? How much have these "experts" studied warfare and counter-insurgencies in particular? Have they ever read Roger Trinquier's treatise Modern Warfare: A French View on Counter-insurgency (1956)? He is one of the few French military guys who got it right. The Algerian insurgency of the 1950s and the Iraq insurgency have many similarities. What about Napoleon's campaigns in Sardinia in 1805-07? Again, there are a lot of similarities to this campaign. Have they studied that and contrasted the strategies? Or, have they even read Mao Zedung's theories on insurgencies, or Nygen Giap's, or maybe Che' Gueverra's? Have they seen any of Sun Tzu's work lately? Who are these guys? It's time to start studying, folks. If a journalist doesn't recognize the names on this list, he or she probably isn't qualified to assess the state of this or any other campaign's progress.
Worse yet, why in the world would they seek opinion from someone who probably knows even less than they do about the state of affairs in Iraq? It sells commercials, I suppose. But, I find it amazing that some people are more apt to listen to a movie star's or rock singer's view on how we should prosecute world affairs than to someone whose profession it is to know how these things should go. I play the guitar, but Bruce Springsteen doesn't listen to me play. Why should I be subjected to his views on the validity of the war? By profession, he's a guitar player. Someone remind me what it is that makes Sean Penn an expert on anything. It seems that anyone who has a dissenting view is first to get in front of the camera. I'm all for freedom of speech, but let's talk about things we know. Otherwise, television news soon could have about as much credibility as "The Bachelor" has for showing us truly loving couples.
Also bothersome are references by "experts" on how "long" this war is taking. I've read that in the world of manufacturing, you can have only two of the following three qualities when developing a product — cheap, fast or good. You can produce something cheap and fast, but it won't be good; good and fast, but it won't be cheap; good and cheap, but it won't be fast. In this case, we want the result to be good and we want it at the lowest cost in human lives. Given this set of conditions, one can expect this war is to take a while, and rightfully so. Creating a democracy in Iraq not only will require a change in the political system, but the economic system as well. Study of examples of similar socio-economic changes that took place in countries like Chile, Bulgaria, Serbia, Russia and other countries with oppressive Socialist dictatorships shows that it took seven to ten years to move those countries to where they are now. There are many lessons to be learned from these transfomations, the most important of which is that change doesn't come easily, even without an insurgency going on. Maybe the experts should take a look at all of the work that has gone into stabilizing Bosnia-Herzegovina over the last 10 years. We are just at the 20-month mark in Iraq, a place far more oppressive than Bosnia ever was. If previous examples are any comparison, there will be no quick solutions here, but that should be no surprise to an analyst who has done his or her homework.
This war is not without its tragedies; none ever are. The key to the enemy's success is use of his limited assets to gain the greatest influence over the masses. The media serves as the glass through which a relatively small event can be magnified to international proportions, and the enemy is exploiting this with incredible ease. There is no good news to counteract the bad, so the enemy scores a victory almost every day. In its zeal to get to the hot spots and report the latest bombing, the media is missing the reality of a greater good going on in Iraq. We seldom are seen doing anything right or positive in the news. People believe what they see, and what people of the world see almost on a daily basis is negative. How could they see it any other way? These images and stories, out of scale and context to the greater good going on over here, are just the sort of thing the terrorists are looking for. This focus on the enemy's successes strengthens his resolve and aids and abets his cause. It's the American image abroad that suffers in the end.
Ironically, the press freedom that we have brought to this part of the world is providing support for the enemy we fight. I obviously think it's a disgrace when many on whom the world relies for news paint such an incomplete picture of what actually has happened. Much too much is ignored or omitted. I am confident that history will prove our cause right in this war, but by the time that happens, the world might be so steeped in the gloom of ignorance we won't recognize victory when we achieve it.

Postscript: I have had my staff aggressively pursue media coverage for all sorts of events that tell the other side of the story only to have them turned down or ignored by the press in Baghdad. Strangely, I found it much easier to lure the Arab media to a "non-lethal" event than the western outlets. Open a renovated school or a youth center and I could always count on Al-Iraqia or even Al-Jazeera to show up, but no western media ever showed up – ever. Now I did have a pretty dangerous sector, the Abu Ghuraib district that extends from western Baghdad to the outskirts of Fallujah (not including the prison), but it certainly wasn't as bad as Fallujah in November and there were reporters in there.

***************************************************************************
"I Will Continue To Speak Out Until the Last Soldier Leaves Iraq":

Interview with Antiwar Veteran of the Iraq War http://www.lefthook.org/Interviews/SeidmanResta011905.html
Patrick Resta, Specialist/E4 Interviewed by Derek Seidman Patrick Resta, Specialist/E4, served as an Army medic in Iraq with the
30th Brigade Combat Team, 1st Infantry Division.

He was stationed in Iraq for eight months in 2004, returning home just about two months ago. He has recently begun speaking out against the war and occupation, and he is involved with Iraq Veterans Against the War. Left Hook's Derek Seidman was recently able to catch up with Patrick Resta to ask him some questions about his experiences in Iraq, his reasons for making vocal his opposition to the war and occupation, his current activism, and his thoughts on several other topics.

Patrick Resta can be reached at eosonifilic@aol.com. You can also see a gallery of his photographs from Iraq.

Thank you for doing this interview Patrick. Can you begin by telling us when you were in Iraq? Where were you and what were you doing?

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to have my voice heard. I think it's vital that veterans of this conflict speak out about what it's really like out there.
I was at my camp in northeastern Iraq from March 12, 2004 to November
15, 2004. My camp was located in the Diyala province, the capital of which is Baqubah. To make that a little more understandable, we were about 100 miles northeast of Baghdad and roughly 30 miles from the Iranian border.
I was a medic, so that was my main focus. I would work shifts in our 3 bed ER sometimes, where we would see everything from the common cold to gun shot wounds and shrapnel injuries. I also accompanied patrols into towns and convoys to get supplies in case anyone was injured during the accomplishment of the mission.

When did you enter the military, and why did you join?

I joined the military shortly after high school. My main motivation was always money for college and to get some training in the medical field. I was in a position where my parents had made it clear that they were not in a position to assist me with college tuition. I think that the vast majority of people that enter the military do it for the educational benefits.

You said that you think it's very important that vets speak out about what it's really like over there in Iraq. I'd like to ask you a few questions about this. First, speaking from your own experience, what's daily life like for most soldiers over there? What do you want people here to know about what's really going on?

