7th Direction

Keep the Facts, even if it hurts

2009-01-02T16:42:00.001-08:00

As I have perused historical sites, I find many pieces of a broken puzzle called my own history. I thought I was the oldest from my birth father and now I find that there "might have been one older one."

I'm not interested in any familial links, save for one....

I have a significant battle wound from my early life. Only one person may have known how it came about, but she was lost to a bottle a long time ago. Her story changed from year to year. The other relatives have similar fates and barely remembered that there was a "me" to remember, much less the story of how I got scarred.

This is my plea, if you read this and you have a terrible secret about how a person came to be, either physically, emotionally, or spiritually, keep the Facts straight, even if it hurts. When the time comes, they'll need the truth, not some conjured-up story that makes neither sense nor makes up for their loss.

Just the facts is all they'll need, trust me. I'm so far removed from the hurt, all I really want to know is how I ended up in an ambulance on my stomach in 1969. I want to know what the story to my battle is. When people ask how it happened, I want to speak with pride about how I survived whatever happened, not "I don't know what happened" with a blank stare.

Keep their story straight if you're the one who knows. Even if it's your own relative, or if it's a friend and you shouldn't really know, keep the facts there for them to digest later. But make sure they get the facts. It sure beats not knowing. It sure beats the hell out of getting angry knowing that some people knew, but their own battle with their own inner demons led them down a path where brain cells got destroyed. All I needed was for them to remember, no explaining, no interpreting, just tell me what happened.

If you have a secret, make sure you remember, make sure you tell, make sure you close the circle.

A closet full of good intentions

2009-01-02T16:36:00.000-08:00

A dear old friend had a house full of cupboards, closets, trunks, bags--all full of "useless" stuff. She had about 50 coffee cups, literally pounds of styrofoam containers, and enough food to feed a family through a rough winter, even though she lived alone.

She may have had a rough side, a sharp side, but we never saw it. And then just recently, someone said of her dearly departed friend, "every time I helped her, she paid me back two or three times what I gave her."

And now, the full cupboards, the stuffed closets, all of the extra stuff, it makes sense now. She had a wealth of gifts to give, if only you would make the offer.

Hers was a house-full of good intentions.

Thanks Lena, I got the lesson if very few else did.

Coming up for Air

2008-12-01T22:35:00.000-08:00

Ever watched a child struggling to come up for air in a pool? Ever just sat there and watched them struggling, hoping that they make it? Ever wondered how long they could go before they went under? Ok....that's gross. But think about the concept of drowning. The concept of the struggle to keep from going under. The more you struggle, it seems the more you flail helplessly. When in reality, if you just pressed your hands overhead and propelled yourself down to the floor of the pool, you'd find you could jump off the floor of the pool and shoot skyward.......and breathe! At least that's what I always thought. I was comfortable in the water from early on. I almost did drown in San Diego at a hotel near Disneyland in like 1971. I remember going in, (throwing a toy to my big sister) and I remember going down to the bottom of the pool. I never remember being scared. I remember the lost screams going out underwater when my dad grabbed my by my hair and pulled me out. Now that I was scared of.

I seem to remember a lot of weird moments like that. I'm sure that when we speak with each other, we are speaking to a 58, 64, or a 35-year-old child: the five-year-old in all of us.

Ever watched a child struggle with anything, hoping you could help? I watch a loved one wither away. They come up for air every now and then, and we get to speak with the loved one. But for now, when I see this person, I see the cute little four-year-old in them. I see that child, struggling just to survive. When they do come up, it's not just a breath of fresh air for them, it is for us too a gasp of relief. Now, there is no ruling out a miracle, Lord knows I made it out of that cesspool I used to drink from every night, but it seems a forgone conclusion that all the special moments in the world with this loved relative are drowning with them in their struggle.

If you are a person who is struggling with an addiction let me tell you this: Even if it's a small addiction, come clean every now and then; dry out for just one day. Go talk with your family then. It's the best gift you can give them if you seem hell-bent on taking yourself down a path of self-destruction. We can't ask for much, and you can't be expected to give much.

If you're the person who is watching a person struggle with a destructive habit, tell them to come up for air every now and then. Tell them what that means. If you can't tell them, just relish every story you hear, that tells of when they came up for air. Cheer them on. They need it. And start to remember the stories, the good ones, their family will appreciate you for that when that time comes.

Now if you're the kind of person who likes to look over cliffs with no fear, let me tell you about the time I literally was beginning to fall over a 90-foot cliff at Ohanepecosh campground on Mount Raineer and my dad, once again grabbed me by my hair as my feet dangled in thin air...now that was scary! There's no feeling of being alive, like knowing you could die! I have certainly learned the feeling of being alive in my scary lifetime.

Ok, I didn't lie, the now 75-foot cliff was 90 feet when I was a kid.

No Child Left Behind

2008-10-09T23:07:00.000-07:00

I frequently receive emails on stuff like this even though I'm not in education (anymore). I thought this one put the No Child Left Behind Act into proper perspective, a perspective that is obvious to all the rest of us, not in education.

I do know that in Idaho, the Idaho Statesman Review I believe, reported a couple of years ago that 14,000 students were unaccounted for in Idaho. It's because many school districts interview students on their way out the doors as they drop out.

"Are you going to take the GED instead of going to school?" they ask as the student leaves the school.

"uh, yeah that sounds good," the students answer. And then they disappear, no longer classified as a drop-out, because many school districts classify them as GED-student-thingys and then they don't carry them on their rolls even though they live in their district. I believe the law in Idaho supports the notion that they should be carried on a school districts rolls until they reach age, attain the GED, or enter school again.

Until the Idaho State Education Officials decide to change the way things are done, however, those drop-outs are neglected, forgotten and left behind.

So here we go with the best description I've ever seen of how the No Child Left Behind Act really works; it's put so we can all understand.

Hut, hut, hut, hike, hike, I said HIKE!

(this is from a forwarded email, not my words)

For those of you who are teachers or former teachers, I've heard that the No Child Left Behind Act has made good teaching very difficult, because of the restrictions that the program puts on teachers. I thought you might
find this interesting.

Subject: No Child Left Behind Act Football version

The Football Version of What is Going on in Education.

(If you're not an educator, this may not make a lot of sense to you. But send it to your friends who are in education. They will love it--and it's not too far off from reality.)

For all educators in or out of the system...

NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND ACT---The Football Version

1. All teams must make the state playoffs and all MUST win the championship. If a team does not win the championship, they will be on probation until they are the champions, and coaches will be held accountable. If after two years they have not won the championship their footballs and equipment will be taken away UNTIL they do win the championship.

2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time even if they do not have the same conditions or opportunities to practice on their own. NO exceptions will be made for lack of interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities of themselves or their parents.

ALL KIDS WILL PLAY FOOTBALL AT A PROFICIENT LEVEL!

3. Talented players will be asked to work out on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using all their instructional time with the athletes who aren't
interested in football, have limited athletic ability, or whose parents don't like football.

4. Games will be played year round, but statistics will only be kept in the 4th, 8th, and 11th game. It will create a New Age of Sports where every school is expected to have the same level of talent and all teams will reach the same minimum goals.

If no child gets ahead, then no child gets left behind...

-write that down...

Priceless

2008-10-08T13:15:00.001-07:00

You're looking for security.

We've all been looking for that.

It isn't too much to ask.

Or is it?

We don't seem to think so on the reservation.

In fact we put our own cost on security.

For what though?

Gas money to the Rosebud Fair
$157

Coffee and Energy Drinks
$50 borrowed from my best friend's girlfriend, but he doesn't know....heh heh heh...

Bail for old warrant on Rosebud Rez
$200

Hooking up with old Snag
$25 tickets to rodeo for me and her

Getting your old car back
$50 bribe to her little brother to keep quiet while I stole my own keys back

Knowing your old car is safe...... PRICELESS!!!

GI Hunter

2008-10-06T14:42:00.000-07:00

The picture says it all, but I'll explain it anyway.

This was taken in the area just East of the curb and a little South of the Driveway, just inside the fogline.

There were no fatalities other than what was in the gun sights.

A good hunt.

No chipmunks were hurt in the making of this picture.

(as you can plainly see--this was an African King Squirrel, king of the trees...)

Roll the Credits!

2008-10-05T00:48:00.000-07:00

Why do they roll credits at the end of the movie? Why do they subject us sometimes to the credits before the movie starts? Is it really in my interest to know who the best boy is and the 1st and 2nd and 3rd gaffer?

How many people really need to know who the "3rd bank robber" was? Or how about the 3rd Key Grip? Wowie Wow Wow Wow! (As my counter-ego Borat would say)

It makes me wonder how many different people were slighted when each morning I put on a clean pair of boxers...seamstress, pattern cutter, floor sweeper, time keeper, manager, shift supervisor, human resources, CEO, yeah, see where I'm going?

Makes you wonder about that loaf of bread in your pantry right about now doesn't it? I knew it would.

-George Spelvin

Cool Beans!

2008-09-17T23:34:00.001-07:00

Many of my associates, and friends have received a reply from me that goes like this when things work out as planned or in a beneficial way:

Cool Beans!

I thought I was the only one, obviously, I was wrong. This evil mythical monster reared its head in Bellingham, WA and I snapped a picture before it disappeared. I can promise all of you who have previously received the "cool beans" replies, I did not copy, I simply said what came to a gleeful mind in the happy moment, and for that, I apologize to the espresso stand owner. I didn't know.

And if you will oblige, I will forward all relevant emails from 1995 forward that contain the signature reply.

I said it first and once again, I should have copyrighted it...write that down...

Do you?

2008-09-17T23:34:00.000-07:00

I never watched a sunset I couldn't see, but then I never tried

I never heard of an Indian playing round drum songs too loudly on Chuckanut Drive, but I know it's true

I never heard Slade say he would have saved Custer, but I know he wishes he did

I never hugged a human I didn't love--maybe I should have

I never thought then Slade would get hugged too, so I won't

I never kept up with enough friends, so here's to you

I never told a lie I didn't mean - have you?

I never thought a revolution would recruit me - did you?

I never heard sun tzu, but I believe every word he spoke - do you?

I never told horrible stories that people read to the end - will you?

The Farmer in the Dell and the Boys in the Market

2008-08-17T15:44:00.000-07:00

We went to the Farmer's Market, which wasn't much more than a couple of vendors selling some fabulous zucchini, potatoes and a couple of handicrafts. One of the crafts worth mentioning from the Deer Lodge Farmer's Market were these really cool bags. We were told by the vendor and then later by the boys themselves, that the boys made them. Their secret, even though they freely offered, will be kept safe with us.

