Men of consequence

Vincent Barrett and Ronald Axtell died without friends or family there to wish them well on that last journey. They left this world without fanfare and would have been buried in a county-owned site by those paid to do the job, but for the efforts of one woman in the Kern County, California, coroner's office. Marsha Dickey found out that these two men were both Air Force veterans. And once she knew that, she also knew that an anonymous burial in a county site was not the way to honor these veterans for their service. The county coroner agreed. Just because these men were indigent, he said, did not make them inconsequential.

Friends of Fallen Heroes got involved and a joint funeral service was planned at Bakersfield National Cemetery. Folks at the coroner's office told their friends. The local paper ran an article. On the day of the funerals, people arrived to honor two men they did not know, had never known, two men who were left at the end of their lives with absolutely nothing and absolutely nobody.

Absolutely nothing but the pride and love and thanks of those who stepped up when there was nobody else to do so.

Bakersfield, California, you did us all proud. Approximately 125 people arrived to say a last thank you to Vincent and Ronald. Flags waved. The honor guard carried the remains. And at the end, taps played the hauntingly mournful final goodbye. And those who grieved for men they had never met whispered their thanks and quietly left.

I suspect it had been a very long time since either Vincent or Ronald had heard anyone say thank you for their service. And even though neither of them were present to hear it, I think they knew that while they might indeed have died alone the memory of their lives and their service will live on.

Because I believe there is no time limit on these things, I'd like to add my own thoughts.

Vincent Barrett and Ronald Axtell, thank you for your service. May you now rest easy in a place where the value of your possessions or your status on earth matters not at all compared with the value of your heart and your soul. You gave this country something of yourselves when it was needed. It is only right and proper that we give something back in return.

Adjusting the sails

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails. ~Dolly Parton

Today is a fine example of blustery fall. Charlie Dog and I went out for a noon walk around the neighborhood, simply because the blue sky and whirly-twirly leaves were too appealing to resist. Sometimes the wind made our promenade a bit challenging, particularly when it blew from behind and gave Charlie one of the dreaded wind wedgies. Not much we could do to change that, except adjust our course. And doing that reminded me of this Dolly Parton quote.

It does no good to curse the wind, even when it seems to be working against you. You can, however, navigate towards your goal in spite of it or take shelter in a calm port or...or...well, heck. Come up with your own sailing analogies. We all know that I only appreciate boats from the dock. The point is that challenges require creative thinking and that you really are in control of your own sails.

Sometimes we don't like what life brings us. My sister does not like living with diabetes. I don't like living with chronic pain. But while we don't have a choice about what the wind blew our way, we do have a choice about how we handle it. If my sister chose to ignore her diabetes, decided that she didn't need to eat properly and regularly and to get some exercise and to monitor her own health, she would find all the wind taken out of her sails rather abruptly. (and I'm sorry...I can't seem to step away from the sailing metaphor) Not only would she suffer from that poor decision, those who love her would suffer as well. She could not change what life brought her. She could change how she lived, though, and she could adjust her sails to keep right on going. No poor me victim attitude there.

So life is not always easy. Wind happens. Square your shoulders, adjust your sails, tuck your tail (that one is for Charlie Dog, who hasn't yet figured out how to prevent wind wedgies) and keep on going. You can hunker down with your challenges and keep each other company forever more, or you can regroup and keep going. You might not lose the challenges along the way, but what you gain in experiences will more than make up for them.

I'd rather adjust the sails than loll listlessly in port.

Flag waving

"Are you going up on Main Street tomorrow?"

A friend asked me this last week. I paused and pondered what might be happening up on Main Street. First I had to pause and ponder what day it was and whether some major holiday had sneaked onto the calendar when I was not looking. I finally had to ask.

"Some wounded soldiers from Walter Reed are coming through town on their way to the country club," she told me. "They're having some kind of event out there. Someone thought it would be nice to get people on Main Street with flags and signs and stuff."

Someone was right.