Your daily life as a soldier varies greatly by where you are in Iraq. Soldiers at the bigger camps have better and more numerous amenities than I ever did. These range from movie theaters, to swimming pools, to fast food restaurants, and stores. Living conditions also vary widely from barracks (almost like one would see here in the States), to trailers, and even tents. Daily activities also vary wildly depending on what your job is and what kind of unit you are in.
I myself lived in a trailer with three other medics. If you can picture one of the metal shipping containers at a port you have a good idea of the size. It was slightly smaller. It had fluorescent lights, air conditioning, and several power outlets. I rarely, if ever, had a day off for the entire time that I was over there. As I mentioned earlier, my days consisted of working in our clinic, going on patrols or missions, or going on convoys to other camps.
The thing that is most troubling to me about what is going on in Iraq is the public's reaction, or lack thereof, to it. It seems to me that the public is a little too accepting of whatever the media feeds them and unwilling to research things for themselves. I think the misconceptions harbored by the public about how things are going in Iraq are dangerous. By this I refer to the following ideas: that the Iraqi people want us there, that we are rebuilding the country, that we are helping the Iraqi people, that the Iraqi security forces are anywhere near capable of taking over, and the list goes on and on. I cover each of these topics extensively in my comments I have readied for public speaking engagements. (Contact Patrick Resta at eosonifilic@aol.com).
There are also the troubling ideas the American public still harbors about soldiers in Iraq. A huge one is that most soldiers support the war and are happy to be there. During my time in Iraq, "The Stars and Stripes", which is a military newspaper, released a poll that showed a clear majority of soldiers in Iraq as unsupportive of the policies. The paper also ran many letters to the editor that were critical of the administration and the war in general. The lack of armor on vehicles continues to be a problem that costs soldiers their lives and limbs. My unit had a huge problem with this issue. I have plenty of pictures of our vehicles with plywood "armor"
being sent into combat.

You said that it was troubling to you that most Americans still believe that a most soldiers still support the policies our government is carrying out in Iraq. Soldiers' opinions on the war vary, naturally. You were in Iraq for several months, and now you're involved with Iraq Veterans Against the War. Are a good number of soldiers questioning the war and occupation and getting fed up with what's going on?

I feel that plenty of soldiers don't see the point of the efforts they're making in Iraq. As my time wore on in Iraq more and more people were getting increasingly frustrated with being there. It becomes even more frustrating when you're getting attacked pretty frequently, having people get injured, and even members of other units get killed. For a while after I first got there I would try to think of a reason for being in Iraq before I went to bed every night. I couldn't think of one. I finally saw two pictures in National Geographic that made it pretty clear why I was there, and I taped them above my cot as a reminder. The first picture shows about
30 Marines guarding the Ministry of Oil in Baghdad. The second picture shows Navy personnel escorting an oil tanker through the Persian Gulf.
Being placed in that situation is only made worse by the lack of equipment.
I realized rather quickly what my life was worth to this administration and to the American public. That being said, we all took our mission seriously and tried to have some positive impact to make our time in Iraq worth something. However, this was made pretty difficult with the rules that were put in place, such as only being allowed to treat Iraqis that were in danger of losing life or limb. It's depressing to realize that for the next several months or even year of your life you will be risking your life for nothing. Any rocket or mortar coming in could take your life, or arms, or legs and there is little point to it. The vast majority of the Iraqi people don't want you there, the reasons given for the war have proven false, and your continued presence only inflames the situation.

You mentioned the issue of the armor on your vehicles (or lack of). This has become a more prominent issue after Donald Rumsfeld's visit to Iraq several weeks ago, when he was confronted on it by a soldier. I read about this issue well before the Rumsfeld event-- soldiers and their families had been complaining about this for a while, to little avail. What's really going on? How do soldiers feel about all this, and why do you think the government has been so neglectful?

The lack of armor continues to be a problem that soldiers are paying for with their lives and limbs. It all goes back to this administration only listening to people that tell it what it wants to hear. Like Ahmed Chalabi's continuing assertions that Americans would be greeted as if they had just liberated Paris. Part of it was wanting to keep the already ridiculous cost of this war down. Part of it was wanting to make sure as much money as possible went directly to corporations. Part of it was this administration sticking its head in the sand. To this day they still have not admitted or addressed the total lack of pre war, post war, and exit strategy planning. Truthfully, this administration never wanted an exit strategy. A long occupation of Iraq had been planned from the get go. This administration has already drawn up plans to occupy Iraq that go beyond the summer of 2006.
About a week after the story broke, one of the companies that makes the armor came forward and said that they hadn't even been asked to increase production. As I said, this administration and the American public largely don't care, they don't have kids in Iraq facing RPG's with plywood armor. When the draft returns it will be interesting to compare how well soldiers are equipped then to how they were pre-draft. I have included some pictures detailing the problem. My unit of 4,000 people rolled into Iraq with between 75% to 90% of our vehicles unarmored. To give you a rough idea of the number, it would be in the range of 500 to 700.
Once inside Iraq we slowly started to receive armored doors only for our vehicles. Even when I left after 8 months in Iraq we still had vehicles that were unarmored. My brigade lost its first soldier during the drive north from Kuwait. He was in an unarmored vehicle that was hit by a roadside bomb. My camp had a soldier lose part of his arm from riding in an unarmored vehicle that was hit by a roadside bomb. His arm was saved and after numerous surgeries he was told it would be a year before he would get most movement and sensation in his arm back. Situations like these are repeated daily through out Iraq.

You said "when the draft returns". You think that this will happen? What are your thoughts on it?

I don't have a doubt in my mind that the draft will return. The general that runs the Army Reserve wrote a memo, which was subsequently leaked to the media, in which he described the Army Reserve as "a broken force". The numbers that the National Guard and Reserve have on paper don't add up. They are in a position now where they can no longer hide the problem. In the memo the general describes having 46,500 members on the books who are either untrained or unaccounted for. This makes no mention of the number on stop loss, non deployable due to illness or injury, and those awaiting discharge. I see the draft returning in the next two to three years, perhaps sooner.
The recruiting and retention problems the National Guard and Reserve have had over the years are only exacerbated by the situation in Iraq. The frequent call ups, lack of equipment that I described, and the lack of benefits when you compare what the full time military receives for the same work only serve to force people out. It reaches a point where it's clearly not worth it. I was called to active duty for two years in a three year period. Each time I had to leave school, leave my job, and leave my wife. And for what? Like I said earlier, having to put your life on hold repeatedly for no good reason gets old pretty quick. The National Guard and Reserve will begin to dwindle in the next few years and it's impossible to continue these types of occupations without them. The draft isn't a question of "if", it's a question of "when". We passed the "if" time frame a long time ago.