The bags are wonderful, what a neat way to present something to a loved one. They are at once creative expositions for what can be done with a piece of scrap material and a plain paper bag on a lonely street in Deer Lodge Montana. It'll keep them ON the streets.....in a good way.

I will always remember the man who told us "I hope your truck doesn't get fixed too soon, so you get to stay a while here in Deer Lodge." Well, the time spent here so far has been pretty good, save for one probably racist waitress. But let's not spoil the time we had here with bad feelings. You know she had bad feelings for us, but I feel that in this case, just because she doesn't like us, wasn't reason for us to dislike her. Why give her reasoning credibility?

Buy her a bag and keep them boys on the street. So if you're ever in Deer Lodge, MT on a Sunday Morning, head on over to the Farmer's Market on Main Street. You can't miss it, it's the only place you'll find a bunch of boys sittin on the street...in a good way.

Improvise, adapt, overcome

2008-08-17T13:36:00.001-07:00

"Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world. Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves. All progress, therefore, depends on unreasonable people."

Well-said by George Bernard Shaw. (And is that why we say his middle name every time we say his name?)

Another topic another time. For now, lets look at the picture attached to this post. During our recent stay in Deer Lodge, MT during which our broken alternator was replaced, we discovered much to our dismay that there was no coffee maker in the room and no coffee shop open on this Sunday. Ah, well, in the spirit of Recon Platoon (see link attached to the title of this post), we improvised, adapted and ultimately overcome the coffee dilema.

Safeway had the water, (no telling what you will find in water in a mining state) the coffee and tea mugs, the sugar packets, the coffee and the cup strainer. Our somewhat sparse room had the microwave and the T.V. to while away the time.

If you too become stranded without proper caffination, this will do:

Get the one cup strainer. Buy a favorite coffee and grind it in store at perc level so that the grounds don't fall through the strainer. Buy some water so you're not stuck drinking what people 50 years ago mined up from the depths of earth. You insert the grounds in the strainer which has a lip to keep it on top of the cup. You microwave the water in a second mug. Once you get it nice and hot, you pour it through the strainer resting on top of the second cup. Voila!

Ahhhhh.........caffeine she murmurs..........and the truck waits......and we have become "unreasonable."

Bill's Automotive in Deer Lodge

2008-08-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

I have to hand it to Deer Lodge, Montana. If you're going to get stuck with car trouble, they provide you with a world-class garage for fixing your vehicle. We made a promise to ourselves that we would put this out there for everybody to see, so that Bill's Auto Repair would prosper from all the help they've provided to us. So if you're ever stuck in Deer Lodge, MT, about 44 miles west of Butte, head on over to Bill's Auto Repair. We did, and by sheer luck, he helped us get from the highway gas station over to his shop and then found an alternator on Sunday Morning and fixed it up for us. We'll never forget the hospitality offered from Bill and all the friendly people who waived at us from their yards as we walked around town. Everybody seemed genuinely friendly. The hotel, the downtowner, is ok, not super accommodations, but it did the job. Just bring your own coffee maker because we had to improvise. Deer Lodge, you also should know that Sunday is a good day to drink coffee but if you're not from here, you need the local coffee/espresso/bakery to be open for you...just a thought.

Looking for Somebody?

2007-11-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

Looking for somebody missing? Were they supposed to be on the other side of the bed, or the other side of the house, or the other side of the street, or next to you in the office?
They didn't call did they?
They didn't show up either eh?
They don't answer the phone?

Well give this place a looksee and see if you find them here.

http://searchesforpeople.com/inmate_search_all_states.shtml.

Whew! At least they're safe, and you'll know where to find them for a while!

A note on self

2007-11-04T22:27:00.000-08:00

I'm the kind of guy who notices that there are only 37 items at the salad bar even though the entrance to the buffet advertised that there were 41.

"Hey listen Sparky, just because they put 41 bowls out there doesn't mean there are 41 items."

Write that down.

I'm sure that some peers across the BIA fence will find that interesting. Thomas Builds-the-Fire from Smoke Signals should have said, "Some days it's a good day to die, some days it's a good day to be a Tribal Employee"

I'm back

2007-10-24T13:52:00.000-07:00

Okay.....
that was interesting.....
Did Bloggers ever think that if they mispelled my name and then sent a verification to that name at yahoo.com that it would never get to me?
That's what happened in the big crossover apparently.
But, they told me the mispelling today and I created a yahoo mail account that matches the mispelling and voila'!

now if I could only remember what it was I had to say since December of last year.....

First Shelves and now Electronics

2006-11-07T22:27:00.000-08:00

If you're still with me, relax. I did not fix anything on the Power Grid. It was a remote electronic unit; my video camera (A Sharp VL-Z1). If you read my grand shelving adventure you will see the note that I am not a fixer-upper-type of guy. I'm a guy who uses the instruction manual for lighting the fire in the woodstove (which I did not install so, again, relax).
I own a Sharp VL-Z1 camcorder. I won a photo contest a few years back and I got a $200 dollar gift certificate, which covered about half the cost of the camera so I bought it. It worked fine the first few months and then it just had problems with the dew sensor. It would kick digital cassettes out and refuse to record or play. I very nearly threw it into the depths of a forest fire one day when I was on a hot shot crew. We were on a fire in Arizona when we used our safety zone--the fire surrounded us and I saw stuff very few people will see and live to tell about. Imagine my "surprise" then when I pulled my camera out because I was gonna share this with the world back home, and it won't take a tape.
I had a few choice words for my Sharp VL-Z1 that were swallowed up by the heat, smoke and general malcontent from all those guys who thought they might be in the next video, "Forest Fires Gone Bad!" Now you may be wondering why I keep mentioning the Sharp VL-Z1 by name so much.
It's to let others out there know.....you're not alone! It seems that a lot of us who own the Sharp VL-Z1 have the same problem- problems with the cassette, problems with a dew sensor. This is a public service announcement: Yes, you CAN fix your Sharp VL-Z1 Camcorder for the remarkable price of 15.99 (sales tax not included or charged on an Indian Reservation)!
I fixed my own Sharp VL-Z1 for that very same price and now I'm armed with a soldering iron. I, a mere bystander, with more book sense than mechanic-isticness, fixed my Sharp VL-Z1. I will not be spoon feeding you. There is a site out there which gives directions for fixing the dew sensor. I will offer what the publisher of that site does not. When you open the tape cassette door, look down in there and wayyy down on the left (which would be the front right corner of the camera) you will see the posts for the dew sensor. You will have to have the tape cassette door all the way open when you solder the posts! If you have it all the way open, take the batteries out so it doesn't move on you. The post in particular will be the one closest to the corner. You will find it's hard to get to, even with a SKINNY soldering iron. Make sure you get one of those long skinny soldering irons (NOT A SOLDERING GUN). Be careful because you will need to kind of melt the post down by touching it on top. That is why the sensor doesn't work; it isn't completely connected because of a poor soldering job at the factory. (gee, I sound like I know what I'm doing at this point!) Do not try to do this with the cassette tray just "UP"; it needs to be up and out, and then take the batteries out. You can fix your Sharp VL-z1. If I can do it, anybody can.
And they all thought Al Gore was crazy when he created this Internet thingy. Look at what it can do for all of us, just be aware: If I ever do fix anything connected to the Federal Power Grid, I will post here at least three hours before, so you can get whatever you need from your freezer before all hell will probably break loose.
It just goes to show, a little bit of knowledge is worse than a lot. (In other words, hide your toasters cause I'm out there........fixing stuff!)

a lesson on a hillside

2006-07-29T21:49:00.000-07:00

It only took a red Ace Hardware bucket, a 45 minute drive, and a plethora of huckleberries for this newest lesson. You know there are lessons out there everywhere, you just have to listen for them. One of my friends saw a bear right next to him in a patch a few days ago and he isn't the outdoorsy type that much yet. He ran and the bear ran, in opposite directions. An older friend kind of chuckled and asked him why he didn't talk to the bear to see if the bear had anything to say to him.

Lessons, lessons everywhere and not a child to teach.

Well, I got into a huge patch of grape-sized huckleberries the other day and my 5 quart bucket got a work out. There are only a couple of times when you get a strange feeling picking berries if you're like me and my buds.

First time is when you start with an empty bucket and any other time is right after you have dumped your bucket into a larger basket and started again.

There's no sound quite so hollow and lonely as the sound of fresh berries falling into an empty bucket.

You get that sound after you accidentally spill an almost full bucket (twice) in one afternoon too. It's the sound of starting over, with nothing, poor. Why would you think "poor" when talking about an empty huckleberry bucket? Well, it's not a "material" poor as much as a spiritual poor. And it's a good poor.

You know that food chain, the one that some European scientist created, the one with man at the top of the chain? It's wrong. Way wrong. It needs to be turned over. Turned upside down and downside up. Man is in the wrong place. We are at the bottom of the food chain.

Everything else could survive without us. And, the small things are the ones with all the power, not the large carnivores. It takes moth larvae to keep grizzlies alive between their awakening and the elk, deer and moose calving season and berry season. It takes plankton to feed whales. It takes an ant to feed an aardvark. It takes industrious gophers replenishing the seed population to keep the grass growing that give nutrients to the grazers. It takes mosquitoes and other larvae to feed the twenty pound salmon as it grows.

It takes a harmony that we are not aware of to keep everything alive and we do it with way too little humility. Take all the animals out of the picture and mankind takes a serious dip in its population. We need them; they don't need us.

We're poor, and dependent on the tiniest things around us to provide us with our ability to thrive. It takes some humility to realize that, and even more humility to act accordingly. That's why going to these berry patches where our ancestors have gone for hundreds of years is so special to me. I know I am poor when I see the empty bucket, hear the sound of more berries falling into it. Do you know how poor you are when you shop for everything in a store?

I have a freezer full of moose, deer and elk. I saw their last breath. I didn't let someone else shoot a poor calf full of steroids so that they could turn it into a canibal by feeding it the bonemeal from other cows, and then package it up nice and pretty in the store for me at $3.67 a pound. By the way, I think there is no better packaging than the hide of a moose or a deer or elk.

I'm poor and I'm aware of it. I have an empty bucket several times a year in my life; so do you. Don't believe me? Divorce, breaking up, bankruptcy, cheating, death of family members, new house, getting fired from a job, alcoholism, drugs, even going shopping when your 'frige is empty all mean you have an empty bucket. When you realize it, relish it. It's a good feeling to know the truth, any truth. And if the truth is that you broke up with your last "snag," fine, own that truth it's yours.

