A Pat is Nice

Nathan writes about a certain amount of discomfort he feels when someone thanks him for his service, pointing out that it has its benefits and he does it with eyes wide open regarding the risks. He then talks about how the families serve and sacrifice too. Here's how he closes:

But do you still want to thank a servicemember?

Here’s what you should do. Words are nice, but actions are better.

Find your nearest USO and volunteer. If it is too far away for you to travel, then drop off non-perishable drinks and snacks. Or give a cash donation.

USOs make the cruel travel schedule we endure bearable. They are wonderful for servicemembers, but also for the family when they are along.

It’s only a few hours for you, but it makes a HUGE difference to us.

Please.

That was just so awesome to read! Of course we don't do it for the warm-fuzzies, but it's always nice to hear that the effort makes a difference. Although, when someone says more than just thanks to me, I always brush it off with the truth: we're all just doing our part. And besides, I volunteer for selfish reasons--it's actually a ton of fun. ;)

So, see if you have a USO nearby that needs your help. Mine's a half-hour drive away (when traffic is good), but it's worth every minute.

Read More......

How it All Started, Part III

[Significantly revised. Explanation here.]

Conclusion of the story of Valour-IT and how this civilian became a milblogger...

Previously:

That very week I had been toying with the idea of blogging, going so far as to have set up an as-yet-unpublished first post...I decided [the blog] would be largely fluff and it would be in my Fuzzybear persona, complete with a cute little Anime avatar. And I had a name to suit: Fuzzilicious Thinking.

Oh, if only I'd known... I might've been more circumspect...

On July 25, 2005 a random, high-strung, anonymous music teacher in Arizona dipped her toe into the blog world. Of course, once one starts blogging, one must have content. Within a week that problem was solved, though the subject matter was not what I'd had in mind when I created my fluffy (fuzzy?) little blog...

Chuck made his first injury-encumbered post the same day I started blogging, tapping with his two or three functional fingers that peeked out from the cast and bandages and severed nerves of his hands. Three days later he put up a post that changed my life:

I could really use voice to text software
http://www.scansoft.com/naturallyspeaking/preferred/

Or I could keep up the two line posts.

I have so much I want to blog but can't. maybe someone could cajole them into helping a wounded soldier...

working hard, chuck

The response from his readership was overwhelming, and he and I apparently had an idea at the same time: this should be available to all the wounded who can't type, and there are a lot of people who want to help!

Just over 5 weeks from being wounded, Chuck was of course living in a haze of surgeries, painful therapies, and mind-fogging painkillers. So I ran with it. It became my instant obsession; everything I had learned about our warriors in the last year drove me to find a way to make our dream happen. A year before, I hadn't even known anyone in the military. Now I was on a mission for the men and women to whom I'd learned I owed so much. My eyes would pop open at 4 a.m. and my mind would do an instant "zero to sixty" on the subject. My fluffy, light little blog became all-wounded, all the time. I brainstormed constantly, writing quick notes to myself between the music classes I was teaching--my desktop became a sea of colorful sticky notes covered in scribbles.

By email, Chuck and I formulated our plans for how we thought we could make voice-controlled laptops available to others. But the issue was money, and we had two options: try and do it ourselves or find an existing charity to run it with us funneling all these supporters their direction.

Wracking my brain for people who could help, I replied to John Donovan's offer for assistance. "Do you have ideas who we could approach to sponsor this project?" The reply: Soldiers' Angels. I'd heard about them, but all my troop support had been through AnySoldier. I scoped out their website, formulated my pitch, and called the number given. A woman answered the phone and I said, "I have this crazy idea and someone suggested SA might be able to help, but I don't know who I need to talk to."

It was several days before I understood that I had been talking to the founder of Soldiers' Angels. She had apparently been thinking along the same lines, but grilled me about why I wanted to do it and what level of seriousness I possessed. She wanted to know how I was going to raise the money required--hundreds of thousands of dollars, she said.

Wide-eyed and innocent but on a mission, I told her, "I don't know exactly how we will do it, but I am committed to doing whatever it takes. This must be done, so we'll find a way." Looking back I know I had no idea what I was setting myself up for, but ignorance was bliss; I thought I was just handing off an idea, but next thing I knew she said, "You'll lead this, and we'll handle the money and distribution."

What?! I'd never led anything more mature than a class of 15-year-olds in my entire life. And now she was trying to put me in charge of a charity project?! I was both excited and terrified.

But here's where it all came together, and where I later realized that it was a series of amazing coincidences. All those coincidences led to something wonderful. I don't hold myself up as something special because I had a role in making it all happen (in fact, I kept trying to get other people to make the decisions, haha!). Simply, I was lucky and blessed enough to be in the right place at the right time.

Patti put me in touch with Holly Aho, and within 9 days of talking to Patti, we had a professional-looking website, corporate sponsors giving us discounts, contacts on the ground at Bethesda and Walter Reed, and a team of people covering everything from PR to graphics to an official blog. And the Castle--a place uniquely positioned to lead the way, but which I'd hardly known six months before--became Internet Central for Project Valour-IT.

As for me, I soon felt like I'd grabbed a tiger by the tail--I didn't know where it was taking me, but I didn't dare let go.

When I look back, here's the progression, the reason why I say it was an amazing chain of coincidences, each dependent on the previous:

1. Adopt through AnySoldier
2. Find milblogs in a search for better information about the people I was adopting (meet people and learn from them)
3. See Sergeant B's comment
4. Write to Sergeant B and become friends
5. Join Castle at B's encouragement—getting to know the Denizens and continuing my military education
6. Discover Chuck's blog
7. Ask John for advice after Chuck is wounded
8. Brainstorm with John, leading to the Valour-IT competitions (our solution to the way people’s generosity had been tapped out by Hurricane Katrina)
9. The Milblog community makes it all happen--the skills, the PR, the contacts, etc.