The next morning I stopped by to see Mom and then, clutching a handful of small flags and wearing my USMC sweatshirt, I walked up to our fine example of a small town Main Street. Nobody was sure how many of us would be there. After all, this was being done at the last minute through emails and word of mouth. Would there be enough to make an impact?

I'd say three hundred or so people could be considered an impact.

Children lined the court house steps, clutching Welcome Home signs. All around me were people bundled up for the very chilly fall morning, holding flags or "We love you" and "We're proud of you" and "Thank you" signs. We waited for some indication that the bus was heading our way. Walter Reed is right in DC, so over an hour's drive through morning traffic. But the police escort was keeping our police force notified as to their progress and since one officer was standing nearby we got prompt updates.

"They're entering our county!"

Meanwhile, people were finding the just right spot to wave and cheer. One little boy walked by with his mom and sister. He stopped and looked at my USMC sweatshirt. I looked at his USMC t-shirt. He nodded. I nodded.

"My grandpa is a Marine," he told me, waving his flag.

"My son is a Marine," I replied, waving mine.

Yep. We had a moment. Then his family moved on and I stepped back into my spot with my friends on either side of me. I looked up and down the street. All the stress of the week and the worry about my mother eased for a bit. Being part of something a good bit bigger than yourself has a way of making that happen.

"They're coming up Winchester Street!"

And there they were. First, a police car with lights flashing and sirens sounding. Then an impressive motorcycle escort. Fifteen bikes, leading the bus through our town. And the bus? Nothing fancy, just a school bus painted white with the hospital name on it. But it might just as well have been a chariot, for all the reaction it generated.

We cheered. Jumped up and down. Waved our flags. Yelled our thanks at impressive volume. And the troops cheered right back, leaning from the open windows to return our waves. Someone in there must have been a Marine, because I heard a deep "Ooo-rah!" as the bus passed our corner.

It was all over far too quickly. When the bus was gone, there were hugs and tears and then a slow meander back to work, cars, houses. Nobody really wanted to leave. We would have stood there in the cold and cheered more, waved more, cried more, because even though we didn't know these troops personally we all took their presence in our town very personally indeed. They were ours, for that moment on that morning. They were ours to cherish and encourage and thank. All of us were determined to show our pride and our love and to make sure that no matter how anyone feels about the war, it is very clear how we feel about our troops.

We support them, unconditionally. We love them, these men and women doing their country's work. And we will gather on any day in any weather to raise our flags and cheer in celebration of their courage and our pride.

God bless our country and those who serve it.

There's been some question...

...about where I've been and why there are no new posts here in Blog Land. My mother fell last Tuesday and was badly injured. Broken neck (6th vertebra), cuts and bruises, acute lower GI bleed, pneumonia. She's doing amazingly well considering the issues, but there is a lot of work ahead of her. I'm her patient advocate and head cheerleader for the Mom Team. Life, right now, revolves around her. And you know what? It should.

Hail to the Birthday!

There were secrets sneaking around here for days and days. Weeks, even. Phone calls and whispered conversations and probably emails as well. Something was going on. Birthday plans were being concocted, all without my knowledge. That makes sense, of course, because guess who was having the birthday?

Me!

Eventually I was told that Something Special would happen on September 20th. My birthday is the 21st, but the 20th...a Sunday...was the day the surprise would be revealed.

"That's all you can know for now," Daughter Dear (the Planner and Chief Instigator) told me. "You'll be busy all day on Sunday."

Eventually I was told what to wear. Something comfortable. Jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt. Sunglasses.

"And that's all you can know," my PCI (Planner and Chief Instigator) told me. "Mwah ha ha."

I'm not sure she actually said "Mwah ha ha," but it was definitely implied. After that little tidbits of teasing came my way. One-line emails. Knowing looks. Reminders that they knew something I didn't know and they were decidedly smug about it.

The night before the Something Special (that would be Saturday night, for anyone not keeping track of the timeline), the Young Marine came home from college. Yay! That alone is a big present. He was in on the birthday surprise, but he wasn't talking. Gone are the days when his innocent excitement about a gift was so overwhelming that he had to whisper the details to me at bedtime. Now that boy can keep a secret.