Why is it so cool? Why am I ranting so much? Because it's the absence of abundance that makes each huckleberry sound so loud. You know you're doing good things when you hear those first few huckleberries hit the hollow bottom, 'cause you can hear em!

It's in a time of abundance when you're bucket is half full that you take each berry fall for granted. But when your busket is empty, you hear your progress, you know something's happening in your bucket.

So goes life. Relish those empty bucket moments because each new action is felt with so much more gusto. You have no other distractions to keep you from relating to your progress. So what--they repossessed the car. When you get back on your feet, and buy that cheap little gas saver, you'll find a new appreciation that you can do so much more with so much less. So you cheated on your last "snag," so what--I'll bet you still get butterflies in your stomach when you meet the right one (or the "next" one anyway).

Go out and be poor huckleberry pickers. Empty your bucket when you share with someone else who may need what's in the bucket. Relish the echoes when those first few huckleberries falling in the bucket come from giving to someone else.

You're welcome.

Shelves and stuff

2006-06-18T23:25:00.000-07:00

Let's just pretend I never left the room. Let's pretend I kept my Blog House pretty, neat and clean.
That makes it easier to tell about the grand and wonderous ability to build shelves. You know I never claimed to be a mechanic, or a carpenter, or an electrician, or a plumber. That is why I never offer to fix anybody's car, unless you count putting in gas because that does fix a car's problem sometimes; never build "stuff"; don't do anything more complicated than replace a light bulb, and I only use a plunger because that's all I'm qualified to do in a bathroom besides all the natural stuff.
So, why would I attempt to build a shelf for the shed? It's a new era where the Internet instills a false sense of "ability" that's why. I thought it would be nice to get a freezer for the shed, since more than a couple of deer, elk, and moose make their way into my sights. I needed room and I thought if we stacked UP then there would be room for the freezer.
The only thing was that I wasn't very attentive. When we built all our houses as a kid, I never took notes from my dad on even the smallest things like how to drive a nail all the way in with just three hits. So, in the absence of my father's immediate presence, I took to the new teacher: the Internet. I typed in Shelves. I found out a new term was abundant in the Internet: shelving unit. It even sounds technical. I looked at a bunch of sites that gave directions about how to build them and found that there are a lot more ways to screw it up than I ever dreamed possible. Anyway, I got the call that there was a freezer at a yard sale for $50 dollars. Whoo wee! Away I went and I bought it. It's one of those older ones that's upright with the freezer tubes on each shelf, nice! Now to clear out the shed. put the freezer in and shazam! I was in business. Now how am I gonna get all that stuff back in. I had all this excess plywood and 2x4s but they didn't make a "shelving unit." Not yet anyway.
In that moment, the Internet seed grew in my psyche. I knew I could do it. If you were watching, it would look akin to a child learning to walk. I cut the four corner supports and then set them up against the wall to "see how it should go." Then I cut some more support and connecting beams, and I thought I was ready. I got half of it together and what a stroke of luck: I thought I should check to see if it would fit in before I put it entirely together. Luck was with the child that day! Good thing I checked. I put the half in and then attached the other half to it. I didn't know how many nails to use so the order of the day was, "the more the better!" Then I cut my plywood and.....it fit, perfectly even one might say!
I even measured twice and cut once on each piece. In the end it still looked kind of wobbly, the connections, so a new order was born! More BIGGER nails must be better!
It worked, none of the connections moved when I shook the unit. I purposely left room to create a space between one wall and the end. That's where the long handled tools would rest safely.
A few roofing nails with those fancy grooves to keep the plywood from coming loose and I was in business.
I started this at about 3 in the afternoon. I was done a mere seven and a half hours later. It's amazing how three shelves can come to life in seven and a half hours. (remember the child learning to walk picture).
As I type, the freezer is empty but running. It sits next to a shelf with literally all the stuff stacked neatly on each shelf. It is still standing, and unless an elephant walks across it, I'm pretty sure those last gigantic nails will hold.
Onward to bigger better things. I found a parts list for my helpless 87 Honda Prelude, but I can't figure out what tools I'm gonna need to replace the vacuum seal on the number one cylinder. Someone told me after the diagnostic that it was major engine work.
But I figure with my shelving unit license, I'm just barely qualified.

Just a Blah Day, week, month

2006-03-08T22:25:00.000-08:00

Okay,
I haven't been here for a while. I've been kind of busy. I really don't have a lot of time lately. I've been working out a lot after work. I do a dumbbell routine and then I swim. It's just kind of a blah day, month, week, period.

It's been nice lately though. I've had someone finally join me instead of just asking me how my workout went. It fills the time to kind of have someone there with me.

So, the other day, I decided I was gonna swim a mile...indoors. Now you have to understand where I'm coming from on this mile thing. I have been swimming since I was about 5 or 6 years old. When I first got adopted, it was because I had burns all over my back from somwhere in my life with my first family. So when I got adopted, I started to get nutritious food, and my legs started to grow. I had horrible growing pains. So, part of my therapy was swimming. And I swam eventually competitively for a long time, till I was 16.

Then I started to run, but I kept the swimming thing going on with my lifeguarding. Then I got away from it all for a few years. Until one day at Fort Hood Texas I saw a sign for a lifeguard training class starting up. Fort Hood probably had the hardest lifeguard school in the Army. There was a week of just conditioning that you had to pass just to get into the lifeguard school. Swim a lap, do twenty push ups. Swim a lap do twenty leg lifts. Swim a lap do twenty sit ups. Swim a lap do twenty elevated push ups. Grab your brick, swim with the brick, do sit ups with the brick... This went on for 8 hours every day for the first week. As a young 23-year-old Sergeant, I thought to myself, "I can do this."

Well I kept with the swimming thing for about a year. I started to swim mileage at the lake. Then when winter came, I swam indoors again. I do not recommend swimming six miles indoors doing flip turns! One day I decided to see how far I could swim in the pool before closing time. I ended up swimming six miles...I got so sick and dizzy when I finally stopped!

So anyway, the other day I decided to swim a mile right? Well, I thought for sure I was gonna be all sick and dizzy again. But I put my mind to just doing it; forget the consequences. It turned into one mile, with no problem!

To me, that's how the mind over matter thing works. I've run ultra marthons on very little training. I've swam till I puked. I've worked fire lines till I thought I was gonna puke from just being so tired. I've hiked with 100 lb. packs on, carrying just water and batteries for a radio through the desert 10k at a time. I've done a lot; I've rarely been the best, but sometimes I got lucky. I like to think that I did it in amazing fashion because I'm really not the pick of the litter when it comes to athletic talent. When it comes down to it though, I put my mind to it and forget the consequences. I like to think that I really don't know my own limitations because I never think about the limitations; I concentrate on the task at hand. So, I'm very much young at heart still. I approach the "hill" and I still do things that I never thought someone "over the hill" should be doing. Isn't that what getting old is about? I think if it's even exercising your mind, you've got to be challenging yourself to keep that mind young. Maybe getting old isn't necessarily failing to challenge yourself any more, as much as it is settling for just "accepting."

Accept the fallacy that you can't do some things anymore, without ever just checking to see if you might be able to do it with style, and a couple of flip turns thrown in just to wow the kids watching! Accept the fallacy that you'll look ridiculous trying to do things "only younger people do."

That's B.S.! Put in a braided pony tail and sweat a little. Put some flashy running shoes on and get out there!

If you do get sick though, wait till you're out of sight of the kids, they might call an ambulance on you're sorry state of being!

I thought I was old until today when, as my partner and I were sweating it up, a lady with a LOT MORE birthdays than me came up to us and commented that she was looking at us as her inspiration. She was wearing a purple shirt, purple running tights, and it looked like purple shoes. She WAS doing it, and with style!

I say she had a lot more birthdays than me because that's more true than saying she...was.........old.

That's what I want someday when I have as many birthdays as she had today. I want to keep doing all those miles in my life with a stylish flip turn that speaks to my mind-over-matter approach to things.

Maybe it wasn't such a blah day, week, month afterall. You just gotta keep them eyes peeled for the moments that count, 'cause if you don't, they might pass you by.

The Return of Lazarus!

2006-02-02T22:22:00.000-08:00

Not that Lazarus!

The other Lazarus; the little guy who called me "Jim," and a host of other names that seemed to fit his liking in the particular moment. Anyway, he comes in the door after having been gone for a while in his family's new home.

"He said, "where's Jim?" And then he went looking around the house looking for "that Jim Guy."

Ride the Horse!

2006-01-29T14:21:00.000-08:00

I should tell you I have been busy this last month. When I first stepped into the office, I was given a task of coordinating this new tutoring program. I was told that I had about "now" to get it ready.
It had all kinds of pitfalls, as any pilot project would. And it actually came together in the last five minutes before the reporters arrived. We couldn't get the hardware to work with the software. There were some compatibility issues, which gave me some issues. I was racing back from Spokane the very afternoon of the proposed press release with our new hardware. I got back with 61 minutes until we were supposed to release the program onto the world. I told the techie we had one hour to be up and running. (that would give us the requisite one minute to stop sweating and breathe normal, right?) Anyway, at 40 minutes we had six stations up and the software working very nicely. Not even five minutes later, the photographer arrived, which is nice...
I can't help but wonder at what the elders to the students in this program are thinking. Some of these kids are only two generations away from traditional native culture (language, subsistence, relationships, and home), and here they are talking away on their mini cams with teachers a world away. (48 miles away in Pullman, but still a world away as far as they are concerned) We have come from subsistence living (which is really not a bad thing, it's the natural way of living) to the world of technology and communication via computer work stations in a Tribal Technology center open to tribal and non-tribal alike.
No more tribal runners. No more trips to neighboring villages across the open fields on horseback. Now we make our way across the open fields on a specific bandwidth.
Technology is our new horse; it's infinite utility and innovation are what will carry our children into the future now. Wow, what a rush! I had such a small part in this whole evolution, but I'm proud to have done my little part.

Indianz.com

Seattle Times

Ride the horse baby, RIDE THE HORSE!!!!!!!

Pencils down please...or When in Rome...