What about the relationship between US soldiers and Iraqis? From your experience, what type of relationship exists? How were you and your fellow soldiers told to deal with people?

Most Iraqi's are not overtly confrontational with American soldiers. However, if you engage them in conversation and ask their opinion (as I often did) they will not hesitate to tell you that you are not wanted in Iraq by anyone. After the WMD story turned out to be a hoax the war was then sold as a humanitarian mission. Shortly after arriving in Iraq we were instructed that we could not treat Iraqi's unless they were in danger of losing life or limb. Basically, the local nationals had to be in danger of dying before we could treat them. This was the official guidance that we received in writing, repeatedly, from way up the chain of command. The excuses ranged from not having the money/supplies to wanting the Iraqi's to get used to using their own healthcare infrastructure. Why were we there then? It was little things like this that served to quickly turn our opinion about what this war was really about.
Most of the sentiment voiced publicly by the local nationals all focused on the same few ideas. The war was sold to them as a way to get rid of Saddam, which they favored. But, it quickly became evident that that's not what this war was really about. They were lied to by this administration too. They are now being occupied and they know the war is all about oil. Not only are they being occupied, but they still have no security. I was told again and again that at least under Saddam they didn't have roadside bombs littering the country and gangs of insurgents roving and ravaging the country with impunity. Again, I could talk about this for hours. I will leave my contact information (eosonifilic@aol.com) and people can contact me with individual questions and/or requests to speak about my opinions and experiences in Iraq.

One thing that doesn't get enough honest attention is the number of soldiers wounded in Iraq, and what this really means. So far, well over 10,000 soldiers have been "wounded". You worked as a medic, so you have a good idea of what this means.

One thing I want to make absolutely clear is my skepticism that this number is anywhere near accurate. An injury can be anything from eardrums ruptured in an explosion, gunshot wounds, shrapnel injuries, blast injuries, and on and on. Obviously, this number makes no accounting for those that are mentally traumatized by what they have seen, and the numbers that have substance abuse problems or even end up taking their own lives. Just as in Vietnam it will take years before the true effects of this conflict are known. They will continue to manifest themselves in increasing numbers of individuals as more people return home. Or more importantly, return home for the second or third time from Iraq. The VA was under manned and under funded well before September 11th, and is simply not equipped to deal with what is coming in the next few years.

This interview is going to be read both by soldiers and civilians who support what you are doing-- speaking out against the war and occupation-- and by people who strongly oppose your actions. One of the arguments that your would-be opponents have is that antiwar soldiers joined the military with the knowledge that they might have to go to war even if they strongly disagreed with it-- you signed on for the job, and so you should stop complaining. This argument has come up a lot, and as the antiwar veteran and GI movement grows, it will surely go on. What's your response?

This war was sold to the American public the exact same way that Vietnam was. It's the same domino theory, except instead of stopping the spread of communism we're spreading democracy. Yeah, right. Vietnam somehow posed a threat to the US, much as Iraq somehow did. A quick history lesson if I may-- Iraq was involved in a brutal trench war with Iran from 1980-1988. Then the Persian Gulf War in 1991 was followed by twelve years of crippling sanctions and pretty regular bombing. A threat? Hardly. Vietnam had Agent Orange, Iraq has depleted uranium. Vietnam veterans returned and were not cared for properly by the VA; it's already happening to Iraq veterans. The only thing missing is the draft, and it won't be for much longer.
It's always those with the least to lose that speak out the loudest and beat their chests the hardest. You clearly saw that during the run up to this war, the initial invasion, and it continues to this day. We stayed the course in Vietnam until 58,000 US soldiers were dead, countless others were scarred for life, and three million Southeast Asians were dead. I don't hear too many people still preaching about our virtuous rationale for invading that country. Sadly, the draft is what ended Vietnam and I think it is the only thing that will end this war. While the American public seems to sleep fine at night while other's children are killed in Iraq, I doubt they will sleep as soundly when they are their own.
When I joined the military I took an oath that I took seriously. I just wish that my elected officials took it as seriously as I did. But, why should they? Few if any of them have ever taken it before themselves. In my oath I swore to defend the Constitution and the people of America, clearly that is not what I did in Iraq. In fact, if the Constitution needs defending anywhere it is in Washington, DC.
No one in the military signs up to die for nothing, I know I surely didn't. Soldiers aren't assembled at the Pentagon, they are real people with real families. Most come from poor and working class families and I believe that has something to do with the public's sick view that the life of a soldier is worth inherently less than the life of an average American citizen.
If you're going to commit hundreds of thousands of troops for something this ridiculous, at least equip them so they have a fighting chance of surviving and keeping all of their limbs. Supporting our troops?
Hardly.
Let me break it down for you real easy: most of the kids dying in Iraq, and they are kids, are between 18 and 22. These kids will never go to college, never get married, never have kids, never have grandchildren, never retire, and never get to enjoy life. They leave behind children that will never know their fathers and widows that will never know peace.
Too many people have suffered way too much already. I will continue to speak out until the last soldier leaves Iraq and the last veteran gets the care they are owed. Not another Vietnam.

What made you decide to become active in opposing the war and occupation?

I think this will be my shortest answer. I don't want to see anymore of my fellow soldiers get killed, get maimed, or be mentally traumatized for nothing. I don't want to see anymore Iraqi civilians get killed or injured for nothing. This administration is just creating a new generation of insurgents. Mostly, I want to point out what our soldiers are being asked to do over there and how they are being asked to do it. I want to make it clear to the public that they aren't getting the full scope of what's going on in Iraq. Most of the reporters in Iraq are scared to leave the large camps they're in. They only report what they see from the camps or what the military reports to them. None of the attacks in my area where ever reported.

Can you briefly tell us about the organization your involved with, Iraq Veterans Against the War? Is the group growing? What type of activities do you do, and do you have any new future plans?

Iraq Veterans Against the War is a group of people who have been in Iraq since the current war began. The group is growing and in the process of setting up local chapters through out the country. The main focus of the group is to end the occupation of Iraq and make sure that the veterans of the conflict receive the care that they were promised and have earned. My main focus will be doing as many public speaking events as I can to get our message out to the public. I invite people to check out the web site, www.ivaw.net.