Lots of people had the skills to make it happen, but they had lives. I was stuck in the middle of the desert, living with two cats and craving adult conversation after spending the day with elementary school students. It was a great way to fill my time and has been such a blessing and brought about such changes in my personal and professional life that I almost feel guilty—I’ve gained far, far more value from all this anything I’ve supposedly given.

Now I work in the military support field full time and find that after all these experiences I am neither civilian nor military, but some kind of bizarre hybrid. When I’m at the USO I often get the question (especially if I demonstrate significant military-related knowledge), “So you’re prior service or a dependent, huh?” How do I explain my answer? I get the weirdest, disbelieving looks from people when I tell them I'm not, and I sit there wondering how int he world I can explain all of this to someone who has never heard of milblogs, or who didn’t know me four years ago and thus cannot comprehend how astonishing I find my situation today.

I am so blessed.

Read More......

Overheard at the Airport USO

A young Marine has just completed MCT (post-bootcamp training) and, seeing the spread laid out in the kitchen, asks with honest surprise in his voice, "Is this for us?"

When told that it is, he has another question. "How much? How much does it cost?"

Assured that it's free, his eyes widen and face breaks into a grin. "Wow," he exclaims with earnest enthusiasm, "you get out of training and everybody starts being nice to you!"

Read More......

Afternoon at the USO

Marines headed for separation, a passel of Midshipmen managing to look both uncertain and confident at the same time, and an extremely nervous newly-minted sailor who couldn't bring himself to speak above a whisper. Top it off with a 40-something naval aviator sporting Top Gun sunglasses and cheesy moustache along with his 18-year-old-frat-boy's personality (I am not exaggerating), and an Adonis-like SEAL* with mega-attitude. It was... interesting.

I just love being treated like an idiot when I question the report that the carrier is in port, and I'm assured that yes she is, despite that fact that I just saw the empty berthing as I drove in. Then I ask for further clarification just to be sure I understand so I don't send the lost sailor to the wrong place, and my friendly local SEAL (who has bristled at every little reasonable request I've made of him--such as asking him to sign in when he walked in the door) says quietly but with derision to his fellow sailors after I turn my back, "No. It's in Iraq."

Fun. I whirl around and say with comic exasperation and hands spread, "What is your problem with me?! What in the world did I do to you to deserve this attitude?? I mean, really!!" The gaggle of sailors just gape, but I have five people lined up and at the desk and I'm the only one on the shift. I turn back to the desk, shaking my head and exclaiming--not entirely without amusement--as I walk, "A SEAL with an attitude: Oh, joy!" Nervous New Sailor looks at me with what seems to be a mixture of fear and awe, despite the warm smile and friendly greeting I soon offer him.

Fun.

Actually, it was honestly a very, very enjoyable day--I had a great time, better than I have in awhile. It's pretty rare I run into a military man who treats me like I'm an idiot, but... ugh! Anybody got tips for the next time I encounter a similar over-testosteronized jerk?

*The handful of Special Operators I know or have interacted with have always been humble, gentle and respectful to me. This guy was definitely an outlier. Sad. He had a chestful of ribbons, Trident polished to a glow, square chin and wavy, golden hair to go with his beautiful build... and a personality as ugly as the rest of him was gorgeous.

UPDATE: Heh. Mr. Attitude wanted to talk before he left. Made a joke, loitered a bit, scooped some candy from the dish on the desk while mentioning it was bad for him... Sparkled at me the whole time before warmly wishing me a "great evening" as he departed. I wasn't impressed. Geez!

Read More......

Receiving and Asking

It's been awhile since I've mentioned Valour-IT here. I think it's time I correct that sin of omission. Check this one out--from a soldier injured in an explosive attack in Iraq:

I don't know where to start. I was thrilled and truly appreciative of the laptop donation that Soldiers Angels sent. My neurology team is ecstatic with the progress that I have made, yet we all temper our excitement as I still have a long recovery ahead. Due to the great hearts (sponsors, donors, volunteers and others too numerous to mention) within Soldiers' Angels I have become more mobile in my rehabilitation and the laptop is absolutely one of the tools that I have in my recovery toolbox. I use it to keep current on my schedule and have several applications that assist with recovery.

I know that my recovery has been aided by the cards, letters, and notes sent by your Angels. I love to read them and have started to send Thank You's to many of them. I just want you and everyone to know that your organization is a Godsend to Soldiers. Please send this note of Thanks to the appropriate personnel, and if there is anything I can do to help, let me know.

God Bless You and God Bless America.

LTC X

I have to say that I don't know where to start in response to that.

But speaking of Soldiers' Angels, Patti (the organization's founder) was named by online vote as "America's Most Inspirational Mom" in March as part of contest sponsored by NBC and Teleflora for Mother's Day. Now she has been selected by NBC/Teleflora as a semi-finalist for "America's Favorite Mom."

What does that have to do with Soldiers' Angels? Two things: 1) As the founder and leader of Soldiers' Angels, any attention on her draws attention to Soldiers' Angels--both the needs of the troops and the opportunity to join Soldiers' Angels in meeting those needs. 2) Predictably, Patti is planning to use any winnings she gets to help the troops and their families.

Patti will be appearing on NBC's Today show on Monday morning (May 5), along with her deployed son and two other military moms. If she receives more votes than the other two moms, she will be a part of a primetime NBC special on Monday, with the chance to be the ultimate winner. BUT... You can only vote for her on ONE DAY--Monday!

So, please go vote for Patti. She's not only raised two American soldiers, but she's "mothered" hundreds of thousands of others... and a bunch of civilian Angels, too!

[Yeah, you gotta sign up to vote, and those marketing gambits are vile. But who says you have to give "accurate" information, hmmm? And besides, are you going to let a signup process keep you from helping put $250,000 in the hands of a woman who lives and breathes support for our military men and women? Btw, did you know my name is "David Spamalot?" *heehee*]

Read More......

Investments

I read something over at Trying to Grok that reminded me of someone I met yesterday.

I don't know what gave him away... maybe it was the mile-wide grin on his face, or the way he walked so lightly in dusty boots recently unburdened of at least 50 pounds of gear, but the USO director instantly knew the broad-shouldered young soldier was home from Iraq. And so I echoed his words with a warm smile, "Welcome home."