2006-01-07T23:12:00.000-08:00

Ok,
for those three or four of you who stumble onto this blog (more than once every year) you will be glad to know I am employed-for the moment. It' s kind of strange (eerie even) that the day my unemployment ran out, I got picked up for a job that I hadn't even interviewed for. It's temporary, but that doesn't matter. It's providing some pay and it's actually for a field that I believe in. You know, before I moved here to Worley, I had a job in a Head Start organization as a coordinator and now once again I find myself in the education field. I will be doing some coordinating for an Adult Basic Education program. Part of my job will be coordinating another program as well as mine until they can get a leader for that program. In the course of discussing the programs, it was revealed that a community educational needs assessment was done and, surprise, the Natives here were discovered to be lacking in a couple of areas! I was fortunate to meet someone while I was at College, and she was involved with a Native population in a very large metro area. They conducted a survey in that area, and it was also shown that the Native students were falling behind in that metro area too.
I got to thinking you know what, why are we measuring the after effects of a phenomena? Instead of measuring "what happened," why aren't we measuring "how" it happened? The Native population far and wide, share a common trait of spatial learning. This is something I first learned in University when some math methods taught by non Native instructors just didn't cut the cake when it came to all Native classrooms. I further experienced that when I became a tutor to those same students I had gone to class with.
Now, I got to thinking in this recent local survey. We looked at what the Native students had done, or rather had come up short in. (I know preposition at the end of a sentence, I was also an English tutor!) I started thinking (yes, I'm okay from having done it too!) maybe the testing should go the other way! (lets sneak some tests for spatial capabilities on the local teachers...tee hee!) hmm.... As a general rule, many Native Americans learn better spatially. Ok. We know that the graduation rate plummets in Native Populations. We know that culture is established very early and stays with you for life in most instances. Where are the local teachers at? Where are they at when it comes to addressing the cultural issues? I don't mean menial things like, who are the historical local tribal leaders, what language is spoken, or what treaty governs the local people.
What I want to know, is how equipped are the local teachers to teach in a spatial environment? Do they fully grasp the different methods involved.
Do the local non-Native majority of teachers know THEIR CULTURE? This is a loaded question. Do you know what the greatest definition of CULTURE is for me? Martin Broken Leg once told me that the definition of culture is:
"...everything that you do, that only others notice about you."
Others will notice things about things you do because it is different from how they do it. It's harmless in most situations. Some people pray with hands folded, and eyes closed, and they do all the talking. Some people pray with open hands and eyes opened with the same sense of humility that they person with closed eyes hopes to achieve.
You shake with right hands and maybe grasp the arm with your left hand. Others would never touch you with their left hands. We make the "ok" symbol here in america by joining our first finger and thumb together. Other countries count it as the symbol of an "evil eye," or the symbol for "asshole."
The key difference is that there is no expectation for each different culture's difference. There is no test at the end of the semester that will determine what kind of job you will eventually get. There is, for the most part, no stigma attached with not knowing another person's culture, especially in these states that united to become "America."
If you speak four languages, you're a polyglot
If you speak three languages you're from Germany
If you speak two languages you're from Spain.
If you speak one language, you're an AMERICAN!
Now joking about it is one thing. But when you think about it, I've seen it many times overseas, when American's never fail to get the local language and get frustrated...expecting others to be able to speak English, on Korean soil, Iraqi soil, Japanese soil, Mexico.
Now, move all this to a classroom. What kind of sense does it make to teach linear methods to a spatial class population? So, lets untie the knot here (denoumet) why are we expecting Native students to learn an entirely different method, an entirely different culture (remember its a way of doing things) without equipping them for it? Why aren't we in the local Native populations expecting local teachers to speak our language-our SPATIAL language?
You wouldn't expect an English speaking teacher to go to a remote, rural, Uru Eau El Wau Wau village in a South American country and get any kind of results teaching math without knowing the local culture (language, etiquette, customs, relationships) would you?
Well, then why would you expect Non-Native Teachers to go to a Tribal community (and remember over 500 different, diverse, separate nations exist here on the soil that the states united on), teach a non Native way, and get any better results?
Either you equip the Native students for linear thought patterns,
OR
you teach in the local culture.

We all know what happens when you "equip Native students for linear thought patterns."
-Kill the Indian, save the person
-Government pamphlets (on file at Haskell Indian Nations University's Cultural Center) that tell, "How to properly whip an Indian child"
-Boarding Schools (that were created by stealing children from families to make up class rosters, both here on the soil where the states united, and in Australia)
-"Normal" schools

I am not saying that is happening locally. Let me make it clear. I am not saying that is happening locally. What I am pointing out, is that the Federal and State governments still have some ground to cover when it comes to meeting the needs of Native American students.
Why are we testing the local Native Students? We know how they supposedly failed [to graduate].
Why aren't we testing the local Teachers for the ability to teach culturally significant methodologies to equip Native students for productive careers, lives, self esteem. We will end up at the same place if taught in a way we will understand.
How can I make these bold statements? I am Native born, and adopted by a Non-Native family that I call my own. I was culturally imprinted before I was adopted.

Now, if none of this makes sense to you, you might be an American. Why else would Americans come up with a quote to remind themselves to be sensitive to foreign culture?

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

hmmmmm...

Can you hear them now?

2005-12-07T22:30:00.000-08:00

Recently I saw this hilarious email about the worst job in America. It shows about three minutes of this guy saying Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes. It shows him all day saying yes and cussing a lot to the person on the other end of the phone. In the end it shows the Verizon Guy asking can you hear me now? I thought it was hilarious.

Now, this may take a bit, but stretch your imagination as you walk with me. There are some kids who are not always happy, but then what kid is? (Okay you there, in the back, yes we see your hand, that's nice, but our kids live in reality!) Well, it happens that most of the time the demand is unreal, the demand is something totally off track. I know, you the grown-up, are left standing there wondering how the argument got so far off to the left of what you thought the problem was.

So.....if you're still with me, many times kids can't express some feelings that they don't understand. They also have conflict at times when they just begin to learn that grown ups can and do make mistakes. They are finding their voice in the world and just what their boundaries are. As a result, when they find an invisible boundary, usually marked by your raised voice, a couple of pointing fingers and sweat dropping off your brow, they panic. That's when they will blurt something way out there in the field of memories that doesn't make any sense to you.

"Yeah, well at least I didn't go through a red light like you did that one time!"

Relax, it's not personal, it's what is known as a retreat back into what they KNOW to be true, what they know is right--that small, teeny tiny, eentsie weentsie, little bit of the world that they can control. And it's not about control so much as a contribution, a voice, a raising of flags on their piece of real estate.

At least that's what I choose to believe. And if you follow me, you'll never get lost, because wherever you go, there you are!

So, instead of raising the hurricane flag when they do blurt something totally outrageous, next time, let them retreat. Let them regroup, especially if they're boys, for some reason, we act more impulsively and therefore take more time to react and change directions.

You can bring them back to the point of issue, but don't make the mistake of arguing the moot point, the issue from three weeks ago. (And don't you dare run any more red lights unless you want to hear about it some more) Next time, give them an example.

"You know what you're right. I was wrong when I ran the red light. I'm sorry. Next time I'll try harder."

See if they react the same way about their particular issue that you started the argument about. If not, then maybe suggest that they should apologize, and try harder next time. Ask if they can help you watch for red lights, and you'll watch for whatever it was that started this evening's dialogue.

Now, if your kids are hard core battle hardened soldiers for their cause, I can't help you. You're on your own. "You guys got issues!" JUST KIDDING! But I really can't help you if the water's that deep and the boat's that fast. I can only tell you how it was being the driver of that fast boat. (MAN WAS IT FUN!!!!)

You know, during the war, our Psychological Operations Units (can we say that and kids in the same sentence?) were waging war even before a shot was fired. They were playing tank music during the night across the border on HUGE, LOUD speakers. It was supposed to scare the Bejezus out of the Iraqis in the middle of the night. It was a false move that worked of course.

Now, having said that, listen to your conversations/arguments with your kids. Are they playing tank music? Listen closely for it. Can you hear them now?

"It does no good to shoot at noise." (Write that down).

I got started and can't stop now!

2005-11-17T21:26:00.000-08:00

I apologize for straying off my normal subject matter, but this war business is really disturbing. I find myself joining a snowball effect, that I only hope grows. I find the cause for the Iraq part of our war is really not worthy of our soldier's lives.
...and I really like this LINK.

According the the story by the AP's Liz Sidoti, Rep. John Murtha (news, bio, voting record), a decorated Vietnam combat veteran, choked back tears telling reporters.

"It's time to bring them home..."

I could not agree more. I agree for the lives of each and every person over there. I agree that as long as the bush admninistration exercises its abuse of power, and profits from it, that they do not deserve the respect of the soldiers who serve them. I believe that the cause is not just.

The AP further reported that he said, "They are united against U.S. forces and we have become a catalyst for violence," he said. "The war in Iraq is not going as advertised. It is a flawed policy wrapped in illusion."

A flawed policy wrapped in illusion...hmmmm. That means that no matter how you glorify the lives sacrificed, the lives lost, the reason for why they died will never change.

I like what the HONORABLE Mr. Representative Murtha said when he spoke of the vice president cheney's criticism of him:

"I like guys who've never been there that criticize us who've been there," said Murtha, a former Marine. "I like that. I like guys who got five deferments and never been there and send people to war, and then don't like to hear suggestions about what needs to be done."

because it only serves as an example of what I explained in my earlier blog. The soldiers in the service "question why" FAR LESS often than they think "just take care of the guy next to me."

It's a habit, if you really questioned why, then you could drive yourself crazy just trying to come up with a believable reason in situations where the war policy might be "flawed." That's not how you conduct unpleasant war business. You support the commander in chief, whoever the person may be, and you can't do that by leisurely questioning why. You take care of the guy next to you, that's what being a good soldier is about. Being a good soldier is not actively seeking out "five deferments," like mr. cheney did. You know politics can really jerk a guy's life chain when war's involved. In Korea, we sent Task Force Smith (a mere battalion that practically got anhiliated); then we sent McArthur who went in, took care of business and got fired by politicians who couldn't take the fact that war is ugly business. McArthur didn't question why he was there, he took a mission and ran with it. It would have left us with one Korea instead of what we have today. In Vietnam, politicians put leashes on our soldiers while the enemy ran across to the neighbor's yard. You know what, now they're sending soldiers in to Iraq, Task Force Smith style, and what for?

The nation of Iraq doesn't need to be a democratic society because we want it to be. It needs to be a democratic society when enough social change occurs for it to happen naturally or maybe never. Really now, if we thought that everybody needed to be democratic why aren't we taking over Cuba? If we thought everybody needed to be democratic, why aren't we forcing free elections on China? We hold China to a higher standard than ourselves. The States who United make China hold to a United Nations agreement about Human Rights that the USA never signed itself. And we think we know what's best for Iraq? No, not really. The bush administration probably has an idea to protect vital national [family?] interests.....hmmmmm OIL OIL OIL OIL?

White House press secretary Scott McClellan, now he's a piece of work, such a loyal staffer! he says
"... it is baffling that he is endorsing the policy positions of Michael Moore and the extreme liberal wing of the Democratic Party."

