When the Smoke Clears

“My surgeon, he’s good, but… NO sense of humor,” mom told me as we talked on the phone. She had already shocked me last week. It was effective, blood chilling.

A little over a week ago mom’s back broke. She was complaining of lower back pain. She became insistent to her doctor that it wasn’t a pulled muscle. Indeed it wasn’t. She had a fractured spine.

She had been in the hospital for 5 days. She didn’t let me know about it until right before she was scheduled for surgery. She didn’t say it, but I know why. I’ve pulled the same crap with her when I’ve been severely medically compromised, not wanting her to worry, not wanting to interfere with her life to come sit around doing basically nothing for days on end. I’m in school. She didn’t want me to miss it, knowing had I known, I would have taken emergency leave and hopped a plane as fast as possible.

Well played, matron.

But my family, tiny as it is, has a constant need for humor.

“What did you do?” I asked, more as an admonishment than a question.

“I just asked that since I was going to be out anyway, would he mind maybe doing a little facelift. At least a little eye-tuck. Nothing. He didn’t even react.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can walk,” she said. “They were worried. My sister was driving me home from the MRI and they called back and said to turn around, not to move, not to get out of the car, but go straight to the emergency room where they were expecting me. Since then, they haven’t really wanted me to walk.”

The surgery went well. She’s uncomfortable, but healing. She’s back at her home. Her friends are coming to visit, which she’s billing not so much as them helping her and driving her to appointments, but as a chance for them to get together after all these years AND get to stay at a beautiful condo on the ocean. She’s a salesperson.

Mom works out. She goes to the gym. She uses weights. Real weights. Pumps iron. She doesn’t just go for a walk, she jogs, occasionally runs now that she has the pacemaker in. The impact must have taken some toll, but only if there were something else underlying.

And there is.

She starts Chemotherapy this week.

It’s all treatable. It’s not curable.

I, too, have an old friend I needed to lean on. She and I were raised together. When we were babies, our parents used to get together for cocktails and hanging out. They’d stick she and I in a tub together and hoped we wouldn’t drown. We’ve stayed close over the years, even when we didn’t stay in touch. We’ve fought. We’ve been there in the middle of the night when something went horribly badly. She’s come to live with my mom and I before. She’s so beautiful. Always has been. Always will be. Her husband, who has only met me once, though we have talked, understands about us. Her sick sense of humor was what I needed.

I told her the news. Her reaction: “I’m so sorry. Actually, not entirely surprised. I mean, COME ON! I’ve known her all my life, too. I know how she can be when she wants something, but to come down with cancer just to try to keep you, her only son, from being deployed! What a manipulative bitch!”

We laughed so hard through the hurt. But God does bring people together for a reason. My friend, after many years, eventually became a nurse. However, she quit that when her daughter was born and has been a full-time mother, not easy especially during her own husband’s deployments. However, it just so happens that she was looking to get back into nursing. It just so happens she now lives in the area where one of the best cancer clinics is. It just so happens she was putting together her resume to apply for a position in that clinic, specifically in the branch of the clinic where mom will receive additional treatment in a few months.

“Tell her to get her butt on over here.”

“That’s so good of you,” I said.

“Well, she’s done an awful lot for me. I’ve got a huge house. Plenty of room, but this is more of her doing stuff for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been a nurse for a while, so they might be a little skeptical, but if I go with her to the clinic, they’ll get used to seeing me and then they’ll fall for your mom, and she’ll put in a word about me being a nurse and then I won’t even have to apply. They’ll beg me. Tell her I’ll get a 2 for 1 deal on facelifts and we’ll go get ours together as soon as her treatment is done.”

“And my mom is manipulative?”

“Whatever works. I love you so much.”

She didn’t need to say it, but it was good to hear.

So in the meantime I talk with mom when I can. I think she’s getting a little tired of the daily calls, but too bad. I can rarely have my cell phone on me and with time differences, I’ll take what I can get.

I’m away, off somewhere learning, or so that is the intent of the Army at this time. So many things are so different for right now. So many people I miss.

To put it bluntly, I miss being around people I love and am tired of being around people I’m only just getting to know. Not that there aren’t decent people, there are. A few have touched me, clicked-in to my psyche with a rapidity that alarms.