A few minutes later he picked up the pool cue, perhaps hoping to channel his somewhat restless energy while waiting expectantly for his wife to arrive. I watched him relentlessly knock each ball into the proper pocket. Line it up, knock it in... line it up, knock it in. Thunk... thunk... thunk...

I walked past the Pool table. "Hi, again!"

"Hi!" The big smile returned to his olive face and dark eyes.

"On leave, or home permanently?"

"Eighteen days' leave." He turned to line up a shot and I saw the patch on his sleeve, emblem of a proud and storied unit.

"Twelve months, or fifteen?"

"Fifteen, but rumor is they're going to shorten it to twelve so they don't have to pay us more."

I laughed gently, but told him I was sure the concern was much more the strain on the military at large and the units that were having to turn around so fast. Mistaking "strain" to refer simply to psychological burdens, he spilled brief descriptions of a couple men in his company who had found themselves unable to cope with the pressure-cooker of life as a combat soldier and had cracked or made terrible choices. These were told as simple facts of life, without condemnation. He never stopped moving around the table, lining up the shots... knocking 'em in... occasionally looking up and making eye contact as he spoke.

With those stories in mind, I asked where his unit was posted. He named a town in Northern Iraq. "So you guys have been in the middle of things lately, huh? Tough situation?"

He stopped and thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, not really... this time. It's been pretty good where we are, not like [another northern city]." He took another shot, then paused again, his face suddenly brightening.

"It was kinda bad at first, but we worked really hard to change things. We've been working real hard on this one village. They hated us when we first came, ___ months ago--the unit we replaced had never even gone over there during their deployment. But we did our own thing, tried new ways of doing things, and now the villagers like us--well, I don't know if they like us, but they trust us a bit and they work with us. Before they wouldn't even talk to us."

Upon questions and clarification, I determined they'd "chased out the bad guys, which made the villagers think we were okay." I inquired as to whether the villagers had been afraid of the "bad guys," or had genuinely hated the Americans. He thought about it for a moment, then said he wasn't really sure. He shrugged as if it didn't really matter, "But they're kinda happy with us, now." He smiled almost shyly. "They like how we help them--we're doing a lot of things."

His face brightened suddenly again. "We've caught a bunch of HVT's in our sector, like 5 or 6--the most of anybody. Like this one guy we thought was just a local [terrorist]... turns out he's a bigtime [important person]." He swelled with pride before turning back to the table.

As he continued systematically knocking billiard balls into the pockets, I asked questions and he responded with thoughtful pride and a critique of the Iraqi soldiers he encounters. He paused to pantomime how the disciplined Americans hold their weapons across their chests while pointed at the ground, then demonstrated with derision the way the Iraqi soldiers wave them around or let the barrels drag alongside them. I added with irony, "And they keep their finger in the trigger, right?" He busted up with a hearty, "Yeah, I don't let them walk behind me; who knows where they'll be pointing when one of them goes off!"

I mentioned the 3ID's Iraqi NCO Academy in central Iraq and he thought that was a very cool idea, saying the Iraqi soldiers "sure need it!" But then a shadow crossed his face, as if he realized he was probably being unfair. He mentioned that his squad had taken individual Iraqi soldiers on patrol with them and he'd had to grudgingly admit they'd acquitted themselves well. Upon further thought he offered the opinion that they weren't really that bad, they just didn't have good leadership in all-Iraqi squads. And he told familiar stories of how when an IED goes off, Iraqi soldiers have been known to fire in the direction of the IED and two Iraqi squads end up firing at each other--"No fire discipline," he said with a roll of the eyes. However, he suddenly switched topics and wanted to ensure that I knew the Iraqi Police in his area had really stepped it up and grown in skill and reliability since his last deployment. "Used to be if something happened, they just run away. Now they stay and fight. They just need more training and leadership."

I asked how much they'd been able to do with the village he'd mentioned. A combat outpost set up, yet? He reported that a patrol base would be built while he was on leave, which meant--as he happily informed me--he'd be stateside while the rest of his squad spent a week sitting in a vehicle without showers or real food as they guarded the construction team.

He enthusiastically explained how the patrol base was going to help them interact with and support the villagers, and launched into reports of the initial "CLC" (Concerned Local Citizens, now called Sons of Iraq) events his platoon had conducted, and their ultimate plans for the CLCs. "The villagers are really excited about it. Lots of people are signing up. They're already helping us out with things--and they're not even being paid, yet!" He turned back to the table for another shot. I caught a flash of the rank insignia attached to his sleeve and swelled with pride at another example of enthusiastic and informed soldiers in the lowest ranks of our military. Strategic Corporal? Heck, try Strategic PFC!

Talk ranged across a variety of topics and over half an hour, with him lining up the shots and me following him around the table at a distance as we spoke in mostly quiet undertones. It was easy conversation, never tensing up, never touching on anything too personal. Then his cell phone rang and he lunged for it with a smile, so I wandered back to my post at the front desk.

A few minutes later I heard it ring again as he stood near the desk. "Okay babe, I'll be out on the sidewalk." He closed the phone, turned to me and stuck out his hand, "I really enjoyed talking to you, Ma'am. Thank you."

"Me, too." He towered over me, his large, broad hand enveloped my small one, and suddenly I was sucked into a place halfway across the world, as I caught a glimpse of the corded tendons in his wrist and felt his thickly calloused hand... a hand that had been toting a rifle and working so hard in a dangerous place so that I could stand so safely here and talk to a man whose first name I didn't even know. "Thank you for your service. You're doing good work over there... keep it up." I smiled as I looked up at him, honored to have made the acquaintance, and grateful for the continuing education.

Yup. Invested.

Read More......

Another Stupid Civilian Trick

Well, he thought I was a stupid civilian, but this time the trick was on him. It's actually a long-ago memory, but it got stirred up this morning...