There's an organization of military family members who oppose the war and occupation, Military Families Speak Out (www.mfso.org). How has this group helped or affected you, and why do you think it's important?

My wife was involved with MFSO while I was in Iraq. They are actually the way that I first heard of IVAW. I think they are extremely important because they put a human face on what is happening in Iraq. They also point out that military members and families are not being taken care of the way they should be. Supporting our troops means a lot more than buying a $2 yellow magnet for your car and waving the flag. It means demanding answers and holding people accountable.

I want to finish up by asking you the same questions I asked Jim Talib, another antiwar vet I recently interviewed. What kind of role do you think antiwar soldiers and veterans can play in the broader antiwar movement? What can antiwar civilians and soldiers/vets do to build a healthy relationship, and how can the civilian antiwar movement make itself more welcoming to soldiers who want to speak out against the war and occupation?

I think that obviously as veterans of this war we are the most qualified to speak out about the conditions in Iraq. We were in Iraq and we lived it. We were at places other than the hand picked sites that reporters and Congressmen are shown. We talked to lots of soldiers and not just those that pre rehearsed interviews so they'd tell the media what the military and this administration wants the public to hear. We let the public know that lots of soldiers don't agree with this war. They don't agree with the reasons that this war was sold on, the lack of equipment, the lack of planning, and the continuing lies about conditions in Iraq put forth by this administration.
The second part of the question is harder to answer. Personally, I'm not a pacifist and I've never felt I belong in the various peace groups. I'm just a veteran who understands all too well the sacrifices that are made. I can't sit and let it continue. Too many soldiers have suffered and will continue to suffer for years to come. Most of us just want to end this suffering.
I can't tell you how many times I'm asked ridiculous questions about Iraq. If a veteran wants to speak about the war they will, when they are ready and able to do so. The public can't possibly ever imagine what some people go through in Iraq. Start by just introducing yourself and thanking them for coming out just like you would anyone else. A lot of veterans will never speak out against the war because they can be punished for doing so under military law. Other veterans don't want to admit that friends or family have been injured or even given their lives in an unnecessary war. They simply don't want to see it and will never admit it. I think that it is these veterans that have it the hardest.

Patrick Resta can be reached at eosonifilic@aol.com. The website for Iraq Veterans Against the War is www.ivaw.net.

Derek Seidman is co-editor of Left Hook (www.lefthook.org). He lives in Providence, Rhode Island, and can be contacted at derekseidman@yahoo.com.

...she said, "Don't fight it anymore, don't fight it, don't fight it, don't fight it."

2005-01-21T08:40:00.000-08:00

Father transformed by anguish over Iraq

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/6831772/
Scars define man who burned himself after son's combat death
By David Finkel
Jan. 16, 2005
BOSTON -

Another day of trying to recover

Once again, Carlos Arredondo, whose reaction to the death of his son became one of the iconic images of the Iraq war, is reading the last e-mail he received from him. "I'm in najaf," the e-mail from Marine Lance Cpl. Alexander Scott Arredondo begins, and those three words are enough to make a 44-year-old father once again feel as though he is on fire.

Every bit of Arredondo's skin is coated with antibiotic cream. His left palm has glass in it from when three Marines informed him that Alex was dead and he began smashing the windows of their van. His lower legs, which received the worst of the burns from when he splashed gasoline in the van and ignited it, are stained the color of cranberries. His hair, cut off in the hospital, is only now starting to grow back. His fingernails, ruined when he used his hands to claw holes in Alex's grave for flowers, are all gone.

"do me a favor and check the news online. save pictures articles and videos if you can. i'll stay in contact until i move. let everyone know i love them," the e-mail from Alex goes on, and Arredondo continues to read it, oblivious to everything else, including his wife, Melida, who is in another room urgently typing a letter.

"Our family is in need," she writes on her computer.

"Medical costs are now over $50,000."

"We are inviting you to a very special" event, she continues, a fundraiser, and keeps writing until the phone rings and Arredondo comes in to see who's calling.

Maybe it's the psychologist. Maybe it's the grief counselor. Maybe it's the marriage counselor. Maybe it's his mother, who had a breakdown after pulling off his burning socks when he was on fire. Maybe it's Victoria, his first wife and Alex's mother, who called him a bastard when she heard what he had done. Maybe it's his son Brian, who is so confused by what Arredondo did that he has stopped all contact with his father.

"Hello," Melida says into the phone, and when Arredondo realizes it's not anyone he knows, he returns to a room where the walls are covered with photocopies of Alex's portrait, the windowsill is covered with the medications he needs to get through a day, and the bed is covered with copies of Alex's letters, including the first one he sent as he headed overseas.

"I am not afraid of dying," it says. "I am more afraid of what will happen to all the ones that I love if something happens to me."

"Oh, Alex. Oh, my goodness," Arredondo says as he picks that one up to read.

Defying explanation
Even now, so many months later, no longer unconscious in a hospital burn unit, no longer restrained to his hospital bed as a precaution against suicide, no longer gasping as his skin is pulled off with tweezers, no longer encased in bandages, forgiven by the Marines, Arredondo says he does not know why he did what he did.

Was he trying to kill himself? Maybe, he says. Was he trying to bring attention to his son's death, the 968th of the war? Maybe it was that.
Was it an act of protest against a war he doesn't like? Maybe. Was it out of anguish, or perhaps guilt, over being a less-than-perfect father?
Maybe.
Was it, as Melida says one afternoon when Arredondo has gone to Alex's grave, "poor impulse control"? Maybe it was that, too, he says when he returns, hands dirty, eyes shiny, retreating again to the room of portraits and e-mails.

He says he understands the meaning of grief now; less clear to him is the meaning of recovery.

"How am I going to feel better?" he says. "I have no idea."

It is a question not only for Arredondo, but for all of the survivors of the 1,300 U.S. troops killed so far in the Iraq war, the relatives who in those first moments scream and weep and slam the door and collapse.

"The beginning of the war" is how Maj.Scott Mack, whose platoon members delivered the news to Arredondo, describes it.

And then come all the moments after, when "emotions become behaviors," says Tom Hannon, who counsels veterans and their families in Boston. The "profoundly depressed" mother of a Vietnam War veteran who has visited her son's grave every day for more than 30 years. The father of a Vietnam veteran who insisted that the name of his dead son never be mentioned again. "What's your responsibility?" Hannon says he asks parents. "Is it to flounder and fail, or is it conduct yourself in a way that honors your boy or girl? It's the difference between being a victim and a healthy survivor."