Where I am now is beautiful. There is no doubt about it. The desert, high mountains, little hidden lakes, sunsets that take your breath away nearly every day, it all adds up to something spectacular. But it’s not my mountain. It’s not the deep, lush green woods that enfold me, whose night-noises that scare others only comfort me. I spend my time off, what time off I can get, hiking in the mountains here. It’s a much greater challenge than at my home, these mountains rising to nearly 10,000 ft. I breathe hard.

But even these small towns where I live are full of interesting people. Granted, many seem to have spent too long outside with the cognitive effects of probable sun-stroke bearing down on their sanity, but the people here are truly pleasant. Most live here because of the beauty, the simplicity, the clean air, and even the challenges posed by living in a potentially deadly environment full of rattlesnakes, scorpions, flash floods, etc. Maybe it’s the javelinas.

Stopping off at a local sandwich shop for “supplies” before heading up on yet another hike, a young man in a wheelchair with difficulty controlling the movements of his limbs greeted me as I entered. It’s his job. He’s proud of his work. Later, when my order was ready, I heard his voice call out in a phonetic semblance of my name. Most places would not have someone like him around as many customers might be uncomfortable by his presence. For me, though, and for many of the locals, he secured my repeat business. The quality of the food was good, though I might have embellished it a touch.

At another counter with napkins, straws, and other disposable accoutrement stood a beautiful woman, probably in her late 70s. Her long, white hair appeared from under a soft pink, wide-brimmed hat, pulled to the back with a small band. It was a mixing of modesty in keeping her hair in place and pride in not hiding it, restricting it under tight shapes done up and tucked away as if ashamed of the extravagance of its length but unable to divest herself of such “sin” with a few well placed clicks of scissors.

Her hat matched her outfit, a long, flowing dress of soft pink, made for the practicality of daily wear as much as for fashion. She looked natural, not as if she were dressing for church, which was another day away. With quick, sure movements she looked about on the counter as I walked up, searching. I stayed to her side for a moment, not wanting to interfere, but eventually my chivalric/chauvanistic side took over.

“Can I help you find anything in particular, ma’am?”

Her gaze landed on the plastic spoons. “No, I think I finally found it, but thank you,” she said gently, reaching for a spoon. She turned towards me, bright green eyes fading to gray looking up at me. She smiled with all her soul, nearly making me take a step back while wanting to reach out and touch her arm. Instead she touched me, so very tenderly on my arm, the kindness of a good heart flowing through her.

“There are so many wonderful people in the world,” she declared to me.

Indeed there are.

Somewhere out there… but still here. Working like a madman and learning at an accelerated pace. Lots and lots of homework.

But I have a kitchen now. I get to cook for myself again. Food porn to recommence soon.

Well, one more Army school down. Unlike most of my classmates who have follow-on schools and a week or two to get affairs in order before their next start date, I have 1.5 days to get to mine which is many hours away.

So what do I think of Oklahoma?

* Interesting state.
* Bolt anything that is outdoors down.
* Dust covers needed for everything.
* Plastic bags in trees are a feature, not pollution.
* You can throw up a tent and call it a “casino” and cars will fill the parking area around it 24/7.
* Good beef
* Incredible dairy (thanks Braums!)
* Whenever you find a lake, it will be beautiful

And if you’re looking for the Apocalypse, it’s apparently a few miles down the interstate from Oklahoma City. Seriously. The storms yesterday? yeah, I passed through that. It cut off my initial plan for exploring new territory as I transitioned to my next station.

Checking the news after finishing up lunch with some new friends, I saw the state was under 5 different severe weather watches and warnings. FIVE.

Let’s recap:
* Blizzard warning
* Freezing Rain/sleet warning
* Severe Wind Advisory (In Oklahoma, that’s saying something)
* Severe Thunderstorm warning with possible hail
* and the ubiquitous Tornado Watch.

And they all converged at one point along the Interstate headed south. And for some reason I drove through it, determined to get south of the storm.

Ahhh… back in Texes, the state that never ends.

7 March. One year. I’ve been a commissioned officer for a year now.

It was a painful process. I hated Officer Candidate School, but I survived. And one year ago I took my oath, no longer an oath to the officers appointed over me but to the Constitution of the United States. My oath is to no person, but to the document upon which our nation is founded, protecting against all enemies, foreign AND domestic.

And in this time I have met new people, some frightening, some amazing. My current roommate, for example, is one of the finest of men I have met, with a maturity well beyond his 22 years. If only all officers could be more like him.

But this week we’ll be in the field again. I’ll be away. I miss the writing.