How the hell did Michael Moore make it into the conversation? (the HONORABLE Michael Moore) The "extreme liberal wing?" Then he must be in the extreme conservative wing? You know we have the far left and the far right, but it takes each sides' extreme views to hopefully reach confluence. I belive that the Honorable Mr. Murtha is already in the confluence waiting for the rest of the two extremes to join him in the middle. The Honorable Mr. Murtha takes his duties as a representative (of the people) seriously and with a great deal of experience.
A Colonel of mine once said, the greatest General's are the one's who never forget what it's like being a new recruit. I'm sure it was probably quoted a lot down through the years but, Mr. Murtha is a prime example of living it as a truth. He hasn't forgotten the Soldiers that the administration is sending into harm's way. He is a representative who should be listened to. It is against policy for soldiers to criticize their commander in chief with full vigor. It's unlawful for Officers to criticize the president or his policy.

Therefore, it is only right that an HONORABLE REPRESENTATIVE WITH EXPERIENCE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF SOMEONE'S GUN, speak out for the lives of other soldiers on the business side of Iraqi guns. That's what being a representative is all about. Congress is supposed to represent the people. The people needing representation right now are your cousins, your aunts, your brothers, sisters and your next-door neighbors who wear a United States of America uniform.

Scott ,mcclellan also said,

"The eve of an historic democratic election in Iraq is not the time to surrender to the terrorists...After seeing his statement, we remain baffled — nowhere does he explain how retreating from Iraq makes America safer."

Nowhere, no time has the bush administration explained how the Iraqi terrorism threat began because, WE'RE OCCUPYING THEIR COUNTRY! The Iraqi terrorists are just that-terrorists INSIDE OF IRAQ, not terrorists in Wiley City, WA, in Worley, Idaho, in Pulaski, NY, in Porcupine, SD, in the town of Council Grove, KS. Nowhere has mr. mcclellan explained how removing us from Iraq will remove the threat to THEM, the Sovereign Nation of Iraq. It is not a "retreat." It is a natural recognition that we might not be doing the BEST thing with the lives of soldiers who will give their lives in accomplishing whatever is set before them.

The AP also reported that Murtha, who did support the war when we probably ALL thought it was a just cause (self included) is part of:

"...plummeting public support for a war that has cost more than $200 billion and led to the deaths of more than 2,000 U.S. troops."

Now, isn't that just close to what I just said in my last two blogs? Billions of Dollars, and over two thousand lives, across the span of FIFTEEN wasted years were spent when we could have been making changes here on our own soil. Lets spend some money. We say we don't have it, but $200 Billion dollars later, we still say we don't have it. Now we can't ever tell over two thousand dead soldiers that we don't have the money to spend on research for viable renewable fuel resources, maybe because we spent it on war operations that made people like defense contracting agencies' executives rich, right mr. cheney?

Tell it to all the living wounded soldiers, missing hands, legs, sight; look them in the eye and tell them they were wounded in Iraq protecting the people in all those small cities named above.
Yes, this blog has taken a drastic turn. This entry may be all over the place. It might be ill-composed. But then wasting $200 billion dollars, with nothing to show for it after 15 years, is no less ill-composed when you consider that the administration is also throwing lives (over 2000 lost lives so far) at a problem. I'm gonna stand on my soap box and keep saying:

Lets JUST spend some more billions of dollars we don't have,
instead of spending billions of dollars and even one more life of people who serve you with pride in uniform.

They deserve to go only where it's absolutely necessary and as a last resort to protect lives, not corporate interests.

Who cares if I'm right? Even if I'm wrong, we'll all be ahead of the game when all those oil fields go tits up, and we'll have your next-door neighbor's kid still around to speak about.

Cairns In The Sand

2005-11-15T00:42:00.000-08:00

Just a pre-read note: this was published previously in a journal that I do not speak of. They mangled it so badly that I called the editor up and tore her a new one. It is my writing. It is about an incident that happened during Operation Desert Shield, just prior to Desert Storm. It is non-fiction...(Uh, yeah, that means it's a true story)
I'll see you at the end of the read. HOO AHHH!

I squirmed, struggling to turn from my back to my side. Any exercising of my abdominal muscles threatened to burst my bladder. Despite being a consistent part of each of the recent seven days, the pain, never-the-less, maintained a novel potency. This water, the cure, I felt was just as painful as the condition of dehydration. In my struggle to gulp water as quickly as I lost it, I became a model of overachievement; a bent-over model, clothed only in brown boxers and green jungle boots, sans socks. Painfully, I could only take short, quick wisps of the desert’s dark air. I stepped gingerly as I negotiated the maze of duffel bags and cots. I scraped a shin on one of those cots, and I ignored even the thought of wincing, fearing that a gasp would kill me.
I reached for the tent flap. As I pulled it open, I felt the cool crisp rush of the outside air. I closed the flap before any more of the darkness could sneak into the tent. I took steps with hands groping, stirring the blackness before me. Finally feeling the door of the Humvee, I turned north and shuffled what felt like several miles to reach the rear hatch of the vehicle, where I turned west and leaned against it at waist level. I glanced, eyes right, and began to piss a giant puddle. I struggled to keep from using any muscles; I surrendered unconditionally to the forces of gravity. Minutes later, I was panting with relief, thankful for the ability to breathe normally again. I stayed bent over, savoring the moment.
The pain had retreated, and, once again, I assumed command of my body. I wiped sweat from my forehead and backwards into my fresh new haircut. I tilted my head forward, and I scratched furiously, trying to shake sand from the top of my freshly shaved head. I stood up, straightening my frame back into the shape of a soldier. My strength was renewed; my confidence was restored. I walked seven steps from the rear of the vehicle to the front of it, and I peered into some direction of the darkness. I saw the vague shape of the Criminal Investigation Detachment tent only a few steps away, and I heard the sound of another giant piss puddle forming somewhere in the immediate darkness before me. I looked to the left and to the right of the sound; the rods of my eyes processed an image of one of our resident CID agents relieving himself. I waived, and the movement registered in his eyes. I walked over, and we made small talk. I told him I drank nineteen of the one and a half-liter water bottles--one full liter for each hour I was awake. He began to straighten up and said he too had drunk to excess. Then he went back to his tent, grabbing another full bottle of water before he went inside it. I turned, hoping I was facing my tent, and walked like a miniature Indian Frankenstein in boxers, arms leading the way.
On the fall of one of my footsteps, I nearly jumped out of my boots and boxers. The silence of my comical journey was shattered by the shock wave of a tremendous crash, and then another, and finally one more. The CID agent said, “I wonder what that was.”
Doing far more than wondering, I said, “I don’t know,” already several footsteps away from where I had been. I followed tracks earlier vehicles had made in the sand; all fear of sand vipers, scorpions, and camel spiders faded in the face of my curiosity.
About one hundred yards into my trek, I met a fellow sergeant, staring at his Humvee; it was a turtle stuck to the steep north side of a sand dune. It balanced tragically upon the shoulders of a young MP who was sitting underneath the right doorpost; his loose seatbelt was still clipped around him. I asked the sergeant what happened; he mumbled something about a vehicle rolling down from the top. I failed to recognize the shock in his blank stare at the vehicle.
I was running and screaming all the way back to the tent, never realizing that the darkness had been replaced by complete clarity. I screamed “Hey!” and “Somebody help me!” with every step I ran toward my tent. I was taking short quick wisps of air, afraid I would not get the words out quickly enough or loudly enough.
The CID agent met me between the tents. On the verge of tears, I shrieked that one of our vehicles had rolled over and, “Wake everybody up, I need help!” I sped into my tent, screaming the news to my platoon. I saw nothing but my flashlight lying on the ground, where, once before, I had seen nothing but complete darkness. Jumping over a bag, I ran from the tent screaming for them to follow. I took short quick wisps of air again, afraid that I couldn’t replace oxygen quickly enough.
I screamed into the heart of our Military Police compound for people to wake up and help. I raced back to the Humvee. The sergeant was trying to reach over the Private and blot out some sparking wires. I looked with my flashlight, whose cursed beams generated a picture of legs trapped beneath the side of the vehicle. This Private was supporting the weight of the vehicle on his upper spine. Blood clogged his mouth, his nose, and his ears.
“Don’t rock it, you’re gonna hurt him!” I screamed at the sergeant, who had regained his composure. I leaned into the weight of the Humvee; “Don’t worry, I’m not pushing it up, I’m just gonna keep it from going any further,” I grunted.
My platoon began showing up, and I assigned several of them to the task of holding the vehicle. I sent one soldier scurrying off to get a Humvee with a winch positioned on the other side of the deadly sand dune. Then, I watched somebody try to put the electrical fire out with a fire extinguisher; it wasn’t working. My lieutenant called out to his driver to bring his vehicle over; he needed the vehicle radio to tell the dustoff medical helicopter where to come to. More extinguishers exploded, more sparks flew, and I held on to a rapidly dimming glimmer of hope as best as I could.
Some idiot who normally wore lieutenant bars came running up to the scene and used a command voice, that he should have used earlier, to transform this accident from the Private’s problem into my own private nightmare. “Nobody touch the vehicle!” he commanded, and eight or nine pairs of hands flew from the surface of the vehicle. My shoulder suddenly felt heavy from the ton and a half of vehicle weight. I was positioned looking straight down at the helpless Private when the vehicle slipped.
In half of an instant, I lost all those short quick wisps of air.
I grunted from the deep dark parts of my soul as I pushed for them; I tried to scream “No!” but the air had rushed from my pleading mouth. I sucked at the heavy air; fear clenched my throat. I squeaked as I tried to breathe for the Private. My ears attacked my being with the sound of the vehicle groaning and scraping against his spine; my ears soaked up that sickening sound because his lifeless broken body could not hear. My heart pumped double-time as chunks of blood dropped from his face. His body lost all sign of life, and I felt that moment in a way as no man should ever have to suffer. My soul gathered momentum as I began to slip in the sand; my feet flew, forcing furrows of sand to go flying into oblivion. My tear-filled eyes saw his body bend unnaturally under the weight I could not hold, and they summoned my soul to speak now or surrender his spirit to the sweet hereafter.
I shouted in the last half of the same instant. My diaphragm contracted; my lungs pushed air past the fear; my mouth opened; my body pleaded for help because his could not move.
“Get your hands up here, you’re crushing him!” I shouted past the tears welling up in my eyes, past the sobs hiding in my throat. “Don’t let go of it!” I shouted, suppressing sobs with a great gasping mouth. They shored their shoulders up against it once again. I fought an incredible anger as I began to pray. “Dear Lord, don’t let that happen again!” I begged. After my personal hope for the best was damp with reality, his lifeless, misshapen body was rescued from the horrible position. He was laid on the sand as CPR commands pierced the air. We shouted his name from the sidelines.
“C’mon, don’t give up, keep trying,” we all shouted to the lifeless lump lying before us.
Someone from his squad yelled “Come on, don’t give up, we love you man.” I was soaking in a mixture of sweat and sand. I watched as his platoon sergeant and lieutenant worked in a concert of chest compressions, breaths, and an occasional whisper of encouragement to the Private’s body. The adrenaline raced through me, and I began to shake.
As I walked up the dune, someone asked why they had disobeyed our captain’s order not to take the vehicles up the dune to our observation post. Somebody else said their lieutenant gave them the ok to do it because they were cold. My shakes of fear turned to a shudder of disgust.
About thirteen minutes into my newest emotion, the helicopter flew from the darkness; it flew right to us; then it kept flying into the darkness, missing our location. About twenty-five nerve-wracking minutes later, it touched down. His body was put onto the craft, and it lifted off. I found some shred of solace from knowing that, like his soul, his body was being lifted into the heavens.
My lieutenant’s driver came up the hill to where I was crouched on the crest of the sand dune. Private McPherson cupped his hand over my shoulder and asked, “Are you ok Hadji?” I shook my head. I took short quick wisps of air to keep from breaking down in front of a junior soldier.
Inside, my soul sobbed, shook, quivered and sniffled. The war was weeks away, but I had already been “blooded.” In the absence of complications such as enemy soldiers’ bullets, land mines, and artillery, I prepared myself for the tragedies that could form in my very near future; I spent about an hour alone on the dune, quietly sobbing, praying, hoping, and searching.
I took a long, slow, deep breath as I made my way down the slope. I strode silently through the sand to my tent; pulling the flap open, I crossed into the deep, dark blackness.

