A few little thoughts on Army life's subtle differences:
The brass installs speed bumps on all the FOBs. It pads the contractor pockets and protects the commanders from being responsible for an accident. So what can I say about speed bumps that is funny? The first time I showed up at Ft Drum, I noticed a road sign that said "Weight Limit 125 tons" which is more than three fully loaded semi-trucks. There are a few "regular" speed bumps here made of asphalt. The tires and treads of heavy armored trucks have turned these speed bumps into dark greasy patches on the concrete. The steel speed bumps they put in are more like a short fence, you could hide behind one if you felt the need. The landcruisers and pickups all drive around them to avoid damage or being hung up on top of one. Gravel roads will often just have a used and broken tank tread laid across it to slow down the drivers. There really is no object more efficient at twisting ankles in the dark than a well placed tank tread.
Speaking of twisted ankles, I was reminded of how well a styrofoam flip flop hydroplanes on standing water as I got out of the shower last night. I began to think about my flip flops and would like to share a bit of that here and now. At some point, I abandoned the traditional thin flip flops for some platform shoe soles to keep my toes out of sand, snow, mud and water. Also, since I always showered at the gym while in NY, I have hardly ever showered barefoot in the past five years. I barely remember thinking how strange it was to shower with shoes on, and now its weird to shower barefoot.
If you couldn't guess by my recent posts being of diminishing importance, I am getting very bored at work. I should be doing homework right now but I like to keep my skills of procrastination razor sharp. I haven't taken any photos in months so I don't have anything new to show here.
I am working in the recreation center as a way to keep me away from anything important or usefull. I think this is done as a favor to me as well as to the people I would aggrivate in a different job.
Some fucked up facts I have come across in the past few days.
We spend $750,000 per truck to fly them to Iraq. It costs $13,000 to ship by sea. Big-ass cargo planes can burn more than a gallon of JP-8 fuel per second.
We give all our old Humvees to the Iraqi police so we can keep building and shipping more over here. We had a bunch of Humvee tires to dispose of but instead of letting the Iraqis take them, we spent $10,000 per hour to fly over the tire dump in the middle of the desert and put 6500 rounds of ammunition into them to "demilitarize" the tires so they "couldn't be used by insurgents against coalition forces." Bullets cost a lot by the way, plus who knows how much to ship them. Now instead of a massive pile of tires that would be salvaged by locals and used, there is a massive pile of useless tires that are contaminated with lead.
Here is a link to a file showing that the government sells itself a gallon of gas for $1.41. Premium for $1.67 This is as of April 2009. We pay ourselves over $10 per gallon here. The largest pipeline in northern Iraq actually runs underneath this FOB, less then 250 meters from here.
I have to run outside in a dust/wind storm to make sure the roof doesn't make its home somewhere else. This is a recipe for disaster that I am not looking forward to.
I'll post again soon when I heal up from falling off this roof.
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?
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