Stop and give thanks.

A man’s portrait of his father.

via Jason.

You are a bit overconfident. Time to get a better realization of your limitations… since you can’t seem to clean up after yourselves…

at least, judging by the condition of the urinals.

Seriously, guys, stand a little closer. You’re not that long or powerful.

And by the way… it appears you’re pretty well dehydrated, too. Drink more water.

Sergeants think they can shock me with their language. I shock them back.

Standing at a urinal during a routine, monitored drug test:

Sergeant: You having trouble, sir? You a little pee-shy?

Me: It’s not that, sergeant. I… uh… Look, I don’t do drugs, but on my way out here I killed a hooker and I know for a fact she was a meth-head. I’m a little worried that with all that blood I might have gotten some in me.

Sergeant: …

Me: … there it goes…

Sergeant: You killed a hooker you f-d?

Me: Oh, please, no, I didn’t have sex with her… I’m not weird! Geez!

The diner looked to have been built in the late 30s. Like so many things out here in Oklahoma, much of the construction seems vintage… for our country at least… harkening back to previous eras of thought, moments of time captured, rather than replaced by newer, less sturdy structures of uncharacterized boxes.

I came here just because of the patina, and the promise of possibly good food, though I seem usually disappointed in the mediocrity of such places. But the food here was better than most.

Finding my place in a booth, near a corner that seemed designated for recluses, I pulled out my book and settled down. In the booth next to me sat another patron, a fellow bibliophile, alone on Valentine’s Day. Her thin book characteristic of romance novels nestled inside a quilted cover made of a wolf-print fabric. The waitress had just taken up her dishes as she stretched out on the bench. Long nails of one hand picked at the empty Ghiardeli mint-creme chocolate wrapper, occasionally moving to turn a page or fuss with her gray hair.

Someone must have thought of her, though, having lunch alone on a crafted holiday, just as I was. A heart-shaped candy box rested on the table, a small card attached. But she seemed perfectly content, lost in her book and her glass of iced tea. I could relate. I was here alone, as well. She looked up for a moment, caught my eye noticing her, and smiled. I nodded back.

Only I didn’t fully understand her. We were not the same. I truly was alone, reading a book. A little while later as the laughter finally died from another crowded table in another corner of the diner, a man stood with a great deal of effort. He looked even older than she. Waving goodbye to his group of friends, he put on his ball cap and grabbed his cane. Moving slowly, painfully in our direction I could see from his hat he was a Korean war veteran. If he hadn’t been wounded there, he was certainly worn down from it, appearing to age more the closer he approached.

My fellow reader looked up from her book on his arrival. Then came the smile. They didn’t smile AT each other so much as they shared the same smile, each a part of the other’s. She deftly slid out of the booth, grabbed her box of chocolates, a token from him, and they walked out to their van. He took his time to get in as she waited, then she got in behind the wheel.

As they drove off, I recognized acutely how much I was projecting a familiarity of myself onto her, the reader in the diner alone on such a day. Instead, she was not only with someone, she was with someone she cared for so much, she made sure he made his regular fellowship with his friends, she content to be present but not participating, waiting for him to be ready to leave.

Love can be beautiful.

Memo to the Army: Let’s get back to work on that Anthrax vaccine. Anything which causes that much pain two minutes AFTER initial penetration is clearly not doing something right.

Memo to Acquaintances: Texting on my phone is a way to say hi without interrupting or to see if I am available for a social function. It is NOT a method of conversation. I will not tap out lengthy details, especially anything I wouldn’t put in an email. If you are upset by my curtness, get over it and call.

Memo to Walmart: Stop using the “We Will Rock You” audio clip in stores. Just F-in stop.

Memo to several of the women I have dated: I’m a little lonely at times, not desperate. Don’t even bother leaving your luggage at the curb, I already know how much baggage you’re bringing.

Memo to a Freak: We were talking about college football for 2 minutes. How that became me being a dumb, brainwashed soldier drinking the right-wing Kool-aid was stunning. I didn’t pay for a private college by joining the military, I earned my way with academic scholarships and work. There’s a reason I walked away from your yelling. Seriously unstable.

Memo to Eyeglass Repair Kit Manufacturers: Put a screwdriver in there small enough to use with the screws you supply. I shouldn’t have to get my computer tools out. And… seriously? Phillips-head? The way those things strip out to useless at that size?

