It's On!

For my two remaining readers...

Why have I been AWOL? Part of it is this: It's Valour-IT Competition Time!

I'm remaining neutral this year, but Cassandra of the Marine Team says it all so beautifully, regardless of which team you want to join:

Please open your hearts and your wallets. Dig deep. These are some extraordinary young men and women - they've given their all in service of this great nation and this is a great chance to show them that all the talk of supporting the troops isn't just lip service. Not everyone in America is at the Mall.

So, what are you waiting for?! It's all right here.

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I Haven't Finished Learning How to Fly

One man talks about why he flies...

More here.

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Must See

It's just one picture.

Go.

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Joy and Terror

Drove down the freeway this afternoon to my local airbase, one eye on the road and one eye on the Blue Angels practicing the entire way. Saw the full wedge dive straight for the pavement on the horizon, then scatter in six arcs that skimmed the ground. My own mini airshow.

Believe it or not, I didn't have any near-mishaps until I left the base (that stretch of freeway is notorious for accidents on Airshow weeks. At the very least, traffic suddenly slows down about 15 mph to watch rehearsals). Business completed, I reached the westward-facing section of the circular freeway entrance ramp. What should appear at eye-level across the way but a Harrier on the runway, facing me as it went from hover to forward.

Actually, it was all Maggie's fault. In one singular moment, I spotted the Harrier, forgot that the ramp meter (stoplight) ahead would be active that time of day, and heard the phone ring (which caused me to reflexively glance at it). I spotted the stopped truck at the meter when I looked forward and burned rubber as I slid within about three inches of his bumper, while the phone slid somewhere into oblivion, still ringing.

Sat at the meter, muffled phone continuing to ring. Worried it's a work call I'm expecting, I rummage in the organizer on the seat next to me, can't find blasted phone. Cars piling up behind me, I pull forward, miss the split in the ramp and end up going right back to base. I hear the message alert burble on the phone.

Pull off on the side of the road to gather my thoughts and calm my heart. Finally find the phone up under the dashboard. It's Maggie. Listen to her message and decide it was a good thing I'd already stopped. The bon mot delivered Maggie-style would've made me absolutely wreck the car.

Call Maggie on the headset and find a crossroad at which to turn around. Sit there just a few hundred yards from the gate at 4:00 the day before an airshow and try to turn left. Bwaahahah! But hope springs eternal...

"Maggie, I'm stuck on base. I can't get out!"

[Insert Boston accent] "And this is a problem how, exactly? Stuck on a base of Sailors and you're complaining?!" (What does she know, it's a Marine base now).

And why was I on a Marine base the day before an airshow, risking my life? To pick up VIP tickets from the Blue Angels Supply Chief I met at the USO last February when he was passing through. "Give me a call when you get here for the show and I'll take you up to the flightline," he says as he hands them to me.

Oh yeah, it's gonna be a great weekend. *GRIN*

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Hmmm

Is it just me, or is this not even remotely cute?:

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Damn

As I've written many times, the wounded servicemen and women who come back from war and conquer their gargantuan new challenges are an inspiration, a testament to the human spirit. A reminder that much of what we do and don't do is "all in our heads."

We celebrate those who successfully conquer physical challenges and remake their lives in defiance of supposed "limitations." When we see how far they've come we start to breathe easier, believe that they really are the lucky ones, settle into looking forward to a future instead of worrying about survival in the present, cheer them as they reach back to help those who are walking the same path.

They are the success stories, our bittersweet joys amid all the war and suffering.

Ryan Job was one of those guys. Which just makes this all the worse:

Blinded by a sniper's bullet in Iraq, Ryan Job retained his characteristic determination and persistence. He climbed Mount Rainier, trained for a triathlon and became a spokesman for an organization that helps wounded veterans transition to civilian life.

"He didn't back down from any challenge," said a friend, Tyler Lein, of Scottsdale, Ariz.

Mr. Job, who grew up in Issaquah, died Thursday morning after major reconstructive surgery at Maricopa Medical Center in Phoenix. He was 28.

When he was blinded in 2006, his fellow SEALS and milblog connections reached out to ask Valour-IT to speed a laptop to him, knowing that as a real "go-getter" he'd have a very hard time accepting the slow pace of learning to function as a blind man. We were happy to oblige--I remember emailing back and forth to secure entrance to his hospital room for our SA representative.

I never met him, but his name meant something to me and this news pierced my heart. A double loss--first to the SEALs, and then to his fellow wounded warriors and the rest of us.

By all indications, we were blessed to have him for at least a little while. But it's never enough.


My thoughts and prayers for his family, who are dealing with the horrifying shock of finding that instead of cheating death in 2006, he had merely received a brief reprieve.

I'm reminded once again that the world isn't fair. Damn.

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Commander in Chief

I suppose part of why I'm not blogging right now is that the big military-related issue right now is Afghanistan, and it's a political snake pit. I hate writing about politics.

But a couple of other people have been saying it well without turning into the raving, foaming-at-the-mouth lunatic I'd be if I started on the topic...