I was sitting at the USO reception desk on "SOI Day," the day hundreds of new Marines come through the USO on their way to secondary training. Sergeants from SOI are sent to coordinate, for the place is usually a madhouse on such days--with wall-to-wall people, sea bags everywhere, guys changing into their alphas and then rushing around following the sergeants' directions, etc.

I looked up to see a hulking PFC who had already changed into uniform, but was just now signing in. He was so tall and broad-chested I couldn't see anyone behind him, but I noticed his uniform was a bit awry. I said gently, "Marine, I think you have your lapel EGAs switched, and one epaulet is sticking up over your collar."

But what do I know? I'm just a girl, and a civilian even (horrors!). He brushed me off as he finished signing in...

And turned around right into the sergeant standing behind him. I tried not to smile, for the results were predictable...

SGT [grabbing PFC's lapel]: What the hell is wrong with you, Marine?!! Are you dyslexic or something?

PFC: [sputter, sputter]

SGT: Get those EGAs off and go find someone who can show you how the hell to dress yourself."

PFC: [blank look]

SGT: I said to take those _____ EGAs off now!

The sergeant's voice continued, but I soon was distracted by other work. I like to think the tongue lashing also included, "And next time a nice young lady at the USO gives you some advice about uniform details, you might want to take it!"

I've since told that story to other young Marines with uniforms awry on SOI Days. You'll be glad to know that the vast majority of them are smart enough to be able to identify good advice no matter the source. :D

Read More......

Flirting Skills

Mine need some work...

A wiry, early-forty-something man in civilian garb strides up to the USO desk like he owns the place. Before I can even consciously categorize him as the naval officer (pilot?) he obviously is, he has already read my nametag and issued more a command than a greeting: "Evening FbL, CDR Owens Theplace. I need to arrange transportation to [near a Naval Base]."

We clarify exactly where he's headed, and I explain the options, then ask to see some ID (I'd neglected to do so immediately). He bristles slightly at that, but after a moment's hesitation covers it with a smile, and I apologize for not having asked earlier. He still has to pick up his luggage, so I invite him to come back to the desk when he's ready to go and we'll call a shuttle. He asks for the USO phone number and writes it on his hand (no ring) before smiling warmly and assuring me he will be back.

Ten minutes later, I look up as a jovial voice loudly broadcasts, "FbL, I'm ba-ack!" I consider replying with a friendly but sarcastic "My life is now complete!" with hand clutched to chest, but bite it back; suprisingly, I behave myself in the face of such a provocation, haha! So instead, I throw my hands in the air and let go with a friendly but slightly ironic "Yaaay," eliciting a chuckle from him before he ostentatiously displays his ID again. I cringe slightly as I assure him that's unnecessary, and get a teasing grin in return.

Much conversation ensues. He manages to use my name repeatedly, smile continually as he makes dominant eye contact... and reveal almost nothing about himself. We discuss his new duty station's excellent locale, the joys of seagoing vessels (he's good friends with a local ship's leadership), and the challenges of finding housing. In answer to my only direct question--"Temporary duty or new duty station?"--he replies with a grin that he's here for "temporary 3-year duty."

He inquires as to local amenities--including the ferry schedule, which he acts impressed to discover I have at my fingertips. Every bit of info I supply, and every mention of the USO's services elicits more fulsome praise and smiles. When his shuttle driver arrives quickly, even that is somehow to my credit. I would roll my eyes were he not so charming and so amazingly good at shoveling the BS.

Striding out the door, he bids goodbye with great enthusiasm, "I hope to see you again very soon!"

Caught off guard and a bit puzzled, I holler after him, "Hoping those three years go fast, hunh?" He pauses for a moment of puzzlement himself, before laughing as he turns away.

Seconds later, I realize what I should have shot back with a teasing grin: "Hah! If you really meant that, you would've asked for my phone number."

Apologies to my dear friends, but...

Naval Officers... Pfffttt!

Bet he'd make a fun date, though. :D

P.S. Google + name + rank + service branch = CDR Owens Theplace's photo and his new command. Google is a scary thing.

Read More......

Christmas at the USO, 2007 Edition

I was all set to write a light post about yesterday's shift at the USO... the absent-minded Marine and his long-suffering buddy, the Navy captain's reply when I told him "I suppose I could've mistaken you for a senior chief, but there's something distinct about the way captains walk in here..." And then there was the overheard TINS--moonshine, redlining unregistered motorcycles on mountainous country roads, and simultaneous APBs in three states.

But the words just wouldn't arrange themselves properly...

...Because many of yesterday's visitors didn't act like typical Marines reveling in the downtime stretching ahead of them. The prospect of being out from under the watchful eyes of officers and NCOs didn't seem to quite relax them. It was subtle, but undeniable. I was puzzled a bit, until I mentally assembled everything I overheard and saw, and realized what was happening.

Instead of simply smiles and hearty laughter (of which there was plenty), I will carry from yesterday's shift the memory of Marines headed home for Christmas on pre-deployment leave. Swelled with the usually holiday busyness, the walls of the facility reflected laughter and easy conversation, and holiday cheer was in clear evidence. But it was somewhat muted, too.

Small groups gathered in the kitchen, quietly discussing recent training experiences and comparing notes with those from different squads/classes. Humor with the darkest of bites lurked around the edges, and tactical words and acronyms floated through the air at unexpected times.

More than usually, they moved with quiet confidence and deliberation, graceful and with less of the free and easy casualness regularly displayed out-of-uniform. Warm expressions of gratitude for a kitchen stocked with snacks, pies and pastries abounded, but the standard puppy-like enthusiasm was less in evidence.

Out in the main room, one Marine gathered a crowd by picking up a guitar and singing hearfelt Country music songs of longing, love, and home. Though their families' warm embraces were hours away, they were obviously already mentally deployed: focused, ready, and psychologically distanced.

I wonder what their families' reactions will be to a son/brother who is not 100% "there" this Christmas, who is a bit more serious, focused on a distant horizon the family cannot see. It must be hard for those expecting Christmas to be a time to reinforce bonds before sending a piece of their hearts across the sea... for they will find their loved ones have already moved just out of reach. I suppose that's a good thing--those Marines were obviously confident, thoroughly-trained, bonded, and ready for the mission--but it can't be fun for those who love them.