This is why I love writing. I can bring you to the same place, the same emotions as I had.
In this story, if you thought he died, I brought you to the same place as I was that horrible night. He managed to live, but when he left, he had been under CPR sustainment for so long, we didn't know if there was going to be brain damage. We didn't hear much about him after he was evacuated. Then about six months after we got back (like a year after the accident) he showed up at Fort Hood, Texas. He still had to use a walker or cane and he was still re-learning how to walk normally, but he smiled. I smiled. I didn't say much. It was enough to know that someone had escaped the ultimate sacrifice and his family still had him.
His Platoon Sergeant and Lieutenant got Bronze stars for saving him, even though the lieutenant is the one who gave them permission to drive up a sand dune, against our Captain's Standing Orders. North side of dunes no good, wind blows south----->>>
south side is a gentle slope down---->>>>>>>>>>>>
North side is very steep and easy to tip over on. That's how come we weren't supposed to be driving on any sand dunes.
This is one of many things that go on every day in the military life. I just turned 39 and I count myself lucky that I'm relatively injury free from all the fun stuff I did in over 11 years in the military.

His Name Was William Palmer

2005-11-11T00:10:00.000-08:00

His Name Was William Palmer...

His Name will remain William Palmer...

I will always remember his name...

After reading this, you will remember his name too...

That's me in the picture... a killer wearing a bowtie, way back in the day

When you remember the war, you should remember how it started; you should remember who was there when it started; you should know who sacrificed in the line of duty to their country. But most important of all, you should know William Palmer. You should have a name to place with what happened over in Iraq. Only a soldier who has served in the heat of battle can tell you what it means to be there. To me, I learned what it meant to serve when the first casualties came back with shot up armored vehicles.

When the 1st Cavalry Division started the ground war in 1991, we had several "Berm Buster" operations. The "Sand" countries in the area designate country boundaries with giant walls of sand. They are about 20 feet high and make good observation points. I served on a couple of Berm Buster operations, and in each one, we lost good men. We had some injured when our engineers blew gigantic holes in the sand wall. That was our first taste of battle. I watched from a front row seat in my HMMWV (Humvee) with my team. We listened to the radio as the engineers did their work, the field artillery took out some targets of opportunity, and the Bradleys, field artillery and Tanks made their moves into the kill zone. I watched through binoculars as it all happened. We waited for orders. Each vehicle in my MP platoon was at least 200 yards apart from each other. We were tasked with guarding the AXP (Ambulance Exchange Point). We watched as the armored ambulances brought back dead and injured back to our point where humvee ambulances would transport them or helicopters would evacuate them to the rear. We listened in as the casualties were reported on the radio. In the heat of battle, we glared at the captured Iraqi soldiers who were also brought back to our point and given to us to guard.

In the months preceding the battle, it was a constant struggle to gain maps, GPS systems and general information about even where we were at in relation to everybody else in the numerous Nations' Divisions of Armies. I never did get to replace my LORANS unit with a GPS system. We bartered smuggled alcohol for badly needed maps.

We cruised different Division's Areas to gather any information. We scrounged for everything including a radio. Then we scrounged for a coding device for our radios. We stole toilet seats from the 82nd Airborne Divison's Privies so we had something to put on top of our five gallon buckets that became our portable toilets.

Nothing came easy. We were sent on missions with less than perfect instructions. I almost shot a Saudi Colonel because of a mix up with a traffic control point on Tapline Road. We didn't have complete comfort what the amount of information that was given to us, we trusted our Lieutenant and platoon sergeant because we had to.

With all the things that got mixed up, it seems strange then that one piece of information would make its way completely across the battlefield with such clarity and speed. It was during the 100 hour "official" ground war that we were way out in the middle of Iraq swinging out to the far west on the infamous "Hail Mary" that one of our buddies was all the way across the battlefield, near the coast in the 2nd Armored Division's Tiger Brigade (Army) supporting the Marines. The 502nd Military Police Platoon was a subordinate unit of the 2nd Armored Division. We were all from Fort Hood, Texas and the 2nd Armored Division was attached to the 1st Cavalry Division until they broke off to support the Marines. Until they did, they camped with the 545th MP company, the 1st Cavalry Division's MP company. I was brand new to the 545th when the war started, so I was still getting to know people in each MP unit.

There was one guy in particular who was super quiet. His name was William Palmer. He didn't really play volleyball, he just watched. Some people said he was just really homesick. He was young, and married...and like us, would soon be in battle. I didn't know him very well. He was in a different platoon. I did sit next to him quite a few times in the Mess Tent because, like me, he was often writing letters. Before the berm buster operations or any big moves, I always made sure my team called home. I often wondered if I was telling them to call home just because I didn't know if we'd all make it back alive to a phone.

Some of us didn't. It was during this hectic 100 hour period that we heard, probably within hours, that someone way over on the coast had become a casualty. You know we couldn't get information about anything, but for some reason, we got word of this casualty from the other side of the country so soon. He died. His parents would never get the phone call from him that he was coming home. His name was William Palmer. His wife would never hold him again. His child would never know him. I didn' t know him very well, but I remember his face. I remember how quiet he was. I remember the shock I felt from knowing that someone so quiet, so genuinely gentle and friendly, had just been killed in war.

You should be shocked too. You should know that war is ugly. It kills people at random. Small mistakes, in war, are not small. War killed William Palmer. I'm pretty positive that of all the MPs over there, William Palmer probably had the strongest urge to go home. He had plenty of reasons to want to go home. He had a wife, kid on the way, loving parents.

There are people who genuinely thrive on the adventure associated with combat operations. Then there are those who serve, but with a greater perception of humility. I know only one of the people who were killed during Operation Desert Shield. I knew him only vaguely. But he made an impact on me. It was then and there, that I came to my foolish idea that War ought to be the absolute last option. I hoped that after this, I would never see any more of my friends serve and make the ultimate sacrifice. I hoped that if they did have to serve the cause would be just. I hoped that we would never dishonor the dead, their families, and those who still serve by sending them off to war without legitimate, honest attempts to avoid war first.

It's foolish to think that administrations with such a lack of moral and ethical character are holding up their end of the deal. In light of the most recent news stories about Judith Miller, one has to question whether we've all been duped. You see, it's easy to go along with the orders when you serve, because it's more about taking care of the guys next to you. It's less about questioning the "Why" of war. Now that I'm out of the Army, I do question why. I question why because men like William Palmer will never have that opportunity. Men and women today serve with distinction. It is part of the bargain that sometimes you have to do the unpleasant things. Sometimes you have to put it all on the line. But it should NEVER be for frivolous reasons.

A man's life, a woman's life is worth more than all the politics in the world. If we have to pay even fifty cent's more per gallon fine...so be it. The economy will adjust. Or we will. It's a hard road to change. It's an easy road to ignore the fact that frivolous war acts between nations include people that you and I know. Operation Desert Storm was touted as worthy and the right thing to do. You know what? I'm not so sure it ever was.

I question whether the billions we have spent on the War could have been better spent on research.

You know what? It might not have made a difference for a while. It might have taken several years to perfect newer engines, newer fuels, newer commuting laws. So what... It might have taken years--years that over two thousand dead women and men soldiers would have spent with their families. It might not have been the answer: spending money on new fuel technologies, but until we've tried, we shouldn't be sending more and more people that you know off to die. Lori Piestewa, Darren Cunningham, Sheldon Black Hawk, Jill, Uncle Joe, your cousin Andrew, the guy who lives down the street from you, they deserve every effort we have to avoid war. We haven't taken every last effort to solve this fuel "crisis" problem. Only after we find out that we don't have any other options left, is when I believe that we should be there risking, not our lives, but lives of soldiers.

Driving a fuel inefficient S.U.V.?

Using way too much fuel than is really necessary?

Not supporting newer renewable fuel resources?

If you are then you are making certain Administration Oil Tycoons and Defense Contractors rich, and adding weight to a false idea that the Iraq part of our war is absolutely necessary. This Veteran's Day I will not dishonor the memory of William Palmer with support for a war, when we REALLY HAVEN'T TAKEN EVERY LAST STEP TO AVOID IT. We just make excuses that we need to do it NOW. Well as I recall, we started Operation Desert Shield wayyyy back in August 1990. Fifteen years later, billions of dollars later, with over two thousand souls lost across the sand, and we still don't have an end in sight. What could the billions of dollars and 15 years we spent on the war have done in the way of research and development? As long as oil tycoons are in office, we'll never know.

You won't know William Palmer from reading this. But you will know that name from this day forward. You will know the name of one person who died fighting this war. You will know that he would have made a great father. He was somebody's son. He was a friend to those around him. You will know that I have tears for such a gentle soul, killed in a random an ugly act we call war.