The Something Special day dawned. Hubby and the Young Marine and I got in the car and headed off to pick up Daughter Dear. I was allowed to know that much. I didn't want to press for more information because a surprise is just as thrilling to the surprise givers as it is to the surprise receiver, so I was content to sit and smile happily as Daughter Dear guided us to the Metro station. I wasn't allowed near the ticket kiosk, so I stood in the middle of the lobby area and didn't even look in that direction. Even when hubby and DD started whispering again. Not that I knew they were whispering, mind you, because I wasn't looking. I just sensed it.

We were on the Metro a very long time, much of the journey underground. That made me feel vaguely trapped, as if we would never emerge and my Something Special was going to require a good bit of deep breathing and forced enthusiasm on my part.

"Ohhhhh! You've brought me to a subterranean experimental community where we will spend the day learning about energy efficient living without the benefit of sunshine or trees or...gah!"

But of course we did emerge into bright sunlight and left the Metro with a hoard of other people, who were all (or nearly all) clad in festive football jerseys. And then the Special Something was revealed. Hubby and DD and the YM pulled me aside and told me to close my eyes and DD placed something in my hands.

Tickets to the game! The Redskins game! The home opener, where tons of fans were already piling into the stadium and where I would soon be one of them. My very first professional football game. I jumped up and down with excitement overload.

It should be noted that I adore football. It's the reason we have a big-screen tv in our family room. And the Redskins? I've been a devoted fan through thick and thin. Lots of thin lately and not so much thick, but I'm still a staunch supporter of *my* team. Last Christmas my son-in-law (who was more accurately a son-in-law to be at that point) gave me a Redskins mug. He was likely buttering me up for his future position in our family. It worked. I like that mug so much that I won't put it in the dishwasher. It gets hand-washed and dried carefully and everybody else knows that they better not use it. It's mine, all mine.

This is acceptable behavior because football fans are notorious for their quirks. So don't go thinking I'm selfish or something negative like that. It's a Redskins mug. Mine.

And then...yes, there's more...the Young Marine handed me a bag that held a Redskins t-shirt. I nearly pulled it on right there, but that would have been a good bit less than proper given the setting so I waited until we were inside the stadium and DD and I found a restroom. I emerged beaming, properly clad to join the mass of enthusiastic fans.

Wow, wow, wow. We stood near the field for awhile and then wandered around the stadium before climbing up to our Eagle's Nest seats. It's a heck of an ascent, but once there the view of the field is amazing. Fans everywhere, decked out in appropriate attire. All rising for the National Anthem, all yelling during the kickoff.

I think that was the best thing for me. Having the Redskins win was of course the very best, but beyond that it was the experience. Being one of many, watching the personalities and stomping my feet and groaning or gasping or jumping up to determine what just happened down on the five yard line. It was a much different experience than my usual Sunday on the couch with Charlie Dog and the cats (who do watch, but aren't so much for the whole cheering thing).

But beyond that, beyond the experience and the stadium hot dog (there is something utterly pleasing about eating a hot dog while watching the pre-game activities, sun shining on your back and your favorite team about to make you proud)...beyond the exhilarating experience of my very first professional football game up close and in person...there was something more. And that something more sat on either side of me and shared my special day.

Daughter Dear planned the event, organized the secret, gave me the clues. She dreamed up a Special Something that she knew would keep me smiling for a long time. The Young Marine came home from college to be part of the day, found me the perfect shirt so my fan status would be declared to all, and headed back over the mountain to his campus that night. He knew that one of the best presents I could ever get was his presence. And hubby orchestrated his part in the event, made sure he was not traveling, helped to make the Special Something a very wonderful day for me.

Hail to the Birthday!

Desiderata

In the 1920s a lawyer named Max Ehrmann wrote what he called a "humble offering". The word "desiderata" means something wished for or considered desirable. This was his wish for the world. I think the simple words are astonishingly powerful and need no added comment from this blogger. It is a worthy creed, one worth sharing with our children and holding close in our own hearts.