"Here are five criteria for recovery," says Robert Weiss, a senior fellow at the University of Massachusetts's Gerontology Institute in Boston and an expert on bereavement. "You regain internal comfort, which means you are not assailed by painful thoughts. Second, you regain the ability to experience gratification. Third, you have energy for daily life. Fourth, you find your social roles have meaning; you're not just going through the motions. And fifth, you can treat the future as if it has meaning. You can plan. You may even hope."

That's what recovery is, Weiss says, a person's return to his previous level of functioning, but reaching such a point takes "longer than anybody thinks" and only increases in difficulty when recovery is from the death of a child. "If you ask people who have had kids who died, they'll tell you that you don't get over it, you get used to it," he says. "There is a kind of persistent ache. There is a sense of having failed the kid somehow. There's just a complicated set of feelings of helplessness, self-blame and sometimes rage."

Where, then, is Arredondo in this, whose son is dead, whose other son won't talk to him, whose ex-wife is furious at him, whose wife is begging for money for him, and who spends most of his day in a room he has converted into a shrine? How far has he come? How far does he have to go?

"I really love my son," he says, at the cemetery one day, stamping his foot three times on Alex's grave.

He visits the grave every other day. He has decorated it with roses, carnations, Alex's pictures, Alex's letters, a temporary headstone that he made from two discarded pieces of wood and 13 American flags.

"If he were to come right now, he would kiss me on the mouth, he would kiss me on the cheeks, he would kiss me on the mouth again," Arredondo says. "That's how we said hello."

He stamps his foot again, hard enough for the ground to vibrate.

"Hello," he calls.

The day his life changed He was, until Aug. 25 of last year, a healthy, normal man. He worked.
He played soccer.
He loved, rather than obsessed.

Alex was his firstborn, and the photos that Arredondo is constantly looking at show how close they were, at least in the first years of Alex's life. There they are at home, asleep next to each other, in a part of Boston called Jamaica Plain. There they are at Boston's swan boats. There they are in New York, on a playground near the World Trade Center. There they are in Costa Rica, visiting where Carlos was born.

He sneaked into the United States when he was 19. He married Victoria in 1983. In 1984 they had Alex, in 1987 they had Brian, and then came a divorce punctuated by accusations and a long-running custody battle, which still defines their relationship, even as they grieve. During Alex's teenage years, Arredondo was living in Florida with Melida, prohibited by court order from direct contact. He returned to Boston in 2000, resumed contact with his sons, moved back to Florida early last year to start a construction business, and, on Aug. 25, his birthday, just after lunch, was in the front yard of the house he and Melida bought, waiting for Alex to call, when here came the Marine van.

"We're looking for the family of Alexander Arredondo," he remembers one of the Marines saying. "I am the family," he said, and then "it was like my heart went all the way to the ground."

From the time of notification to the time of the fire took, he imagines, 20 minutes. He remembers running into the back yard, sitting in the grass, phoning Melida, phoning Brian, standing up, sitting back down and standing up again. He remembers going into the front yard and asking the Marines to leave. He remembers picking up a hammer. He remembers picking up a gasoline can and a propane torch. He remembers a Marine saying, "Sir, don't do that," and then he was in the van, first smashing windows, then splashing gasoline, and then igniting the torch, perhaps accidentally, perhaps intentionally, perhaps suicidally, perhaps, perhaps. "I just feel this explosion," he says, describing what happened next. "It threw me out of the van, and immediately I feel the flames all over me. I feel the sensation of burning. The sensation I was on fire.

"I remember that they grabbed me and held me down while I was screaming, and my mother was trying to take off my shirt, and I keep telling my mother, 'My feet are burning.' "I remember somebody else grabbing me by the back of my pants and picking me up, and they were dragging me, my feet were dragging, and then the person was on top of me, and he was holding me down on the ground.

"I remember suddenly Melida was there, and she said, 'Carlos, can you see?' And I kept saying, 'Oh, Alex,' and Melida, she said, 'Don't fight it, don't fight it anymore, don't fight it, don't fight it.' "And then, when I started getting a little more tranquil, because Melida was there, I think I passed out."

The bill for the hospital with the burn unit was $43,710.46. The bill for the ambulance was $487.50. The bill for an initial psychological evaluation was $250. The bill for another hospital, whose emergency room he was taken to initially, was $9,952, the latest reminder of which has shown up in the day's mail. Melida, a nursing home administrator who has been out of work since Aug. 25, puts it in a stack of letters, including one from a hospital informing them that a lien has been placed on their house.

"Carlos," she says, "are we going to see Alex?"

"Yes," he says.

In the bedroom, he coats himself with antibiotic cream and sunblock, and grabs a handful of Alex's letters to pass out to whomever he sees. In the living room, Melida says, not joking, exhausted, "I need to know -- is this normal behavior?"

They get in the car and drive past the church that donated furniture and rent money to them when they came back to Boston for the funeral and then decided to stay on for a while to be closer to Brian, who is living with Victoria in Bangor, Maine.

They turn onto the road they were driving along the day that Arredondo's mother, in the back seat, soon after the funeral, suddenly began kicking and screaming, and broke down in front of their eyes.

"I've never seen my mother like that," Arredondo says.

They drive past the funeral home where Alex's wake was held, go past the restaurant where the fundraiser will take place and follow the same zigzagging route to the cemetery they followed on the day of the funeral.

"He was so naive, you know?" Arredondo says. He looks at one of the photos he has brought with him, a close-up of a young man who lived until he was 20 years and 20 days old, who had a girlfriend named Sheila, who liked to sing, who enlisted 25 days before 9/11 and was one of the first Marines into Baghdad. "He was a nice person," Arredondo says, reducing 20 years and 20 days to a sorrowful compliment, and describes the last time he saw him, in his casket. "They allowed me off the stretcher and I saw the back of his head. He had a big opening," he says, and how many times since has he wondered about the exact cause of that?

Later, back home, while Melida works on arrangements for the fundraiser, Arredondo receives a call from a friend of Alex who mentions that he recently spoke with Brian.

"You talked to him?" Arredondo says. "I haven't heard from him. In a month.
He was quiet? He was taking it hard? Why do you say that? He sounded very sad?"

Next, he writes a letter.

"Brian, please call me," he writes. "Come to visit. Please. I miss you. I love you very much. Call me. Your dad, Carlos L. Arredondo."

Next he calls Victoria.

"This is Carlos," he says. "I would like to talk to you, please. And I need to talk to Brian, please. I would like to talk to all of you, please."

