Today I showed up for PT and there was nobody there. I woke up two hours early for nothing. Yesterday, the exact same thing happened. Everybody but me got the message. Since I was assigned at Ft Drum, I always worked at the hangar. Everyone else worked in the S3 shop. I beleive this caused a rift between me and everyone else. It has even carried over here. Before we left I was going round and round with Sgt Kolodgy about staying in the loop with whats going on. He was of the mind that NCOs didn't have to pass information so long as the soldier worked in FltOps in the hangar. It is getting old.
But on the bright side, I am awake right now, with time to write to the blog.
The sunlight here is brutal. I envision being horrendously sunburned within minutes of stepping outside. To make matters worse Sgt Kolodgy wants his shop to all wear patrol caps instead of Boonies(boonies block more sun) because he thinks they look more professional. Granted, I think they look more professional. I also think that this is a bad time and place to sacrifice functionality and personal health for, um, fasion.
I confront him at least weekly about stupid shit like this. He is a real argumenative guy.
We had a "ceremony" to transfer authority between us and the outgoing unit. I had the fortune to be involved. Albeit the part I played only involved standing still on hot tarmac. This was by far the shortest ceremony I have seen in the Army. The ceremony was basically a formation to cover one guidon and uncover the other.
Sgt Kolodgy has picked me to be in every single ceremony since I started working for him. I imagine that means he has pride in me. He is even the one who chose me for color guard. He is color bearer, so it is a task he appreciates.
the sergent major of 10th aviation was trying to bs to me and sgt k the other day that he was still "toughing it" by having to sleep in the atlanta international airport for a night. even pointed to his chest and said "ME! a Sergeant Major!". I think he has definately lost touch. I imediately thought of dad and morfar and what either of them would have thought if they had the opportunity to sleep in an airport terminal instead of dirt.
I work alot with Special forces and they work alot with ANA (Afghan national Army). By proxy, I am always around these guys. The ana doesn't have a standard uniform, just whatever some other army donates, everyone has a different hat or maybe a helmet here or there. They literally carry everything they have with them. Their AKs are decades old, they have no armorer to repair them. they have no tents or barracks. These are guys who have decended from millenia of generations living in the rocks, fighting wars with other tribes over goat herds and land. 4% of afghanistan is airable farmland. In contrast 11% is covered in landmines. It is the third most mined country in the world. There is one telephone line per 1000 people here. there is .01% as many miles of paved road as in America. the average yearly wage is $800. The ANA could teach SGM a thing or two about toughing it.
If it isn't obvious by now, I use this blog as a sort of journal. If you guys get tired of listening to me whine or blow off steam, well, too bad I guess. I try to have the blog reflect what is going on and my feelings toward it. I don't mean to complain about all this shit but it is sometime difficult to write the days events in a positive light. I guess it helps me vent and decompress as well.
Every bad thing that happens between iran and pakistan comes across my desk. Every request for a medivac. Every report of troops taking fire. Every report of injury. Every enemy death. Every coalition death. That builds on me a little bit. We had a heavy day yesterday and complaining in the blog I guess is how I decompress.
I am going to get some breakfast.
Lost of love and lots of weight
-Bert
63 Years of Memories....
63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.
There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.
Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!
How do you thank a place for memories?
2 comments:
Bert, do you read the comments? Because that's the only place I know how to write in this darn blog. If you do, please acknowledge in your next post. Who is Anonymous? I think I need an interpretation on his message? Outsider, hu. Well I think that’s one of your charms, personally. It's easy to be an insider and who wants to be like everyone else anyway. I can see how it would suck to be the only one to show up to something though. What's with the bitch not giving you your mail? Does wartime make everyone grumpy? You are all still a group of people that have to live and work together, isn't it just easier to get along? Well, I think it's cool that you’re using the blog as an ad hoc journal. Keep it coming. I had and awesome b-day dinner at Gianni's - filet mignon, crispy hash brown potatoes stuffed with cheese, sour cream and chives, a hand tossed salad and the biggest most tastiest piece of chocolate cake. I don't mean to tease or anything, my taste buds are reminiscing. That's some crazy stats on the ANA. What a tough life. I'll write more soon. Love-T
Bert, When I first met you, you were eating Boo Berries or maybe Count Chocoula. Todd
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