Volunteering at the USO, I tell myself that I'm "doing my part," since I'd make a terrible servicemember. But yesterday I was painfully aware again of the imbalance, aware that in a few short weeks they would be dealing with life and death... and I'd still be safely stateside, handing out smiles and snacks at the USO.

There really is no way to balance that account, and the gratitude continues to accrue.

***********

Okay, I'll give you one little vignette to leaven the weight of that last line:

When an "Army Strong" commercial came on the TV, the Marines talking in the kitchen lifted their heads and watched intently as soon as they heard the opening notes of the theme. I teased, "Thinking of switching?"

They were honestly appalled, and a chorus of protests soon arose. I assured them with a smile that I knew my audience, and to the laughter of his comrades, one piped up, "Yeah, I might sign up with them... when I'm old and tired!"

Gotta love those Marines. As Lex once said, they believe quite impossible things about themselves, which often leads to the accomplishment of quite impossible things.

For their sake and our sake, may they continue to prove that true in coming months.

P.S. This covers some of what I suspect those Marines have been doing recently.

UPDATE: A friend of my mother's knows several of the deploying Marines and validates my perceptions. She reports that in many ways they'd rather deploy immediately, fearing leave will be a distraction; they've mentally flipped the "deployment switch" and are already "gone."

Read More......

Back at the USO

The scheduling at my job was variable and rarely gave me enough notice to coordinate with the USO. So, one of the few perks of being unemployed is that I'm back to regularly volunteering. It had been ten months since I'd walked through those doors, but it took only about 30 minutes of brushing up on procedures before the intellectual equivalent of muscle memory kicked it and it felt like I'd never left.

Familiar scenes played out all evening...

Next to the reception desk, two recently-returned Marines who had been strangers moments before were talking easily of their Iraq tours as they played pool. On the other side, two youngsters stretched out on the sofas, sleeping in awkward, pillow-less positions but looking perfectly relaxed and adorable in their casual disarray.

We were busier than usual, with a large number of nervous, newly-minted servicemembers assuming their first permanent duty stations, including a brand new corpsman reporting to the Marines with a nicked face because he'd shaved in a hurry after walking in just as the shuttle was scheduled to depart. He fretted aloud as he held tissue to his chin while running out the door--something about first impressions and dripping blood on his uniform (at least he was wearing winter blues!). From across the room a late-twenties Marine with a few deployments under his belt tossed off a hearty but affectionate, "Get used to it, Doc!"

And then there were the buddies who were reporting to a new duty station but wanted to spend a night on the town, first. Unfortunately, the only hotel room we could find for them had just one bed, so I asked their opinion. It's a rare Marine who gets to his late twenties (like those two) without a few Iraq tours under his belt, so as they leaned on the desk and glanced at each other before replying, pictures came to mind.

"I like to cuddle," said one in a teasing tone.

The second Marine paused for a moment before shrugging lightly. "Eh, I can live with that."

I burst out laughing, and they quickly joined the merriment. But my fellow volunteer seemed concerned by the prospect of two men sharing a bed, and anxiously suggested they could maybe request a cot when they got to the hotel. The second Marine assured her they'd be fine as he nearly rolled his eyes at his buddy. "Oh, he'll just turn those big puppy dog eyes and that smile on some poor woman and get us anything we need," he said in a voice heavy with faux suffering.

His buddy just flashed a self-satisfied grin, and the Snark Monster rose inside me. But but for once I behaved myself--I bit my lip so hard I think I bruised it. I mean, can't be stirring up trouble my very first day back...

Seriously, I had a wonderful time. I think that place feels more like home to me than anywhere else.

Read More......

San Antonio Rose Lioness

This will stay on top for awhile. See below for new posts.

UPDATE: On Wednesday I have 2.5 hours of flight layover in Las Vegas (9:30 p.m. to midnight), and Sunday afternoon I have 1.5 hours in Phoenix (3:15 to 4:45). Anybody want to try and squeeze in a quick hello?

I just discovered I'll be headed to San Antonio, Texas next weekend (August 2-5). I'm visiting Brooke Army Medical Center, among other activities. Any Texas friends--or friends of friends--in the vicinity?

It also involves a very big announcement that Soldiers' Angels and Valour-IT are about to make (stay tuned for details).

Guess I'll have to get that haircut I've been putting off since the last time I left the state, haha!

My first time in Texas... should be fun.

Read More......

Travel Notes

Airport blogging... because what else is a non-drinking, non-gambling lioness supposed to do in Las Vegas at 9:30 p.m.? So, for your viewing pleasure...

The last flight of the day out to Las Vegas? Full of lovey-dovey couples running off to Vegas to get married.

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

Saw an unusual young man as I waited for the flight... Nearly-shaved head, but not quite with the military bearing one might expect. We were both in the final handful of people to load the plane and commented on each others' impatience and obvious exhaustion. In response to my complaint about having come directly from work, "Yeah, I came from boot camp. I was falling asleep, leaning on the guy next to me." I joked about the "support" he would receive from the DI for such a thing. He flushed.

Not until he sat in front of me in the plane did it all come together in my head--not a true high-and-tight (had an over-all fuzzy head), no constant "Ma'am," nothing but a handful of papers in his hands, only the barest veneer of military bearing, and... it was Wednesday. I leaned forward and said, "I thought bootcamp grad was Fridays. How did you manage to leave early?"

"I was only there two days. Bereavement leave."

There was another young man within sight of me on the plane who fit the same profile. He closed his eyes and occasionally swayed slightly as we stood and waited to disembark in Las Vegas. He jerked awake at the muffled thud of the airplane door opening.

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

I miss the USO so much. Going to the airport these days is painful. I fight the urge to steer the car through the familiar gate, or just "stick my head in" the door to that special building just outside Terminal 2. I never seem to have the time to visit...

