Pictures from my Niece - batch 2

More pictures from Feb 11 with her notes:



Pic 3828 This is a picture of one of the places where we train. It is located on Sather AB in an area where construction type trash is dumped occasionally.










Pic 3830 This is me and 2 Iraqi girls at the CMOC. CMOC is a clinic on the base where Iraqis are brought for health care and to receive food and other items. Both of these girls speak English fairly well and said that they learned it in school.







Pic 3838 Is a picture of me with one of the last efigies (sp?) of Saddam Hussein that is left in tact. This was taken on Slayer Camp near where the Army Corps of Engineers has there Mass Graves Team set up.












Pic 3839 This is a picture of Recon on my bed in tent city. She isn't supposed to be in there anymore, but I was able to get a pic of her before they decided they couldn't have them in there.








Pic 3844 This is a picture of me, in all of my ballistic equipment, working Recon on Sather AB. This was a training session. The equipment weighs over 40lbs and we are required to work the dogs on lead. It is very difficult to watch where you walk and work the dog at the same time in all that gear. I feel like a storm trooper in that get up!

Pictures from my Niece - batch 1

My niece sent these pictures on Feb 11 from Iraq:



Pic 3761 is of Recon on my bed in Kuwait. We didnt get to spend much time there because we had to be at the flightline about every 2 hours to see if we could get a flight out to Baghdad. We finally did 2 days later.









Pic 3792A I also took this picture from on top of the control tower but It is looking away from Baghdad and towards Sather AB. Tent City is somewhere in the dust behind the helicopters.








Pic 3805 is a sunset picture that I took from on top of the Baghdad International Airport control tower.










Pic 3819 This is Recon and one of the other cadaver dogs, Sabrina, playing at the kennels.














Pic 3820 The 2nd tent on the left is where I stay right now. We have received our trailers, but they have to poor footings for them, so it will be a month or so before we move in to them.

The changing meaning of "911"

Today may be a national day of mourning, but 911 has other meanings for me.

911 was first my home. My childhood house number was 911. I think I learned that in time for kindergarten, so since I was 5 years old, 911 was home.

My dad was a doctor, so the next meaning for 911 was the number to be dialed in an emergency. I have not yet had to dial it, but it is firmly ingrained in my psyche. My brain was entertained by the irony of having the medicine-related number on the front of my house (where a doctor lived).

Then 9/11 was September 11, 2001, a day full of heart-sickening news from New York and DC.

And 9/11 was September 11, 2002 the day my wife had major surgery and came through it OK. I spent the day in the hospital waiting room with her parents. A nice enough waiting room, but a place no one really wants to be.

What else will 911 mean in my life?

Far From My Birthplace

My sister-out-law's blog led me to Michi's Poem Title Generator and although I was not looking for a poem title, one of the questions sent me on a little quest. The question was "What's the furthest you've been away from the place you were born?"

I was born in the midwest so I did a web search and found a site that calculates the distance from my birth city to places I have traveled. Unless I mis-remember something, the place farthest away from my birthplace (as the crow flies, so to speak) is Innsbruck, Austria (at a distance of 4806 miles).

I was 17 and was on a trip to Europe playing music with ninety-some other teens from all over the U.S.A. I knew a bit about Innsbruck because my parents had been there on a ski trip when I was little (they left me at home). My trip was in the summer and the weather was gorgeous. I remember a clear day with a breeze. We played a concert in a park (in a gazebo, some sections of the band desperately trying to avoid the droppings from the pigeons nesting in the cupola atop the shelter). I remember being in the old city and seeing the sunlight glint off the Goldenes Dachl (Golden Roof which you can see at http://www.goldenes-dachl.at/ but note that it is not in English, though there is a link to a live webcam).

I shopped for souveniers, watched my fellow travellers pick out souveniers (including clocks and crystal) and enjoyed Austrian pastries (yum). I recall having delicious wurst for some meal. A short stay on a long trip. That was just one stop on a European tour including 10 concerts in 7 countries within 2 weeks.

By the time I got to Austria, however, I was sort of used to being so far from home. The "distance thing" did get to me earlier in the trip. After a few-days stay in New York City, we packed our bags, played a concert, changed from concert clothes to travel clothes at the airport, flew to London (overnight), boarded buses, stopped for lunch somewhere in the countryside, arrived in Dover (as in "White Cliffs of" and they were) where we boarded a ferry to cross the English Channel. At Calais we again boarded buses (ones that were to be our regular transport for most of the trip) and were driven to Paris, arriving late in the evening (after dark) eating dinner at something like 10pm or later and completely collapsing in a blur of travel-induced stupor.