Marine Wife Cassandra: Take Your Time, Mr. President

Retired Naval Officer Lex: Walk Back

Former Marine and current military/foreign policy analyst Steve Schippert had a couple of very pointed Tweets today:

On the news that Biden is offering a different plan for Afghanistan (Reportedly Obama's had ONE meeting on the topic since he received McChrystal/Petraeus' report on August 1) -- Mr. President, it's essentially come down to Petraeus or Biden on war, insurgecy, terror. You're pondering what, exactly?

After Obama's speech to the UN, followed by Netanyahu's defense of Israel before the same body -- Dear Mr. President, Please study Bibi Netanyahu to learn how a leader speaks of the nation he leads. Remedial classes available @ office.

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Alive

I'm still here... I think.

I just really don't have anything military-related to say these days. And I hate how I've been making this blog about me instead of the troops. Thing is, I spend all my day doing troop-related stuff, and I feel like my life has been kind of interesting lately, so my ego would rather talk about me than about them.

This is just embarrassing. This blog used to be something--used to have meaningful things to say, used to be read by people with reach and power, used to have impact.

Ugh. Don't know what I'm going to do about this...

In the meantime, go read some people worth reading--like the Greyhawks, Cassandra, John, Pinch, Salamander, Maryann... Just click on one of them and keep scrolling.

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Here

I've been on vacation, but fighting mild migraines (yes, there is such a thing, fortunately). I wanted to write about John and his father, but I can't wrap my hurting head around it.

In the meantime, read this:

Some people talk about how brave or heroic this attitude is, but for me it is simply practical. I refuse to let this keep me from living my life to the fullest, and you would too. It's not heroic, it's realistic. I admit, I look forward to moving through this adventure with others who are traveling the same path that I am. Thus far, many have helped me and guided me, and I look forward to inspiring future wounded Soldiers. Leadership doesn't stop at the hospital door.

It's what I was talking about here:

They're inspirational, not because they have it so hard (they do) and succeed in spite of it (they often do), but because they are proof of the indomitable human spirit, a living lesson for all who struggle and fight, a reminder that regardless of your circumstances, life really is what you make of it.

John, you've been on my mind.

Now to go lay down, as I am obviously not made of the same stuff as our wounded warriors.

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Dropping Off the Kids

This time of year, doting parents are seeing their kids off to the first day of school. Many of those with young adults are leaving their dear ones in the rear view mirror and wondering how their how their kids will do at college so far away from home...

This past week? The president addressed a joint session of Congress, the war in Afghanistan took an evil turn, throngs converged on Washington to protest the vast new expansion of the federal government, and yours truly missed it all, absorbed in an even bigger event: the departure of a child for college.

Every year it happens to tens of thousands of parents. This year, it happened to us.

But there's another group saying goodybe, too...

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Dammit!

Today I wasn't going ot mention the links below. I didn't want to make this political.

But just now I turned on the radio and they used brief excerpts of news reports from 9-11-01 as a lead-in to the local talk show. Those sounds still chill me, make my stomach turn and my hair stand on end... they still make me cry. Because I'm the kind of girl who cries when anger becomes overwhelming, and those sounds are still a sudden blast of fuel to that pilot light of righteous anger in my soul.

I keep thinking the heat of memory will be a little cooler each year, but no, it isn't.

Apparently others don't have the same reaction. But then again, to them it was just a "tragedy..." almost an accident... a crime.

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The National Squadron

Over at Lex's house, a commenter had a fascinating analogy to explain and illuminate the meaning of the congressman who shouted out in anger (frustration?) during Obama's speech last night. He compares it to the subtleties of leadership and chain of command (two very different things) in a naval aviation squadron, and what happens when the lower levels rebel:

So, it is like a squadron. If the troops ever think the CO thinks he is better than them, that his job is to command, and their job is to shut up and do what he says, then don’t be surprised when it grinds to a halt. There has to be mutual respect – a recognition that while the jobs and responsibilities may be different, they are all valuable, and everyone deserves to be listened to, respected, and appreciated.

That’s where we are — the line, av/arm, and a/c divisions are all convinced. Admin, CMC and the ready room are on board, and cheering. Those closest to the front office are ebullient, but downstairs they are pissed — and since the CO went straight from first cruise to the front office, he is occludo. Wilson is just "AD3 Jones" — a lower impulse control level than most, willing to say what many others were thinking. The CO doesn’t realize, and frankly doesn’t care, that Jones is just the tip of the iceberg.

Bingo.

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9-11-09

Today my biggest worry is that the ant scouting party in my kitchen is the harbinger of a third full-scale insect assault in 10 days.

For that lightly-borne concern, I owe a lot of people more than could ever be adequately expressed, much less repaid. Exactly eight years ago, my worries were a lot more primal.

Some of our heroes fell that day, but those who remain have proven over and over again they are cut from that same cloth of courage, audacity, perseverance and pure sheepdog protectiveness--I discovered yesterday that my new "adopted soldier" is a 31-year-old infantryman bearing the rank of Specialist, an indication that he enlisted relatively recently at an older age than most. On the strong backs and valiant hearts of him and his brothers, both civilian and military, we live today.

We are very blessed.

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