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

What's the attraction of slot machines? I really don't get it. Nearest I can figure is: Slot Machines = grown up arcade games, or maybe those infant toys that flash and beep and play music. That's probably not a revelation to most people, but I'd never thought of it that way before.

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

I almost bought a cup of yogurt at the airport.... until I saw the price: $2.29. Eighty cents at the grocery store. You'd think enough people would avoid puchasing such over-priced items and it would drive down the price, but apparently these shops are living off business travelers with generous expense accounts.

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

One very happy thought....

Sgt. X replied to my email of last week; I'll be meeting him and his family in San Antonio. He was the first soldier who wrote back to me, and so in many ways three years ago he started me down a path whose culmination I do not know, but whose progress thus far has been a wild ride.

I'll also be meeting one other person (possibly two) whom I've never before met in "real space."

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

The Las Vegas Airport has free WiFi. Makes up for the incessant warble of the slot machines. Maybe. Heh. Prime people-watching opportunity...

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

My head's killing me--I'm gonna have to break down and buy that $3 bottle of water. #$&%!@# terrorists. Or maybe it's the TSA that's to blame? Who knows.... I just know my wallet is soon going to be $3 lighter for 20 cents worth of water and plastic. :P

P.S. Yeah, I have emails to answer. I'll do that after I've gotten some sleep at the hotel (arrival 6 a.m., LOL!). The supposedly luxurious bed is already calling to me...

Read More......

MilBlog Conference and Valour-IT

Part of what made last weekend's MilBlog Conference so wonderful was the opportunities for highlighting Valour-IT/Soldiers' Angels and interacting with my fellow Angels. Friday night brought a surprise donation, Saturday lunch included Chuck's powerful telling of how it all started, and Sunday meant a BBQ at Walter Reed where the 1000th Valour-IT laptop was presented.

Yeah, it was an emotional weekend, but mostly in the best of ways. And most of it was a complete surprise to me...

Friday night at the reception, John Noonan stood up to announce the MilBloggies: “USAA [a conference sponsor] has provided prizes for the winners. Along with a digital camera, each winner will have $1000 donated in their name to Project Valour-IT.” The crowd gasped a bit and cheered. I about passed out right there--$8,000 for Valour-IT (over 10 laptops) in one fell swoop!

After I gave my little speech, I walked back into the crowd with my hands shaking from residual adrenaline. I looked up to see two guys I didn’t know making a beeline for me, trailed by a guy with a camera. They reached for my hands, congratulating me on my MilBloggie as pictures are taken, and telling me they’d been looking for a way to support the troops and they think Valour-IT is amazing. There's much more they're going to do with Soldiers' Angels and Valour-IT. I’m still stunned [one of them was the guy who showed up later at SpouseBUZZ].

At lunch the next day, I’ve barely finished my food when John Donovan (who has been working the politicians over Valour-IT) steps up to “hand out some awards and gifts that Soldiers’ Angels and others would like to bestow. And I’m going go ugly early. FbL, please come up here” (it wasn’t a request).

Embarrassing levels of applause ensue and I figure I’m getting a little plaque or something from Patti Bader. Not quite. Strangely, John starts talking about his recent visit with his congressional representative. I then realize there is a folded flag laying on the podium. As I’m pondering that odd fact, he starts reading, "This is to certify that this flag was flown over the United States Capitol on May 3, 2007, at the request of the Honorable Nancy E Boyda, Member of Congress.” I’m positively floored, and at the words "in honor of Soldiers' Angels and Valour-IT in recognition of their tremendous work," I nearly tear up.


Being recognized for something you've thrown your heart and soul into is always nice, but what really hit me at that point was that this was another indicator of how big it's gotten and how many people we've been able to help, thanks to all the wonderful bloggers in that room--and how many people have become involved in order to make it happen at all.

I have barely a moment to sit before I’m called up again to receive a plaque along with the other Soldiers’ Angels present.

And then the emotions get to be too much as Chuck starts to talk about how he was wounded and how Valour-IT got started and what it meant to him to have that first voice-controlled laptop. He says of using it, "For the first time since I'd woken up in the hospital, I felt whole again."

Valour-IT didn’t yet exist, but his experience inspired it, underlining the project’s impact and value, and I’m overwhelmed to think that by the next day we will have helped a total of 1,000 wounded warriors just like Chuck. His words about what a voice-controlled laptop meant to his psyche and his recovery wring my heart. But the kicker is to hear from Chuck’s own mouth how he nearly died and how he felt in recovery, and I am in tears as I think about how close it was, how far he has come in two years, and what his leadership and inspiration have meant to so many other wounded warriors.

I have to consciously resist the urge to walk up to the podium as he still talks and embrace him. Looking between him and Carren’s face fifteen feet from me painted in love and pride as she watches him, I am once again in awe of their strength and courage, and so proud to call them my friends. When he turns and hugs me at the end of his speech, it's one of the best hugs of my life. He is such a wonderful spokesman and living testimony for Valour-IT.

Sunday at Walter Reed involved more emotion and attention for Valour-IT (and more powerful speechifying by Chuck), but it's gonna take another long post to explain all that. I'll leave it for tomorrow.

Read More......

Of Forgotten Firearms

The recent brouhaha over a senatorial aide who appeared with a firearm he shouldn't have had on Capitol Hill stirred a memory for me. I'm not sure what it says about airport security, but it was certainly amusing...

Last year at the USO I picked up the phone to the voice of someone from airport security on the other end. She said, "We have an Army Lieutenant Colonel here who needs something to secure his weapon. Can you help?" I couldn't imagine what she was talking about, but I said to send him down and we'd see if we could help. I was envisioning someone who had arrived for an outbound flight and forgotten to pack his weapon properly.

About five minutes later a forty-year old man in camouflage opened the door, scanned the room from corner to corner and stepped in with attempted savoir-faire, teenage boy in tow. He had that hard and lean, happy andrelieved-but-jumpy look common to those newly-arrived from combat in Iraq. As I walked up to him and saw his insignia, I welcomed him and asked, "You're the LTC they just called about?"