If you've read this far, then you have a responsibility, not to believe me, but to search your soul, and ask: if we all just contributed a little, if we all just changed our habits a little, if we all sacrificed a little, would the people you know, just like William Palmer in Operation Desert Storm in 1991, really have to sacrifice their lives? Send your relatives off to war, send the people you know, and the people you don't know. But I challenge you to send them off with a hug and wonder if they'll come back; wonder if we're all doing as much as we can to avoid the Iraq war; wonder if you'll ever see them again; wonder if there's another fifteen years we're going to waste, another two thousand soldiers' lives we'll ALL sacrifice. How many more soldier's lives, on EACH side will we sacrifice before it equals 15 years of research and peace?

Have a Happy Veteran's Day. Somebody should be enjoying their "day off from work," their "three day weekend," because there are over two thousand families that will not celebrate it. Instead they'll be visiting graves of children. The graves of father's they will never get to know; the graves of their sisters. Somebody will visit William Palmer's grave.

Before you offer full support, before you say we have done every last thing to avoid the Iraq part of the war, you need to ask if you could send your loved one off to war. You need to ask yourself, if your country could invent new fuel resources and that would save your loved one's from making life sacrifices, why aren't you supporting that idea? Why aren't you supporting the idea that we could be spending just money on the problem, instead of money and lives like William Palmer's?

On this Veterans Day you will remember his name was William Palmer. What's the name of the person you know over there? What's the name of the person who has someone over there? What's the number names on memorials you would support before supporting research?

A lesson from Lazarus

2005-10-29T14:05:00.000-07:00

He comes running downstairs almost every morning. He gently calls "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jim." I answer "Yes." I don't know what posesses him to call me Jim. In his three-year-old world though, I'm known as Bob, Jim, Fred, whatever he feels like calling me at any particular moment. I don't know how the "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jim" tune got started but it's nice. It has a ring to it. It can set my day just to hear that as I'm checking email early in the morning. (For those of you employed readers, my version of Early In The Morning is around 8:30 right now until I find that "one job".)
He has a name for me, it might change, but that's okay. As long as he can place my face with whatever name he chooses, that's all that matters. And really, isn't that all that any of us ever want deep down in the place known as your psyche?
Recognition.
We all just want to be recognized for who we are, what we mean to others, as a fellow human being walking the same path that the person next to you is walking. So, I may be Jim, or Fred, but even in those moments, I know who I am to Lazarus. I'm the guy who can make him smile in almost any given moment. I'm the guy who can pour milk on his cereal when no one else is around. I'm the guy with the "tickle hand." I'm his "tink butt." Well, almost everyone is a "tink butt" if you're around him for more than a few minutes during the day.
My goal for the next few miles of this pathway in life is to make sure that others know who they are to me and what they mean to me so that as we walk this path, they will know that we're in this together.
...and I think the company's just fine...
Lazarus already did it for me, and simple as his version is, it's a nice piece of every day. His pure little mind has churned out a priceless lesson for me. Maybe for you too. So when you surprise someone this week by telling them, in your own way, who they are and what they mean to you, tell them Lazarus made you do it. Feel free to use any name you want to get their attention.
Talk at ya later Gertrude.

Restoring balance to the universe!

2005-09-29T12:26:00.000-07:00

Okay,
I didn't know this, but advertising, spamming, (horrible?) people are using these blog sites to sell their wares. I hadn't thought about it until it happened to me. If you look at the comments on my jobs and gorillas entry there is a request from someone to check out their spamasonic vacuum site. I guess "they" used etiquette, when "they" complimented my writing. I don't know, is it wrong? Is it bad? Who knows? At least it's creative. So in the interest of balance, I would like to present:

http://www.laminatesfloorscheap.com/

Now if you didn't really want to look at advertisers for vacuums on a blog, you can re-calibrate and focus on this site where vacuum cleaners are totally absent.
It is in the interest and safety of the world, even beyond as we know it, that I present this. Now if they comment on this entry with another link to their vacuum cleaner site, evacuate to the nearest storm shelter, because the sky may fall.
-Just doing my civic duty.

P.S. I probably won't be posting anymore today...I have to wash some dishes, dust, wash some laundry and.....vacuum...

On jobs...and gorillas, or is it guerillas?

2005-09-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

Can you remember the day you grew up?
For some of us I may have to rephrase:
Are you looking forward to the day when you grow up?

I once had a friend who was lamenting that fact that many of "us" were graduting from college and she wasn't. I explained her position in a word-picture. I explained that if all of "us" were told to go to Kansas City from Lawrence, KS, there would be about 5 different ways that 5 of us would go. Some would take the main highways, some would take the backroads, and some of us would take a direct-line route through everyone's fields, backyards and "grows," just to see what was there. We would all arrive at different times, with different states of exhiliration or exhaustion from the 50 mile journey. We all have different paths to take and complete, so we shouldn't despair from the fact that we haven't yet done what somebody else has already done.

I look at my life and I'm not done growing up yet. I keep growing not up, but in mind. I have a lot of plateaus where I realized great things about the world. I like my plateaus. I wouldn't change a thing, except for maybe not having loved ones around to hurt when I did some less-than-intelligent things during my life. (I was kind of like proof to dispute the whole "Intelligent Design" theory)
Some of my plateaus include:

Graduating from Eisenhower High School (Yakima, WA) with a 2.1 grade point average and with less than half a credit to spare. If I had flunked one more class I wouldn't have graduated. Thanks to Mrs. Scoggins for her "D-" opinion of my probably "F+" work, I walked with all my friends. It wasn't that I was happy that I did a great thing in High School, but that I didn't do enough stupid stuff to totally screw it all up.
Earning my Sergeant Stripes in the U.S. Army without the advantage of having College credits. "I came up the hard way!"
Leading a team during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm and finding that I had the experience necessary to do it safely, and never losing compassion for either side.
Deciding at age 33 that I needed to go to college.
Doing well during college.
Graduating from college at age 37 with a 3.6 GPA.

I love where I've come from. I love where I have arrived because I did what "they" said I should do. "They" said go out and get your diploma, then go to college, get some lifetime experience. But after a lifetime of experience, a willingness to go the distance, and a college degree with honors, I find myself in an unenviable position, as I guess other graduates may also be in: Unemployed. Now "they" say I don't have the right experience, or I have too much experience. Maybe I should have just stopped with an Associates' Degree. Maybe I'm not supposed to be moving on until the giant piece of the puzzle finally falls on my head and restores balance to the universe. Maybe I'm supposed to learn something while I'm here doing...not much.

Now my version of growing up has taken some time to formulate. But here's what I came up with. My version of growing up is my view of my dad when I was a kid.

My version of growing up like my dad was having hands, fingers, and skin made of steel-he never got hurt when he hammered, shocked, or cut his hands. My version includes watching the news like my dad and understanding everything that they were talking about. (My opposition to the Vietnam war was based upon my understanding that they were shooting GOrillas the apes, not GUErillas, the men). I wanted, like most kids who were intoxicated with the unexplainable smell of coffee, to drink coffee morning, noon and night just like my dad. I wanted to be the one driving the truck instead of the fun-but-fake driving from my dad's lap. I wanted to be the guy like my dad who unlaced his cool boots every day when he came home from work. (Kids shoes were so...boring!)

So, I guess when you look at it all, "they" might suggest that I should be.... a tough-as-nails truck driver, with a passion for custom lace up boots, who has an in-dash TV with satellite access to CNN news, and who always has just enough in the 'ol pocket for that next cup of coffee.

Maybe there is more to growing up and walking my path than a direct line afterall. Maybe there is more to life than gainful employment every day of your life. (I am still looking people! Don't think, "it's a nice story but he oughta be out looking for a job!") Now "they" should know that I'm looking forward to the day when I'll be grown up. "They" will be happy to know that I've changed my view of what it means to be grown up.

"They" will also be happy to know that I probably grew up without ever knowing it.

Iraqi War Heroes

2005-07-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

Click on the title of this entry "Iraqi War Heroes" to link to a blog for the heroes of the Iraqi War. One of the recent entries was my buddy I served with for four years. http://heroesmemorial.blogspot.com/2004/09/darren-j-cunningham.html#comments

The Lost Children of the Iraqi War

2005-07-09T11:30:00.000-07:00

After spending over 11 years in the United States Army as a Military Policeman in the 9th Infantry Division, 2nd Infantry Division, and the 1st Cavalry Division, I know what it means to deploy to dangerous areas. I know that in time of war, people take stock of what life really means.
What I don't know is what it is like to send your child to war. I know that, at first, people are doing it with a sense of patriotism.
I find that as I peruse memorial pages set up at Army Times . com, I am connected to so many people in so many ways. In the opening days of this newest Iraqi combat action, I found 6 people that I had worked with and never will see walking this earth again. As more people lose life to shrapnel, bullets, and air crashes, I also find more native americans from across the united states on the casualty list.
I have a personal point of view on the war-I feel I am entitled to that view after having been in Iraq. But there are many things about the war I don't understand.
One of the things that I will never know is how parents feel. I don't know what pain it is to bury your own children. I think that I "understand" them, but I will never know how that feels. I know that in the pain of death, it becomes more apparent that war should be the absolute-last-resort action. The first death in war is just as painful as the 1,207th death.
Whether it is Iraqi, Afghani or American or Native American or any other race of people involved in the war, it brings tears to me to see the people on this list. Just think, about it: justifiably there are some Iraqis and Afghanis who don't like us. But how many of them are in their Army just doing what their man in charge orders? They all deserve recognition from all of us. (I'm not trying to bring honor to the terrorists, and the insurgents; they're in a different class.) We all deserve to know that lives are being lost.
We all deserve to know that our children are being killed. We all have to find the answer to the question "is it really worth it?" If it is, then we really need to start honoring the dead who have passed on, giving their lives in our stead. We need to start honoring the parents who will have an empty spot at Christmas, a grandchild without a father, a mother, an uncle, an aunt or a cousin. If we really thought before we sent them overseas that they wouldn't come back, maybe we'd find a different way of doing it-this war business. I'm not saying we shouldn't be there, I'm saying your brother, your uncle, your sister, your aunt, your cousins, they deserve to have every chance at a pursuit of happiness and life, when we send them into harms way.
There are a multitude of actions. The big man in charge refused to send a troop-heavy force over there and sent troops over there like he was running an oil company, send "as few as possible, keep the costs down." Monetary costs compare nothing to a person's life. We needed to send more divisions, we needed to send them with a realistic plan for completion. We needed to question whether being right is more important than being peaceful. It seemed like it was action taken that was too easy. Like it wasn't his kids he was sending over there. It's just my thought. If it makes sense or if it doesn't, it doesn't matter. I haven't lost a child over there, so there are some things I am not entitled to say.
If you have time, take a look at the children that we're losing over there. http://www.militarycity.com/valor/honor.html
Get to know the kids, the dads, the moms, the brothers, the aunties and uncles.