He hangs up. "They didn't pick up," he says. His hands are shaking. The doctors have told him to take deep breaths when this happens. He takes deep breaths. "What am I supposed to do?" he says. "I've already lost one son. Now I will lose another?"

A mother's 20 minutes
"So how's it going?" Victoria remembers Alex saying when he telephoned her from Najaf, 15 hours before he died. "I laughed and said, 'Okay,' and then I said, 'So how are you doing, honey? Are you eating?' " And soon after that, a Marine van was pulling up in front of her house.

A little yellow house on a busy road in Bangor -- that's where Victoria Foley is living now to be away from her ex-husband and Boston, and that's where the van arrived about the same time another van was arriving at Arredondo's house in Florida. The Marines had timed it perfectly except for one thing: Only Brian, 17, was home. The Marines wouldn't tell him why they were there, but of course he knew, and then his father was on the phone saying, "Brian, the Marines are here," and then Victoria was in the front yard and Brian was saying to her, "I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry, Mom," and now her recovery is underway, too.

A mother's recovery "
Ah geez," she keeps saying. She has a quiet, sad voice, sad eyes, sad posture, sad everything, and knows it, which doesn't change a thing. "I have days when I feel someone has put a thousand weights on me," she says. "I have days when I don't even want to think because it takes too much effort. I call them Alex days."

Her ex-husband has his wounds; she has hers. Her ex-husband has his images of Alex; she has hers:

Alex is 6, and Carlos is gone, and she, Alex and Brian spend night after night sleeping with one another on the couch.

Alex is 10 and has an announcement. "Mom, I'm no longer a little boy," he says. "And his teeth were still little," is what Victoria remembers about that.

Alex is 17 and is asking Victoria to sign his enlistment papers so he can join the Marines. "This is what he wanted," she says. "Why would I not allow it when it's such a good and noble thing?"

Alex is 19 and about to leave for his second tour in Iraq and is trying to explain to her what to do if he dies, "and I said, 'I can't. I can't do that,' and I went to the sink and did the dishes."

Alex is 20 years and 20 days old, and Carlos is on the phone telling her that if she hadn't signed the papers, Alex would still be alive.

She sits in the chair where she sat when the Marines told her that Alex was dead, in the chair she sometimes just sits in, looking around. There's Alex's picture. "What a handsome guy, huh?" she says.

There's the phone, with an answering machine filled with a father's messages, all of which Brian listened to. "He said, 'I know I should call, but . . .' So I took him off the hook. I said, 'Your father's not very healthy right now. Maybe it's better not to talk to him.' And he said okay, and you could see him lighten up."

There's the TV, the reason for so much of Brian's confusion.

"Turn on the TV!" Melida said into the cell phone that day, speaking loudly to Brian because of a hovering news helicopter from which pictures were going live across the country.

And so Brian, in Maine, turned on the TV.

"That's my father!" he said. "That's my father!"

"He saw his father shaking, on the stretcher," Victoria says. "He thought he was going to lose both of them that day. I can't imagine what he was feeling. I don't even know what I was feeling, except: What are you doing!

"The first thing I said was, 'Oh, my God.' And the second thing I said was, 'You bastard.' "

Her ex-husband's reaction -- everyone knows his 20 minutes. He is the man who set himself on fire.

Victoria's reaction -- no one knows it. This is what it was:

"I stood up. I sat down. I stood up. I sat down. I kept doing that. I probably did that for 10 minutes. For 20 minutes. I have no idea. I don't know what I was trying to do. I guess I was trying to feel okay."

Recovery, maybe
The list for the benefit is up to 500 people, including City Council members and neighborhood friends. There will be a computer with a looping slide show of photos of Alex as a baby, as a boy, as a young man, as a Marine, as a baby. The suggested donation will be $20, to go to a fund for medical bills or toward a scholarship fund named for Alex. The deejay will play subdued music, and there will be 1,000 copies of one of Alex's letters, which, the night before the benefit, Arredondo is folding into envelopes.

"Nine hundred sixty to go," he says after he has been at it for a while.

The next morning, he is up at 5:30, and while Melida sleeps, he looks at some of the sympathy cards he has received. One person wrote a message of condolence on a napkin and enclosed $25; another sent $7 that she said she was going to spend at McDonald's; another sent $1,000. All totaled, the contributions have come to about $8,000, which Arredondo has mixed feelings about accepting, just as he has mixed feelings about the benefit itself. "It doesn't feel right," he says.

Eight thousand dollars, however, is not $50,000, and so by sundown he is in a coat and tie and loosely tied sneakers and long pants that sandpaper his skin as he moves among the people who, for whatever reason, have shown up to see the man who set himself on fire.

There are not 1,000 people in attendance, only a hundred or so. They are generous, though, and have donated nearly $5,000 by the time Arredondo thanks them for coming and says to them, "I have people ask me, 'What happened in Florida?'I cannot really tell you what happened."

He also says, "There's a lot of families out there, they're thinking their kids are going to be safe, and the truth of the matter is everybody's at risk."

There is applause, there are nods, there are some tears; and then it's over and Arredondo is in the car, going by the funeral home where he stopped in the other night for no reason and ended up praying over the body of a stranger; and then he is home, sleeping separately from Melida because they are afraid that if they are together she will touch his leg; and then it is morning, and the phone is ringing, and he is answering it, and he is momentarily unable to speak.

"Victoria?" he says.

Much later, after he and Victoria have talked for two hours, and he has asked about Brian, and Victoria has said that the day will come when he will call, Arredondo will say that for the first time since Alex's death he felt something lifting in him. But for now, he talks without anger, without bitterness, with his eyes shut, to the mother of his dead son.

"Do you know I have two pictures of Alex in the casket?" he says at one point. "They're helping me. To accept what happened."

"They're helping?" she says.

"Yes," he says.

Later:

"How did you handle it?" he asks.

"How did I handle it?" she says.

"Yes," he says.

"I cried a lot," she says.

Later:

"I think I was angry at a lot of things," he says. "I was angry that I don't have my boy anymore. But I wasn't saying it was your fault. I understand it was his choice."

Later:

"I think it's beautiful where he is," he says.

"It's a very nice spot," she says.

And finally:

"Well, thank you for calling me."

He puts the phone down. He is sitting at the table with Melida's computer on it, upon which the slide show of Alex's photos is playing. Alex in the casket. Alex the Marine. Alex riding a bicycle. Alex asleep in the embrace of his father. Alex on the day he was born.

