She is my love.
I can remember reading a comment a while back about people who shower naked. Well, I’m a Korean War Veteran and yes, during that engagement there were times when we had to shower naked (Sans clothing). In fact, sometimes we would “pair up” with another veteran. If we were in the field (or sometimes even in battle) one would take a quick shower or wash up and the other veteran would hold a towel around you for privacy. We’d call this your “towel buddy”. We got so use to this practice that after a while all a veteran would have to yell out is “buddy up” and the towel would be there in no time!
I read a comment a while back from a womens complaining how the scale dose not work in the female locker room. I’m a Korean War Veteran and I’ve traveled the wide, wide world and have visited many YMCA’s. This same complaint arises at every Y. But, it’s only from the womens. No men have this problem. I don’t think this is a coincidence. The womens have issues with their weight and always blame the Scales!
I find myself in the doldrums, unresponsive to any creativity.
Although great swells rise up around me, I find myself anchored in listlessness and the mundane.
When will I wake?
In the New York Times today there was a picture of rebel fighters morning over the body of their fallen leader. As I read the caption under the picture I realized how disconnected I’ve become from the world around me. There was a time when believed I understood the plight of the migrant farmer and the pain of the oppressed. How did I lose that understanding? Have I become complacent? I’ve traveled across the world to comfort the persecuted and have witnessed first hand racial and political oppression. But now it seems that all I can focus on is the upcoming summer and the work at hand. The older I get the more I’m starting to understand that the little I really know. I don’t know if this is wisdom or just ignorance? My life has been on a collision course toward understanding. For the last month I’ve been walking or riding my bike to work. During this time I’ve noticed things that driving wouldn’t have allowed. I’ve felt the hot sun on my brow, the smell of Jasmine in the day and the cool from shadows as I walk underneath trees. It seems that my fixation of rising gas prices and been remedied…at least for now. All this walking and riding my bike must have dulled my driving senses or that’s what I would like to think. On my way home last week I ran into another car with my truck that Jen and I just and I mean just paid off. I worked five plus years trying to pay my truck off and the moment I do I get into an accident, which leads me to my point; there are things out of my control (I must note that stopping on time while driving is in my control and probably should have been done just before my accident). But there things that are within my control, like caring for this earth and for the inhabitants of it. I know that I won’t learn every element of political unrest and of every violation that a corporation makes against our earth, but I can be aware of the world around me rekindle the fire that wants to burn deep with my soul. I believe that we are a people of advantage whether by chance or design, but never the less there are those without advantage and we should not be ignorant of that and we should not live our lives ignorant to that.
One day I’ll become an old house; my once bright paint will fade from time and splinter from seasons of sun and rain. Years of rebuilding will change me and I will no longer look the same. My foundation will need support from the stress of years past.
I hope to be a good old house. I hope others will find me inviting, I hope to see children play and hope to provide shelter. Under my roof I will kindle love for my wife and children. I will set out to remain constant even though the landscape may change. I will keep my lights on so that my loved ones can find their way home. I will weather whatever comes so that my love can rest her head.
I see that old house; seemingly alone, but not empty.
Grown men in their circa 1942 wool uniforms reigned supreme as the reenacted Battle of Foy raged on at Camp Roberts Army Base. The eerie sight of swastikas waving in the wind caught everyone off guard. Entire barracks were filled with Nazi paraphernalia unobstructed to the eye. Men smoking pipes while cleaning their Mausers, others riding their vintage WWII bikes. It was like I landed smack-dab in the middle of a Nazi camp. The continual rows of barracks made me feel small and out of place. I was the bird on the wire looking down at the children playing army. At times I found myself wanting to see the Americans or Brits, but no luck just the 3rd Reich and all their creepy toys. When the German Army decided to go back home from their long weekend of playing guns their wives/girlfriends came to pick them up, and well…
Yes! They were also dressed like they were from the 40’s! I’m assuming that their little German boys needed consoling after their loss. It was truly Americans playing war and actually not too far from reality, but I wonder what kind of person dons the garb of the Waffen Schutzstaffel? What kind of person chooses to be a Nazi?
It was strange by all accounts.