The next day, after we had eaten and rested, and after we had been in the same city for more than a 3 hours, we got a chance to see Paris. By bus and by foot (and by taste, with a stop in my first honest-to-goodness Parisian Pâtisserie) we received a brief introduction to the city. As evening approached, we went up into the Eiffel Tower and had a short time to take a deep breath and look around. It was then, looking out over the city of Paris, when the distance hit me. I was a long, long way from where I had started. I not only in a city new to me, but I was in a country I'd never visited, and moreover, I was on a whole OTHER CONTINENT with an ocean in between.

I wasn't homesick, so much as just feeling a bit adrift. I think I found it more exiting than scary.

Through the years, though, the distance from my birthplace has varied by more than just miles. Yes there are miles. I grew up about 66 miles from the city where I was born. I now live 959 miles from where I grew up. I work about 13 miles from my house.

But I have also travelled through years. I'm now in my forties and if I still don't completely feel like a grownup, at least I no longer feel like a kid anymore either.

And I have traveled in my experiences and exposure to new ideas. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

And I have traveled through books. Through books I have been to every continent, beneath nearly every sea, and beyond the Earth, and beyond our solar system itself. I through books I have time-travelled to the past and to the future and to the never-will-be. And I wouldn't trade that kind of travel for anything either.

Spring Fever by any other name

NPR's On Point with Tom Ashbrook recently aired a segment on Chasing Spring. This got me thinking about the change of seasons here in Massachusetts.

New England has had a warm winter (all-in-all). And being in New England, I do not really expect that winter is completely over yet -- it is still March and my friends are still skiing. And winter colds are still keeping staffing levels low.

Yet spring is easing in. There were two robins in my yard a couple of days ago. The dogwood tree's buds are thinking about waking up. The daffodil greens have been up for weeks. And if we had any crocus this year, well, we blinked and missed them. Probably wiped out in one of those 3-day winters we had. You know the ones - it gets cold enough to snow, but 3 days later the only snow remaining is the raggedy, dirty, tail end of the largest piles on the corners of the largest intersections. The sounds have changed too -- more birds and the spring peepers are starting to create quite a racket in the swamp out back.

And then there is that annual ailment that aflicts people - Spring Fever.

People are giddy about not having to wear so many layers. And a lot of people, particularly those in cars, appear lost. I don't know if they set out to go somewhere (work, home, gas station, grandmother's house) or not, but I wouldn't put money on any of them getting there. And this is more than the usual crazy commuter-in-the-city traffice - even for the Boston area.

No, this includes a pickup truck seen today. When we pulled up behind the truck at the stoplight (red) it seemed to be calmly waiting for the light to change. Then, for some inexplicable reason, the truck decided that it needed to make an immediate left turn by peeling out and swinging wide on the way. Did I mention that the light was still RED. We decided to actually wait for the light to turn GREEN and crossed our fingers that we weren't about to drive over any pieces of the accident the truck was bound to cause. [No pieces - no visible accident. Whew!]

The daylight patterns are changing too. I needed sunglasses when I left work tonight. I consider the extra light to be a lovely thing. Yet it seems to cause great distress for a huge number of commuters. I describe this as the "great ball of fire in sky" syndrome. This huge fireball so frightens the drivers, especially those who seem to never have heard of sunglasses or visors, that they must immediately STOMP ON THE BREAKS! I don't know why this seems to make them feel better, but I guess it is comforting.

Just wait until after this weekend's change to Daylight Savings Time and we'll see what other symptoms of Spring Fever crop up.

The calendar (and the IRS) say that spring is here. The Jewish calendar tells me to hurry up and plan for (and clean for) Passover.

For some, it is the sports calendars that tell them it is spring. Baseball's spring training season is nearly over and the regular season about to start. Yet pro teams are still playing basketball and hockey.

So where am I going with this? I guess I want to remind myself to appreciate the signs of the season change as they come. Spring is about the promise of what is to come, regardless of how long it takes. The natural transition is not a straight line. It is about leafing out and flowering, but also about some more snow flakes and weather cool enough you still need a turtleneck and a sweater.

And I would recommend that it is a time to chill out when you are behind the wheel of your cars. The rest of spring (and summer) will be nicer if you don't have to spend it in traction.