"How about a trip?" Melida says after a while.

"Yeah," Arredondo says. "That would be nice."

At the cemetery, there are several inches of fresh snow. The grave, soft in August, is hard now, and this time when Arredondo stamps his foot -- hello Alex, hello Alex, hello Alex -- the snow flies into the air. Up it goes, onto the reddened skin of his legs, an unexpected explosion of cold, and maybe that's why the man who set himself on fire is suddenly shivering and wondering:
Is this how it feels to feel better?

Stop, Look , and Learn

2005-01-21T07:47:00.000-08:00

-Right now I'm working through "A Course In Miracles" with a very cool friend, and always learning whether I want to or not. Okay, truth be told, I've been a serious student of Buddhism since 1991, and a spiritual seeker all my life! Love it! Anyways...this looks pretty inviting, so ck it. out if you're so inclined....and once I get the editing down with the blog thing, I'll be able to post the links from the pages here...so patience!!! Until then, use your cut and paste function pretty please!"

War and Peace

Event Host: John L. Hoh, Jr. (H2O) at h2o@suite101.com
This event carries on the debate on war and peace. Is war a necessary evil? Should we pursue and preserve peace at all costs? What is peace? Join us as the Suite community dialogues, debates, and ponders this age-old question and seeks understanding among all.

The event will look at the lives of warriors and peacemakers, causes of war and attempts at keeping the peace, memorials and monuments. Also included will be explanations of symbols and imagery as well as weapons of war and means of peace.

May this study enrich all who participate. War takes a huge toll on human life and civilization. Peace does not come without a price.
Arts and Sciences Influenced by War
A look at arts and sciences influenced by or coming from war. Also looks at arts and sciences for peace.

Battles & Wars
This group studies famous battles and wars in human history.

Memorials and Peace Efforts and Effects on Lives
What memorials and peace efforts have arisen from war?

Sometimes War is Necessary
These essays look at why sometimes war is inevitable and why sometimes we must fight to protect nation, principles, or the weak.

War Heroes
Essays on war heroes

Give Peace a Chance
These essays seek to "give peace a chance."

Proponents of Peace
These essays look at the brave people who have sought peaceful resolutions.

History For Children

A Battle Royale
Editor: Mary M. Alward (Red)
Date: 9 September 2000
A clash between two monarchs, the King of Spain and the Queen of England, sets up a collision course with destiny.

The Moon Sisters
Editor: Mary M. Alward (Red)
Date: 20 June 2004
Ginnie and Lottie Moon were born in Virginia. When the Civil War broke out, they were definitely on the side of the South. To what lengths would these women go for the cause they believed in?

Angel of Mercy
Editor: Mary M. Alward (Red)
Date: 2 August 2004
Can you imagine tending the wounded and dying on the battlefields of the American Civil War? That's what Harriet Patience Dame did. She's stopped by today to tell us her story.

Kids Korner
In Remembrance
Editor: Mary M. Alward (Red)
Date: 1 November 2004
Brandon M. tells us about the three soldiers in his family who joined the army in 1940. A heart-touching story from a 9-year-old boy.

Lutheranism
An Act of Repentance
Editor: John L. Hoh, Jr. (H2O)
Date: 13 September 2001
Rev. James Sonnemann, pastor of Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, designed this service called "An Act of Repentance" for prayer services or private mediatation in the wake of the World Trade Center disaster. He noted that Abraham Lincoln often called for national repentance during the Civil War. To date, he and I haven't heard such a call from our leaders, secular or religious. With Jim's permission, I share this service with you.

What Does Scripture Say About War?
Editor: John L. Hoh, Jr. (H2O)
Date: 12 October 2001
What does SCRIPTURE say about war? Are there guidelines to distinguish a just war from an unjust war? Does Scripture command that wars cease. Or does Scripture even state that earthly peace can ever be a reality?

Perspectives
A Call To War
Editor: Linda Bond (lbondx)
Date: 30 November 2002
War does not always involve guns and bombs.

On the Eve of Destruction
Editor: Linda Bond (lbondx)
Date: 18 March 2003
As we await word of the world's fate in the Middle East, words fail me...

Russia: History and Politics
Russian Beauty
Editor: Anastasiya Grouverman (Anastasiya03)
Date: 20 September 2002
The third daughter of Tsar Nicholas II -- Marie, the Russian beauty with fairy-tale eyes. She was the angel of the family, yearning only to "marry a soldier and have twenty children." Read here of the nineteen years life allowed her -- the nineteen years she managed to fill with devotion, kindness, and an everlasting search for love.

Southern Cooking
War = Patriotism?
Editor: T. Darlene Cheek (DarCheek)
Date: 31 March 2003
An essay intended to remind us all that loyal opposition is an American tradition and that striving for creative solutions for world peace is a noble and worthy goal.

Southwest Outdoors
Inside Ground Zero: New York Firefighting
Editor: Jill Florio (desertblue)
Date: 1 January 2002
An interview with a New York firefighter while working inside Ground Zero. The piles were still on fire when he replied in this candid response. An alternate topic in this forum, but at the least, an adventure anyway. We must vow never to forget...

United Kingdom History
Shelter for a future King.
Editor: Wendy J. Dunn (Gwenda)
Date: 6 May 2001
Boscobel House

Wisconsin
The Highground
Editor: Peggy Hoehne (phoehne)
Date: 4 November 2003
The Highground is a Veterans Memorial Park located near Neillsville, Wisconsin. Through the efforst of Tom Miller and other Vietnam Veterans, this place of peace and healing for many men and their families has come about.

Women Against War
SuiteU Course
Editor: Wendy J. Dunn (Gwenda)
Date: 22 July 2004
Given the focus on the international system, the course will provide an understanding of the international legal system, along with a broad overview of its operation. The course will then account for a short historical development of human rights, leading towards the theoretical aspects of international human rights and the implication of the term “right”, as well as the role of human rights in the international process.

America united only by war
Editor: Wendy J. Dunn (Gwenda)
Date: 4 October 2004
War is war, no matter how you paint it. All forms of violence is terrorism.

Women Painters
Two Different Views of War: Elizabeth Thompson (a.k.a. Lady Butler) and Anna Lea Merritt
Editor: Jessica Cresseveur (iguana1234)
Date: 10 September 2004
The different ways in which Elizabeth Thompson (later Lady Butler) and her contemporary Anna Lea Merritt represented the subject of war.

Useful Links
Peace Signs
Gives some theories on the development of the modern day peace symbol. Very interesting!