Laughable

2005-06-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

"You know, years from now, we'll all be laughing about this."
Well said...for someone who can only say that because they're probably not going through whatever you're going through. But they're right. How many times can you remember doing something as a child that really made your mom's day? (made your mom's day memborable for all the wrong reasons!)
And we can all laugh at those things now. Whether it involved a permanent magic marker and an idea of becoming a clown, taking a 6 year potty-training-course, or frying the hell out of the neighbor's cat with several layers of paint-'cause he'd make a great "Black Cat," we all have those funny stories. But they weren't funny at the moment, or as my friend Cindy would say tilting her head to the side, "or were they? hmmmm." They had to have humor in them, otherwise we wouldn't be able to laugh at them today.
The humor was hidden behind the anger, frustration, and the smell of wet pants in the back seat on a 100 degree day. Yes, I frequently do laugh at all those "good 'ol days." Yes my mom laughs today at what was a really bad string (6 years) of bad days.
Now, in the heat of the moment, it wasn't feeling very funny, but it was there. It just needed a different perspective. There are those super-beings who regularly find the humorous light in those moments. You know who they are, they're the ones laughing at a moment that even if it isn't your moment, would have you in tears, red, screaming, yelling in anger, frustration, giving up!
Wouldn't it be great if we all did that? What would the children think? It's not what they would think, it's what they won't think. They naturally laugh, smile, play, make mistakes, LEARN without thinking twice. What they won't think is that they made you miserable. They won't think that they can't make mistakes without some horrible consequence. They won't think that guilt and shame are "normal." (Guilt= feeling bad for doing something wrong: Shame = feeling bad about who I am for doing something wrong) They won't think that when they do something wrong they can't go to you for help. They won't think that they have to fear boundaries because of the prospect that they might get chastised for
failing.

".....not failing, but aiming low is the sin."

Let's not do this to our kids. Let's not condition them to aim low, accept mediocre, stay inside the box, color inside the lines, just be one of the crowd. Let's give them the freedom to explore, change, make mistakes, and after some genuine heartfelt conversation then laugh at those same mistakes.
I might do well to take this all to heart myself, but then mightn't we all? All of us might, except for that buddy next to you laughing at the way your kid peeled the left side of your truck back when he thought he could fit between two trees on that awesome trail...when he borrowed your truck without asking...for the weekend...and with a neighbor girl...whose parents didn't know where she was either...just that she left with your son.
Now come on, it's funny, if you don't think so, try telling some friends and ask them not to hold any feelings back. If they can laugh about it now, you can laugh about it years from now. You CAN ALSO laugh about it now. Get the business side and tears out of the way and then laugh till you shed some more happy tears. Hey look at it this way, you might not solve the problem but at least you'll have a relationship where there are no secrets; you'll have a child that will have no problems-no problems telling you about their problems anyway.

-I'd say it's a good trade,
Hadji

Long Road Home

2005-04-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

I know, I know...its been a long time since I posted.
Well, I left South Dakota, drove through Montana and stayed in Yakima, WA for a while and ended up in Worley, Idaho. Its been a long road here. 17 years now since I have started this path.
How many of us can say they have walked a path for 17 years? Those who have 17 years of sobriety, my hat's off to ya. If you have 17 years of anniversaries under your roof, blessings on ya. If you have lived only 17 years, be patient, it gets better.
If you have wandered aimlessly looking for that cool path you started 17 years ago, then we are in the same place. There are more details that will follow trust me, "Details at 11."
I am back on a really cool path that I lost a long time ago. It's nice to be walking in familiar territory...and the company's not bad either!
As the time progresses, and believe me it does progress if not slowly at times, the answers to questions you didn't know existed will become evident.
For now, there's a couple of five-year-old spirits who are dancing in the yard of life with a couple of big ol grins.
Can't wait for you to meet them.

September snow and a picture

2004-10-28T22:32:00.000-07:00

Today, Tues, we went cutting again. We're cutting in some areas where there are already meadows formed. We're improving the meadows for the elk herds in the area. The grass is about thigh high and soaked from so much rain. The air is heavy with the smell of "the woods." We hike through rain-rutted roads. When we stop for a moment, we get cold from our soaked sweatshirts. If we weren't so busy working, we might enjoy the scene.

We are on 10 hour days so we came on at 7 a.m. By 10 'o clock it was snowing on us. I always love that first snow. I never seem to have anyone around me to share it with.

Last year in Kansas, we got the forecast for snow and I stayed up waiting for it. At 3:45 AM I called my buddy across campus. He was "less than thrilled," but he understood me; I guess that's why he and his sister call me their bro. I was really excited and then as soon as I got off the phone, I zonked out hard. Just to know some things, any type of things, is really assuring to me. I love the feeling of knowing something is for sure, written in stone, concrete, positive.

Today, September 22, 2004, when I saw the snow, I stopped stacking a burnpile. I pulled out some water and took the whole magic moment in. I was soaked from rain, cold and miserable. I was depressed from cutting live trees again. But in that moment, just like my sunset everyday, I was taken back to being a child.

A child will try to draw a sunset, a snowfall, a tree, the face of a loved one; it may not always look the same as the real thing to whatever grownup is looking at the picture.

On the other hand, a grownup who draws may spend hours drawing the same sunset, snowfall, tree, or face of a loved one. The picture may come out "looking" the same as a photograph.

They (grownups) miss the whole point. They never share the true picture. They have spent so much time "drawing" the picture that they forget the feeling.

A child's picture isn't that great, and I believe sometimes it is that way because they just want to get it drawn, done and over with so quickly, so that they can run and show someone and "talk" about what they saw. That child isn't drawing the picture, they're "sharing" the moment that they experienced. That is true humility. The five-year-old comes out in me so often. I like to think that the five-year-old voice in all of us is the one in which we truly converse with each other.

("I always love that first snow. I never seem to have anyone around me to share it with.") I guess I'm sharing with you what went through my mind when the first snow of this year fell at 10 this morning, and I didn't even have to draw a terrible picture to do it.

Earaches

2004-10-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

I am in the middle of a terrible ear infection. It is the kind of pain that makes me wish it were only a toothache. Yes, it's that bad. It brings back "fond" memories of having my ears flushed out with what felt like a fire hose when I was a kid. The nurse said it would tickle and hurt at the same time.

I never knew a feeling like that before then but, tickle and hurt it did indeed. I had tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. I would have giggled but I was told to sit still.

My grandmother is about to pass on and, once again, I find I have tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. And that's all I have to say about that.

What are you doing?

2004-10-17T22:32:00.000-07:00

My buddies in Korea and I had a really fun day set up. We were driving to the Han River Park from our Yongsan Army Garrison. It was a casual Sunday outing. Now when I give directions, I am assuming that you know my thoughts and can read my mind...which would explain why I get so frustrated giving driving directions. So, I told my friend Stephanie to "follow that taxi onto that exit ramp." Stupid. Really stupid.

In a city called Seoul, there were 13 million citizens in 1995. For every citizen, it seems like there are three taxis; three black taxis. You picking up what I'm laying down? I jumped off the seat when Steph followed a black taxi and my black taxi exited on the proper ramp. We hit an off ramp and Steph kept right on that black taxi of hers. Of course, this was an exit for an expressway that went way up the coast toward the DMZ. I knew it would take forever and three days to get back to the Han River Park exit. I got frustrated and that is another story. But, after the frustration settled, we drove with our picnic. We waited in stalled traffic with our picnic. We got out and danced in stalled traffic.

We pulled a Korean Fire drill when it was our turn to move through a crowded intersection and everyone behind us had to wait. (Korean Fire Drill same as Chinese Drill, but done in deomcratic and free society) We finally ate our picnic, on the road. We toured parts of the city we had never seen.

As we drove the huge traffic circle around the historic East Gate, Tongdaemun, we never anticipated the lesson we had in store. Because in the last Korean Fire Drill, Brian had taken the steering wheel. Around the Gate we drove...once, twice, thrice and a fourth. We were all looking at each other and thinking, "now what is he up to?" We finally through fits of laughter managed to ask Brian what he was doing.

He said with a bright red face, "I don't know, but I like it!"

Why couldn't everything be so carefree? We lose sight of the fun in life if we don't just let go sometimes. If everything went as planned, think about it, we might really screw up our lives. They say the plan is the first thing to go in battle. Battle boredom, battle monotony, battle safety. Live life to its fullest. If you find yourself doing the unthinkable, enjoy it! Remember the child in us spells L-O-V-E with the letters T-I-M-E. Spend some time exploring.

Show your inner-child, and your friends, that you don't always have to know what you're doing in order to enjoy it. Go out take the kids ice skating and fall down really hard with them lots of times. Stay in, cook something really exotic, and order pizza if you screw it up. Extend yourself to those unknown streets in life, and do it with someone who will benefit the most from the T-I-M-E it takes to get there and back.

Directions to where I'm coming from

2004-09-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

There are seven sacred directions. Of course most people know north, south, east and west. We all draw specific strengths from each direction. Most don't think of down as a direction; however, the earth is sacred and it gives us all the physical gifts we will need to survive. Most also tend to forget up as a direction. The creator, by whatever name you call it, is all-present but most of us consider the creator best found when looking up. I am given a great deal of spiritual strengths from above: faith, courage, humility.
So, if you're still with me, then you are wondering where the 7th direction is. It is a sacred direction and it is unique to every person. Every person will find the 7th direction in a different way.
When the creator created the world, he also created the greatest gift of all. There is a greater story behind it, but I feel like many others, it is best learned from someone who will tell you the story; I won't be telling the story here; however, I will tell you this. The greatest gift given by the Creator is your soul. It is hidden inside of each of us. That is the 7th sacred direction.
Your soul is the 7th sacred direction. When you find it, you find how to relate to others. You find how to express yourself. You find your own voice in your soul. It is my personal belief that there is a child-likeness of each of us in that place. When we speak to each other, we speak from the point of view of a 5-year-old.
This may not be accurate, all that is written here, but it's the truth as seen through the humble eyes of the 5-year old in myself. He's learned cuss words, he's learned every emotion and how to work them on you to get what he wants; he's learned about good things and bad things. It's not the greatest story in the world. It's just the greatest story for the moment. You should know that.
We all have lived in a moment when we just wanted to tell someone something and it wasn't that great. But it became important when we became important. We became important when someone listened....not the greatest truth, but it's one I've learned.
As usual..........Hadji