Recipe for a Wonderful Evening

It's quite simple really.

You take good friends...

Sameer and Claudia.  Lise and Tom.  Ana and Pete.  Debby and Bill.

Add good food...

Tenderloin.  Asparagus.  Twice-baked potatoes.  Milkshakes and cookies.  Cabernet.

Sprinkle with thoughtful, reasoned discussion...

Russians in Crimea.  International travel.  Race relations in America today.  Music.  Children.  The future of American education.

Voila!

The Beauty of Old E-Mails

I teach history at Fort Worth Country Day.  I love my job.

However, sometimes I worry that digital communication may make my job much more difficult in the future because we all routinely delete our e-mail.  Not like in the old days.  In the old days we wrote letters.  Then we saved them in a cedar chest.  Then grandkids found them and had at least some sense of what life was like in the old days.

I recently found an e-mail, which, by the way, was printed.  That's the point of this story.  Like an old letter, it was printed, saved, then discovered today.  I want to share it with you.

It is entitled "How I Fill My Days."

I sent it to Debby on January 2, 2005 at 6:59 AM.

Debby:

I love you!  I hope you had a fun time in Ada - it has always been one of my favorite places.  Lots of fun memories.

Described below is a "typical" day in an atypical place.  Please know that no two days are alike.  Also - please don't share this with anyone except (maybe) our immediate family.

When we are in the field we usually sound reveille at either 5:45 or 6:00am.  I sleep on a regulation cot in a sleeping bag, usually with a t-shirt, skivvies, and socks, and a fleece watchcap if it is really cold.  The sleeping bag has an outer gortex cover and a black winter-weight liner.  I have a hammock pillow that I bought in June from Backwoods.  It is a great pillow - small, rigid, though it is rather dirty right now.  When I climb in the bag at night, I usually listen to my iPod until I fade off to sleep (which is rarely longer than a song or two).

When reveille sounds, my routine starts.  I dress in the same order every morning.  I wear wool socks, silk running shorts, under armor t-shirt, a polypropylene long john top, as well as my combat utility uniform.  I have a dog tag laced into my left boot.  In my left pant pocket I carry a pocketknife, my room key, a book of matches, and the keys to our platoon office.  In my left outer cargo pocket I carry two maps, an extra pair of wool gloves, and the clear inserts to my ballistic sunglasses.  In my left breast pocket I carry an ID card, a roster, and a ziplock baggie containing four pictures.  (Debby, Taylor, Robert, and Allie, of course).  On my dog tag chain hangs the "We Love You" medal and a "Hope" medal given to me by one of my students.  I always wear my wedding ring and I wear my VMI ring when I'm on patrol.  On my right hip I carry a 9mm pistol and an extra magazine containing fifteen rounds.

I then put on my flak jacket.  On it hangs numerous things.  I carry nine M16 magazines (each containing 28 rounds), a first aid kit, three 9mm magazines, three Sharpie pens for my map (red, black, and blue), two fragmentation grenades, two D-rings, a radio, and a compass/thermometer.  I wear a kevlar helmet with night vision goggles attached, ballistic sunglasses, and a neck gaiter or scarf when it is cold.  My gloves are cottton with leather palms and padded knuckles.

When it is time to leave, I climb on the truck the same way.  I climb on the hood and step into the turret.  (In addition to commanding the platoon, I am also the gunner in my truck - which means that I ride in the turret and shoot the .50 caliber machine gun).  When I stand in the turret, I am exposed from the waist up. There are two turret shields.  The one in back is 1/2 inch steel plate and the one in front is 3/4 inch steel.  Resting on the turrret ring in front of me is a global positioning system (GPS), a map, goggles, a Sharpie pen, and a flashlight.  The gun itself is directly to my front and has a box of 200 rounds of ammunition.  My M16A4 rifle stays strapped to the turret or I carry it in my hands while we drive.  It is much quicker to use the M16 sometimes than traverse the heavy machine gun.                  

When we depart on a mission, the Colonel simply calls me on the radio with a destination - it is up to me to determine the best (quickest? safest?) route and method of movement.  I pick the route based on time available, enemy situation, route characteristics, weather, etc., and away we go.  The Colonel is a brave man.  During the battle he literally "rode to the sound of the guns." One day he wanted to watch an infantry company in the attack, and directed me to find a tall building (2-3 story) from which to watch the assault.  We found one, cleared it, and I posted several Marines for security before I returned to my truck.  A few moments later a Marine from an infantry platoon ran up to me frantically (there was much fighting going on around us) and asked if I could suppress a building with my machine guns while his Marines assaulted it with grenades.  I agreed.  I then took Sgt. Smith with me and we drove down an alley litttered with dead insurgent fighters.  The target house was about 50 meters to my left-front.  I gave a command over the radio, and we opened up.  Simultaneously the insurgents in the target building fired.  Several bullets pinged our truck and riddled a telephone pole in front of me.  About that time my machine gun jammed.  I grabbed my M16 and fired two magazines - 56 rounds - until I saw the Marines throw the grenades and enter the building.  At that point I ceased fire and moved back down the alley.  The report is that we killed five in the building, though it is hard to tell.  Chaos.  The whole thing lasted maybe 5 minutes.  Funny how you don't get scared until afterward.  My only concern was that my machine gun jammed.