"The whole enchilada is here:" http://www.suite101.com/event.cfm/237

ENJOY!
-a mother for peace

belated MLK day

2005-01-20T14:57:00.000-08:00

http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/editorial/2995194

MLK: On this day of honor
Copyright 2005
Houston Chronicle

The last apostle Apostle is defined as a special messenger and was there ever a brighter, clearer voice speaking truth to the dark 20th century than Martin Luther King Jr. Here are just a few profound quotes from him:

Freedom will not be given but must be demanded by the oppressed.
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
Wait has always meant never.
Never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was legal.
A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law of God.
Great wells of democracy were dug deep by our Founding Fathers.
Groups tend to be more moral than individuals.
The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself.
Society must protect the robbed and punish the robber.
Jesus was an extremist for love.
The time is always ripe to do right.

These comments can all be found in a single letter written from the Birmingham jail in 1964. How enlightening, inspiring and admirable.

One Soldier's Perspective

2005-01-20T08:25:00.000-08:00

A Matter of Conscience
http://www.antiwar.com/orig/benderman.php?articleid=4455
January 18, 2005 by Sgt. Kevin Benderman

Having watched and observed life from the standpoint of a soldier for 10 years of my life, I always felt there was no higher honor than to serve my country and defend the values that established this country. My family has a history of serving this country dating back to the American Revolution, and I felt that to continue on in that tradition was the honorable thing to do.

As I went through the process which led to my decision to refuse deployment to Iraq for the second time, I was torn between thoughts of abandoning the soldiers that I serve with, or following my conscience, which tells me: war is the ultimate in destruction and waste of humanity.

Thoughts that we could, and should, consider better ways to solve our differences with other people in the world have crossed my mind on numerous occasions. And this was the driving force that made me refuse deployment to Iraq a second time. Some people may say I am doing so out of fear of combat; I am not going to tell you that the thought of going back to that place isn't scary, but that is not the reason for my decision to not return.

I want people to know that the longer I thought about just how stupid the concept of war really is, the stronger I felt about not participating in war. Why do we tell our children to not solve their differences with violence, then turn around and commit the ultimate in violence against people in another country who have nothing to do with the political attitudes of their leaders?
Having read numerous books on the subject of war and having heard all the arguments for war, I have come to the conclusion that there are no valid arguments for the destructive force of war. People are destroyed, nations are destroyed, and yet we continue on with war. The young people that I went with to the combat zone looked at it like it was a video game they played back in their childhood.

When you contemplate the beauty of the world around us and the gifts we have been given, you have to ask yourself, "Is this what humanity is meant to do, wage war against one another?" Why can't we teach our children not to hate or to not be afraid of someone else just because they are different from us? Why must it be considered honorable to train young men and women to look through the sights of a high-powered rifle and to kill another human being from 300 meters away?

Consider, if you will, the positive things that could be accomplished without war in our lives: prescription medication that is affordable for seniors, college grants that are available for high school seniors – I could name a list of reasons not to waste our resources on war. The most important being to let the children of the world learn war no more.

I've received e-mails from people who said that I was a coward for not going to war, but I say to them that I have already been, so I do not have anything to prove to anyone anymore. What is there to prove anyway – that I can kill someone I do not even know and who has never done anything to me?What is in that concept that anyone could consider honorable?

I first realized that war was the wrong way to handle things in this or any other country when I went to the war zone and saw the damage that it causes. Why must we resort to violence when things do not go our way? Where is the logic of that? I have felt that there are better ways to handle our business than to bomb each other into oblivion. When you are on the water in a boat and you have a chance to see dolphins playing with each other as they go about their business, you realize that if they can live without war, then humanity should be able to as well.
Can't we teach our children to leave war behind in history where it belongs? We realized that slavery and human sacrifice were obsolete institutions, and we left them behind us. When are going to have the same enlightened attitude about war?

I look at my stepchildren and realize that war has no place with me in giving them what they need to survive the trials and tribulations of early adulthood. And if you look at all the time soldiers lose in the course of fighting wars, such as birthdays and anniversaries, their children going to the senior prom and college graduations, and other things that can never be replaced, then you have to come to the understanding that war steals more from people than just the sense of humanity – it also steals some of that humanity from their family.

I have learned from firsthand experience that war is the destroyer of everything that is good in the world; it turns our young into soulless killers, and we tell them that they are heroes when they master the "art"of killing. That is a very deranged mindset in my opinion. It destroys the environment, life, and the resources that could be used to create more life by advancing our endeavors.

War should be left behind us; we should evolve to a higher mindset even if it means going against what most people tell us in this country, such as that we can never stop fighting with other people in the world. I have made the decision to not participate in war any longer, and some people in this country cannot comprehend that concept, but to me it is simple. I have chosen not to take part in war, and it was easy to come to that decision.

I cannot tell anyone else how to live his or her life, but I have determined how I want to live mine – by not participating in war any longer, as I feel that it is stupid and against everything that is good about our world.

INTRO

2005-01-20T07:48:00.000-08:00

This is my first attempt at blogging. I hope to learn as I go, and teach as I learn. Today we inagurate a president, and many others nationwide will inagurage themselves as they protest.
My country remains split. It's been that way for quite sometime now.

Maybe this "blogging" stuff is the best way to communicate with my loved ones and safely say what there is for me to say.

I am a mother to daughter in the U.S. Army. My daughter turned 20 yesterday. She is one of the most awesome people I have ever had the honor to know. More about my family later!
I am a mother of a dead child. He died when he was 16 leaving behind his three brothers and a sister. It happened on my birthday. I don't know if I can handle losing another child, especially to a ridiculous war that I can barely understand.
I am a daughter to an Airman and granddaughter to a soldier.
I am a wife and best friend to a disabled American veteran.
I am a friend to anyone who offers me their hand in disturbance, and an advocate for children and families.
I am an American, born and bred on American soil.
I am an educated woman, and cannot turn a blind eye to what I see or a deaf ear to what I hear when it smacks of lies and deceit. The truth lands in my psyche and goes "clunk", but lies never seem to land at all...and I am constantly listening for that "clunk". I don't always hear it.
I am all of the above, yet none of the above...

My forefathers are true American patriots, and I come by my outspoken nature honestly. Sometimes I think my great- x-6-or-so uncle, Patrick Henry would be proud of me, or maybe shamed by my big mouth. I've never been ashamed of him, and am proud to have his pedigree.

Buckle up for a ride with me....ready? Here we go!

-a mother for peace