His facade cracked for a moment as he dipped his head and laughed in embarrassment, then quickly looked at me directly again as he tried to regain the upper hand. He explained he was just hours back from Iraq and was meeting his son who would accompany him on the last leg of his flight. I swear he blushed as he said that he hadn't realized he'd had the weapon until he'd tried to get back on the plane after meeting his son.

Apparently he had been no Fobbit and was very comfortable with that loaded pistol tucked under his arm. In Iraq, with visions of home dancing in his head, he'd stepped on the plane with nary a thought to what he was carrying. He hadn't left the terminal in either overseas or continental US stops on the way home... until he got to us. Now they wouldn't let him back on with his sidearm.

I took him to the Director, who dug up a metal box he had, poured the contents on his desk, wrapped the pistol in a towel, and locked it in with a padlock. The LTC was sent on his way after coffee and conversation.

Talk about discomfort, though! I honestly never thought I'd live to see a combat-hardened LTC like that nearly scuff his shoe in embarrassment and chagrin. I have since told the story when visitors ask things like, "So what kinds of things do you do to help people here?" The enlisted personnel in particular enjoy this one...

Read More......

Well, I'm Prepared

[UPDATE: Photo below]

I wrote a bit on the USO event last night, but neglected to mention why I was there. It was the yearly volunteer recognition ceremony. I put in 200 hours last year in just five months (60 in one month alone), but have had to cut back significantly since December. It was great to see everyone, and I was reminded how much I have enjoyed volunteering at the airport USO.

I mention it again because we received more than just "recognition" last night... We got ourselves some loot!

The point being: Milbloggers better come prepared, 'cause I am armed and dangerous, heehee! I already had a Solders' Angels coin from Patti, and now I have a USO one, too. ;)

Seriously, it's a beautifully-detailed, enameled coin that is unique to my local USO organization and I am honored to possess it. My photographic efforts have failed thus far, but I'll try again when I have some daylight. Or maybe you'll just have to wait a couple months...

UPDATE: This is the best I could do, photo-wise. The other side of the coin has the USO logo and our city on it. "Until Every One Comes Home" is the USO motto. I'll have to check, but I believe the two red and blue filled stars along the bottom stand for two hundred hours of service [click to enlarge].

Read More......

USO Vignette: Who Raises a Marine?

The common phrase these days is, "Where do we get such men?"

A story I heard tonight at the USO awards banquet just may supply the answer...

About two weeks ago the director of my local airport USO (where I volunteer) looked up from his desk to see an older lady sitting quietly outside his office. As he described it, "She was obviously not a woman of means." She had told the receptionist that she was in town to see her grandson graduate from Boot Camp tomorrow, but had brushed aside the suggestions and guidance offered visitors regarding housing and transportation. He stepped out of his office, and in his inimitable former Command Master Chief way, soon had her entire story.

"I raised him and I'm the only family he's got. He should have someone who cares about him there when he graduates. So I came."

She had taken the bus from Oklahoma to the West Coast by herself, in order to attend the graduation because that was what she could afford. She had no hotel reservations and nothing of value with her but a return bus ticket and three dollars in cash.

He attempted to hide his amazement and asked, "What made you come to the USO? How did you know to come here?"

At this point in the telling of the story, the old chief's voice broke as he recounted her answer, "My grandson told me that if I had any problems I should go to the USO because when he got into town for boot camp, he'd come here and it was very nice and they'd fed him and taken care of him until the Drill Instructors picked him up that night."

Needless to say, the USO took care of her, too.

But back to my opening question... Where do we get men like these? From women like that, women of such devotion, loyalty and fearlessness that they'd do what she did just to be at her grandson's graduation from Boot Camp.

Somehow, I suspect he's going to make an excellent Marine...

Read More......

Christmas Spirit at the USO

I can't vouch for the whole country, but the Spirit of Christmas and love for our troops is alive and well in my corner. How do I know?

As you're probably aware, shutting down the Denver Airport for 2.5 days had a cascading effect, wreaking havoc on the entire transportation system. Locally, it left about 150 Sailors and Marines stranded at the airport USO on Friday night, along with thousands of fellow travelers.

In typical fashion, the stranded servicemembers instantly devoured every scrap of food in sight. But word went out on the 11 o'clock TV news that night that 150 Sailors and Marines were stranded at the USO and food had run out. The phones didn't stop ringing until 1 a.m. At least two people had a total of 80 pizzas delivered (they eventually lost count on the pizzas), a retired Sailor dropped off 80 hamburgers, another patriot left 50 sandwiches. People walked in the next morning with bags of chips and cases of soda and water. And it kept on coming...

I arrived to fill in for someone later that morning (Saturday). Marines were napping all over the floors and couches, and moving about the room meant navigating a maze of sea bags, along with the legs of those who had staked out a patch of floor. Pizza boxes were still stacked in the kitchen, and the overflowing trashcans outside the building testified to the feast.

But people were still calling and offering help, and so I ended up in the kitchen most of the day, serving food and coordinating the incoming donations. A homemade smoked turkey was delivered, and a young family offered up the gourmet glazed ham they had ordered by mail for their Christmas Dinner. Grandmotherly types came by with pot pies fresh from the oven and tins full of cookies and brownies. A local deli donated 40 delicious sandwiches and a gourmet pizza parlour said they'd deliver the next time people got stranded.

The servicemembers going through the food like a swarm of locusts were amazed and appreciative. I overheard a young Marine fresh from SOI talking on a cell phone to his family. He ended the call and turned to me, "My mom is gonna be so mad at me." Surveying the spread in front of him, he explained, "She's been spending the day cooking because she thinks I'm starving. But I'm gonna already be stuffed before I even get home!"

We told callers we were okay now and suggested either monetary donations or bringing food at a later date. But some didn't call: they simply arrived with bags of fruit, boxes of instant oatmeal, breakfast bars, crackers, hot chocolate, pudding cups... it was endless. Both fridges and every cupboard in the kitchen were literally packed, and we started stashing things in a side room.