Memo to Big Cities: No, you have NO right to tap into my water. If you want it, you have to pay. I set the price. I own the land and all the rights thereto. You should have planned better. I did.

Memo to Sarah Michele-Gellar: I know you think about me since you keep getting that restraining order renewed… so there’s still a chance, right?

Memo to my local politicians surprised that they weren’t re-elected: Everyone in this town said to not destroy the ball fields. They were a donation. We remember. If you didn’t listen during the public comments of the Commissioners’ meetings, you should have hung around the barber shop for a little bit.

Memo to Civilian Contractors: I realize you think you can’t be fired. Keep screwing with my money or my soldiers’ money and you’ll wish firing were the only thing going on.

Memo to Amazon: I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Your customer service is outstanding. It’s like going to a small-town store run by a friend. Don’t lose that. Ever. (And M-Edge… y’all, too. Great folks.)

I figured it up. Well, I also saw it in the latest oil change. In the last 2 months I have put over 10,000 miles for the Army on my personal vehicle traveling from one place to another. I’m back out again.

School starts in a few hours. I have to go report in. Normally I like cheesy, 50s motor lodges, but when I rolled into town last night, I was NOT in the mood for any of that. I wanted a good night’s sleep, but there’s only so much the Army will reimburse a soldier for in terms of their lodging. Makes sense. Otherwise we’d all be getting deluxe suites… just ask any state official who’s on a “business” trip.

So the first place I pull up to… yeah, police show up as I’m checking in. I never sign. I bid them a good evening. Next place… checked in, amid a lobby full of loud, drunken 50+ year old German women.

Get to the room. Completely creeped-out. I’ve seen better rooms in a David Lynch dream-sequence. Then the bugs ran across the bed. Yeah, quick call and a refund. (”Sir, refunds may take a couple of days to appear on your credit card.”… “No problem. If it is not there in 24 hours, I’ll contest the charges and file a credit-fraud report.”)

But there’s a particular hotel chain that always seems to provide a great place. Rhymes with Brampton. I’ll be shelling out an extra $50 of my own money just to have stayed here, and it’s worth every penny. Much better to have a comfortable night than start off a new school battling crab-louse. After all, I’m not in the Navy.

that I can talk about. I’m away again. Elsewhere. Not a lot of time on a public computer.

However, when I’ve seen old episodes of the Muppet Show as an adult I have been amazed at just how racy a lot of their stuff was and aimed at adults, but this… this is pure genius. I cannot stop myself.

And absolutely NSFW. Or the kids.

Alright, y’all… for those wanting to help deployed soldiers… especially those who’ve been so kind to adopt a soldier via Soldiers’ Angels… Here’s a way I figured out to help out those troops. I’m sure someone has come up with this already but I wanted to post it. You can even get the kids involved.

Spare change.

Yes, all those pennies and nickels and such that we collect or end up on the floor somewhere, toss them in a jar like you normally do, but tell the kids it’s for something that’s going to a soldier… your adopted soldier(s).

Now, when you have a nice collection of spare change, go to a Coinstar location. I used to dislike those machines because they charged a hefty fee just to count your change. But now…

You can get the full amount if you convert it into a gift card or e-certificate.

Take the kids to the machine and let them have a blast pouring in coins and listening to the noises.

Send the certificate to your solider. He or she can go online and add it to his or her balance. Know your soldier… Amazon, baby. Some others might like iTunes, Starbucks or Cabela’s. I sent a few certificates out. Did not realize I had collected that much change, but at the end of each day I’d drop it in a jar. It was easy, painless, and in a little over a year, over $200 worth of coinage.

Just an idea.

* If you’re not in a position of adopting a soldier, you can also use the Coinstar machines to count and forward your cash as a donation to one of several charitable organizations such as American Red Cross, March of Dimes, or the Pearl Harbor Memorial Fund. Again, I only found out yesterday.

Always close the knife blade when done. Invariably it will fall, and fall point down, on your feet. As sharp as you keep them, this makes the repair work so much harder… that combined with having to hold an awkward position for so long to do the closure and bandaging…

Follow on Memo to Self: More Yoga and keep the CSI guys out of the bathroom for a while.

* “…then we’ll move to have those court records sealed.”

* “Well my last boyfriend was always able to… ”

* “Once we got the tires off we could see what was really going on with the brakes.”

* “Hey, stop by my office Friday afternoon. Oh, make sure to bring your ID and keys.”

* “I didn’t think there’d be this much blood.”