Desiderata

-- written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Six-legged monster

It's been hot here. Steamy, muggy hot. So hot that my evening walk with Charlie Dog has to be postponed until dusk in order to escape some of the steamy mugginess. That's okay with him, as long as we do eventually find sneakers and the leash and head out. If anything, the delay makes him more enthusiastic.

This enthusiasm can translate into a rather disconcertingly noisy panting if he spots someone ahead of us on a trail. He doesn't mean anything by it and certainly does not intend to convey an anxiousness to, say, devour the poor unsuspecting person. But when dusk has settled along the path and the silence is suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a rhythmic "heh heh heh" I can understand why there is a tendency to skedaddle.

But I wasn't thinking about that the other evening. I wasn't thinking about anything, really. Just walking along with my buddy, counting bunnies and enjoying the one degree drop in temperature that dusk brought. As we headed down a short path that leads to longer path (that winds through some trees and a playground area) we were our usual selves. Smiling, happy and speedy. And that's when we saw another walker and her dogs.

She was on the winding path already, also headed for the trees and playground. Her two daschunds were trotting along beside her. I idly noted that they had short legs and that she did, too. Ten short legs moving along at a short-legged pace. Our longer six legs were going to outpace them. Charlie and I turned onto the longer path and then slowed down. We didn't want to walk right on her heels and the path narrows through the trees and over a little bridge. Not much passing space there. I thought this other walker would appreciate our considerate behavior. Instead of a little nod or a wave of thanks, though, she shot a horrified glance over her shoulder and began to run.

Good grief! It couldn't be us. We were the model of nice manners. That meant there was something coming behind us. Dusk was deepening and the trees were pressing in all around us. I didn't want to confront whatever was heading our way in such a setting. I had to get us through the trees and over the bridge to where I'd have more room to put up a defense. I looked at Charlie. He looked at me. Run!

So run we did. Through the trees and over the bridge, six legs making a rather vigorous pounding noise as we dashed to safety. I couldn't look over my shoulder to assess the threat because running and looking would mean foot tangling. My limited coordination doesn't extend to such feats (hee hee...couldn't resist that one). I kept my gaze on the daschund lady ahead of me. She seemed quite able to run and peer behind her at the same time. In fact, she kept doing it. And she kept running, so the threat must still be back there.

But wait. I hadn't heard anything cross the bridge after us. Feeling much more in control now that we could race off in any direction, I slowed our pace and whirled around. I was ready to quell a stalker with a gimlet glare. I was ready to fiercely tame the wildest beast. I was, without a doubt, ready. But there was nothing around. Not a person, not an animal. Nothing.

I looked ahead. The daschund lady was hurrying up a hill now. Her pace had slowed, but she kept looking back. Her gaze met mine. She frowned. It wasn't a gimlet glare (so few of us can actually produce one, you know), but the point was clear. There wasn't a monster out there, chasing us through the park. Or, to be more precise, there was one...a six-legged monster. And we were it.

As the truth of the situation hit me, I began to laugh. That didn't help my reputation with daschund lady at all. First I had chased her through the park and then I stood in the middle of the path doubled over with glee. I don't think she's one for appreciating the absurd. Here she was running as fast as ten short legs could go and Charlie and I were racing after her, convinced that a threat would soon be upon us. Innocently unaware that we were considered the threat and that by chasing her we only made things worse. Much worse.

I wanted to go explain the situation to her, but decided that hurrying up the hill in pursuit was probably not my best option. Instead, we meandered off behind some trees to give her time to reach her home. It wasn't until later that I realized she could see us from her top-of-the-hill vantage point and was likely not reassured by the sight. First we run after her, Charlie in full "heh heh heh" mode and then we hide behind a tree. Right. Perfectly acceptable behavior if you understood my reasoning. But daschund lady is likely retelling this story from her own point of view.

"There I was, innocently strolling towards the playground, when a six-legged monster swooped out of nowhere and chased me."

Charlie likes the notoriety. He's been practicing his big grin in case we encounter her again. So along with the "heh heh heh" he'll be baring all his teeth.

Yeah, that's bound to help.