Some of the most touching things were reasons people gave. Many had stories of what the USO had meant to them during their service, or they had children who were either in training or now serving. Others said things like, "They do so much for us, how can we not help at a time like this?" Wives called and said their husbands had always talked about the USO and so they knew "how important what you do is for those boys."

I stayed on for my regular afternoon shift. At 5:10 the news station rebroadcast the story from the night before, leaving the community with the belief that we still had 150 starving Marines and Sailors at the airport (actually we had about 80 excessively-well-fed servicemembers still stranded!). The phone didn't stop ringing for 40 minutes. I sat at the desk and my partner stood next to the kitchen phone. My mouth was tired from talking; everytime we hung up a line, it immediately rang again. This time they wanted to donate money, but others insisted on bringing food.

What a day! Unlike the usual slower pace, there hadn't been a moment to sit down. At 8 p.m. things finally wound down and I staggered out the door to my car, bleary-eyed, feet screaming, clumsy from exhaustion. Riding home I realized I'd been so busy for the last twelve hours that all I'd eaten was a snack here and there. I hadn't even had breakfast that morning, but I'd been too busy to notice I was hungry! I soon fell into bed, sick with exhaustion (I now know what that means!). I slept for 10 hours: joyous, wonderful, luxurious, restorative sleep.

But you know the funny thing? I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. As I said with a wink to those who repeatedly thanked us, "We can't all be Marines/Sailors, so we gotta do our part." It's a privilege to see how much "support for the troops" is out there, a privilege to be needed, and a privilege to have the capacity to do something for those to whom we owe so much. I guess one of the bright sides of unemployment is that I have that capacity for now...

Read More......

Christmas and the USO

Headed off to the USO again, today (was there yesterday, too).

It's an interesting place these days. It's rather busy due to typical Holiday travel. Yesterday ranged from new graduates of SOI brought in by the busload to meet their flights home for Christmas, to a man visiting his son in the psych ward of the hospital, to a buffed-out sailor headed to Iraq after volunteering to be an Individual Augmentee.

Here, the impending charges on some of the "Haditha Marines" and the names of those who were recently KIA are in the air, for those are "local" stories. So many Marines pass through that I can't remember all their faces, but each time I see a picture of a local fallen Marine I wonder if he was one of those I welcomed at the desk beginning or ending pre-deployment leave not so long ago...

But usually overpowering the twinges of melancholy are the joy and exuberance of the Boot Camp and SOI graduates, such as those who arrived via buses yesterday and swooped through like a cloud of locusts. I was manning the kitchen when they arrived, and I literally couldn't stock things fast enough to keep up with the hordes! Fortunately, we had donations of hot egg & cheese croissants, homemade cookies, and eggnog to augment the usual pastries and muffins. But as crazy-busy as they make us, their energy, enthusiasm and shouts of gratitude upon seeing the spread are always heart-warming. In many ways they're like playful puppies: anxious to get to the food and ever so grateful that you've put it out for them.

And how can puppies ever make you anything but happy? ;)

Read More......

USO Vignette

...but not the regular fare.

Today was SOI day (newly-minted Marines coming through on their way to secondary training). A SSgt and Sgt, along with a bevy of assisting PFCs and LCpls from the base are assigned to the USO to direct the flood of literally hundreds of clueless new Marines.

I was there when the group from the base arrived first thing this morning and I was still there over five hours later. Mid-morning, a young (21?) assisting PFC made some crack about me still being there to help him. I laughed about it and agreed that I was.

That led to the following conversation later when I was about to leave (I thought it funny at the time, but now I wonder if I was a bit too crushing)...

21-year-old PFC (in almost whiny voice): You're leaving me now?

FbL (who supposedly looks like she's about 23): It's the end of my shift. And I was here 'til 8:00 last night!

PFC (with mock(?) puppydog eyes): You're leaving me now?

FbL: Yup.

PFC (continuing expression): What?! You're not gonna stay? You're leaving me?

FbL (with a friendly smile and a chuckle and a silly flourish, but starting to get a weird feeling): I'm at least 10 years older than you. I'm most definitely leaving you.

PFC (looking momentarily startled, but covering it well): "10 years?"

FbL (smiling gently): Yes, 10 years.

PFC: But that's okay with me. I...

FbL: Have a good afternoon!

Weird. Just plain weird. I mean, I know I look young for my age, but not that young! And I'm certainly not the type someone would fall for at first sight (and don't argue with me on that!).

Perhaps I should credit his youth--in other words, it was a clumsy attempt to be silly with no intent to actually attract and it fell flat because he thought he was speaking to a peer when he actually wasn't. In which case, I think I responded properly.

Or the more hideous explanation is that to a 21-year-old I look so old and unattractive that he thought there wouldn't be a chance I'd actually think he was serious. In which case...

Ugh. Better not think that way, haha! Still, very strange. I have to say that had someone my age or a little older talked to me like he did, I'd have blushed like crazy!

Read More......

A Marine in the Making

Sometimes someone who passes through the USO makes such an impact on me that I wish I could keep on eye on his future and see how things develop. Last week I encountered one of those people, a young recruit I suspect I will never forget.

A group of four Marine recruits had nervously approached the reception desk. After they received their instructions and a verbal tour of the facilities they stood around a moment, seemingly a bit unsure what to do next. Seeing their hesitation, the volunteer seated next to me teased them a little, commenting loudly to a Marine Corporal standing nearby, "Poor things, they look so lost."

Three of the recruits shuffled their feet and looked a little bashful, though they tried to act like they were comfortable and unafraid. But one recruit who had already started to walk away, turned suddenly when he heard the volunteer's teasing comment. Standing proudly, he raised his eyes to her and replied with a firm voice of absolute confidence, "No, ma'am. I just now found my way."

"Now that's the right answer!" I exclaimed as I turned toward the corporal who quietly nodded his head and tried to disguise his approving smile.

What I wouldn't give to see where that young recruit is in 15 or 20 years...

Read More......