After the firefight, the Colonel remounted the vehicles and we continued on...just a brief stop on our way around the battlefield.

When the day ends, we park the trucks, do maintenance, and clean the weapons and gear.  We go by the old cavalry saying: "First the horse, then the saddle, then the soldier."  Only after the gear is ready (never know when we could get called out) do we eat and sleep.  And boy do we sleep.

Well, sweetie, you wanted to know what I've been doing.  This is but one day of many.  Like I have said before, the Scouts do a great job of holding it together in tough situations.  So have I.  The day I described was one of the more dangerous - don't think they are all like that.  Many are mundane.  Many are boring.  But please know this - no matter what kind of day I have, my day begins and ends with the same image - your beautiful face.

I love and appreciate you more than you can ever know.

Bill    

I guess the moral of this story is PRINT OUT THE REALLY IMPORTANT EMAILS.  SOMEONE MIGHT BE REALLY EXCITED TO DISCOVER THEM SOME DAY.

Courage, Pt. 1

Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities...because it is the quality which guarantees all others. ----- Winston Churchill

Pictured below is an extraordinary 14 year-old girl and her reining horse, Wrench.

Reining is a western horse competition that poses a severe test to both horse and rider.  It is, I believe, the most exciting western event. All the work is done at the lope or gallop.  It involves circles, flying lead changes, backups, spins, and sliding stops.

All aboard a 1500 pound horse.  Wrench is a great horse and his rider is a great girl.

This is one example of what courage looks like.

A Proud Day. For Us All.

Today is February 19.  A proud day for us all.

On this day in 1945, at precisely 8:59 am (one minute ahead of schedule - gotta love the Marines), the first of over 30,000 Americans stormed ashore on the Japanese island of Iwo Jima.  Many of those brave lads, men from the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Marine Divisions, never returned home.  In fact, nearly 1/3 of all Marine deaths in World War II occurred on Iwo Jima.

The initial carrier raids against Iwo Jima began as early as June 1944.  The island defenders were subjected to 3 days of naval bombardment.  Then the assault began.

The 36-day battle resulted in more than 26,000 American casualties, including 6,800 dead.  Of the 20,000 Japanese defenders, only 1,083 survived.  Historians described the US Marines' attack as "throwing human flesh against reinforced concrete."  In the end, Iwo Jima was won by the indominable spirit of the Corps.

Twenty-seven medals of honor were awarded to Marines and sailors, most posthumous.  More than any other single operation of the war.

Of its efforts to take this vital island, the United States Marine Corps is justly proud.

 

 

 

 

A Good Fire

I love a good fire.

Sure, you can cook on it and warm yourself by it, but the best thing about a good fire is that it generates conversation and introspection. It makes me feel good.  Plus, I love the smoky smell of my clothes after sitting by a fire.  It stays trapped in my clothes until they are washed.

Many of my best memories took place around a fire.  I think of camping in the Big Bend with my children.  I think of hunting trips with my brother.  I think of young Marines huddled around a warming fire along the Columbia River, and those same Marines huddled together on the banks of the Canadian River north of Amarillo.  Boy, those were some cold nights.  Maybe the coldest of my life. 

I love a good fire.

Blemishes

Have you looked at your hands lately?  Really looked at them?

If your hands are like mine, they are blemished.

My left hand has no hair on it.  It was burned off on my latest camping trip to Oklahoma's Wichita Mountains.

My left hand has six scars.  Two resulted from unsafe whittling.  I got one in a pencil fight with a girl in third grade.

Two scars are particularly hard for me to look at because I was bitten by my favorite dog, Molly, the day that she died.  Molly was a treasured companion who lived with us for fifteen years.  The day she died she was very old, partially deaf, and mostly blind.  She was asleep under my truck and I backed over her.  That's right, I hit my own dog.  When I heard her cry out, I jumped out of the truck and cradled her in my arms.  In terrible pain, she bit me on the left hand.  The veterinarian couldn't save her.

As I look at my left hand I don't see blemishes.  I see life.

My blemishes make me think of great times exploring nature with my students, of my father teaching me how to shape a piece of wood, of childish flirting with a friend, and of my sweet companion Molly.

I don't have blemishes on my hand.

Routine Interrupted

If you are like me, you have routines.

These simple activities give us comfort.  When asked about them, we often reply, "It's just what I do."

I have a very special routine each morning.  I wake up at 4:30 am, dress, get a cup of coffee, then watch CNN.  At precisely 5:10 am, I drive to meet my running companions, an extraordinary group of people we call The Running Club.  Bob, Kathryn, John, Steve, Kendall, Alee, and Debby.  More of a social club, really.  We only have a few simple rules - we never run so fast that we can't visit (we stay at a 'conversational' pace), we always enjoy a cup of coffee afterward, and we never stretch.  In the immortal words of Steve, "Dogs don't stretch."

Today, because of ankle pain, my routine was interrupted.  (Perhaps because I didn't stretch.)

But that's okay.  I got up, enjoyed a cup of coffee, visited with my dogs, and read the paper.  Slowly.  Read each page.  That's something that I rarely do, because I seem to be in such a hurry.  Today I slowed down and enjoyed a few simple things.

Even though my routine was interrupted, it was a good morning.

And it's going to be a good day.