The long road home... and back again.

I am on edge. The whirlwind should be about to end, but then I think it's really just beginning. We are back home, in Northern Cali, from home, in Southern Cali. It is amazing how much we were able to fit in the span of a week. Old friends, scattered family, digging through relics of another life, another time.

Our trip back home was an effort at allowing Dustin to say "goodbye" to anyone who wanted to hear it. The truth of the matter though, is that I still am not quite sure this is happening. And in fact, it may not happen. Our finances are a shambles and that may be enough for the military to decide they don't want Dustin and all the bills that come along with him. Our house is on the market, but we are behind on the payments. It appears we are being foreclosed upon, with a sale date to be set at the end of December. The papers arrived in the mail while we were down in SoCal saying our (premature?) goodbyes. I have heard that a foreclosure will inhibit your chances of joining the military. Dustin was supposed to hear back as to whether all of his paperwork had passed through all the necessary military channels last Friday. He received no answer and so called back yesterday, one week prior to his ship date. Still no answer. Perhaps he'll call today and there will be an answer? While this waiting game frustrates me to no end, it is not a surprise. This is the military after all.

Over the course of the last few months I have been helping to plan another get-together for my high school classmates. Littlerock High School's Homecoming game fit into our SoCal schedule almost perfectly. I only say almost because Dustin's aunt and family were having their annual Halloween party on the same night. We had to skip the party so I could catch up with some old friends... some I haven't seen in nearly 15 years. The organization and planning were a bit overwhelming with all that is going on in life right now, and I have to confess that I really didn't do all that much. Lawrence is in this planning business just as deep as I am. I know he and I both take our responsibility to our classmates seriously. As silly as it may sound, when we were elected Senior Class Officers for the 1994-95 school year, we knew that 10 years after graduation we had to get everyone, or as much of everyone that we could find, back together. Here we are 14 years later still keeping up and putting it all together. Stacia on the other hand had no real responsibility to our class and yet she has come through for all of us. Lawrence and Stacia really did the leg work for our homecoming gathering and I am thankful that they did. It was wonderful to see everyone who showed up and while there's never enough time to catch up and talk with all who show up (Lili, April) it is great to see familiar faces and look into eyes that remember and be reminded of who I was and where I came from so many years ago.

My mother's house is loaded with the remnants of my grandfather's life. The trip down gave me a chance to look through his life in a more personal way than I would have had he still been alive. My Grandpa was good at sharing the answers to whatever I asked, but you never really know what you want to and need to know, until someone is gone and all that's left behind are unlabeled pictures, collections, notes, jewelry and unanswered questions. His funeral was to take place yesterday, but the woman at the mortuary made a mistake. A mistake that may keep me from being at the funeral when it does in fact happen. After cremation my grandfather wanted to be placed in a wall at a Veteran's Cemetery. The cemetery that my mother chose, based on the options given, does not have a wall for internment. The mortuary woman was remiss in her duties when she failed to inform my mother of the nonexistent wall. So now paperwork has to be redone and more time will pass before my Grandpa can be "laid to rest." As far as I'm concerned, he's been resting now for a few weeks. What's a few more?

Adam and Avery came home with pieces of their great-grandfather's life: a pair of cuff links each, art supplies, a couple of elephants from a collection of hundreds, and sports memorabilia. Taluelah only met the man once but she has an elephant to help connect the dots as she gets older and wonders from where she came. Dustin brought home my grandfather's military ribbons, a belt buckle and a Zippo. And I have walked away from my grandfather's death with a few old family pictures, one of his original art pieces, a family of elephants, his rosary and the knowledge that how you live this life greatly influences the way in which you leave it.
In between trying to spend time with my over-worked mother, going through a life's worth of memories and riding around my old high school's football field on the unmarked alumni float (which had the current students labeling us the "old people"), we were able to visit Dustin's aunt, uncle and cousins the day after their Halloween party, spend the night with one of my favorite friends in the world and meet her newest sweet pea, talk via Skype with my Uncle Sean and cousins in Ireland and have a day filled with my sister, aunts and uncle and families, plus meet my mother's boyfriend and his beautiful daughters. It's been a long time since we were all in the same room at the same time talking and laughing and enjoying each other.

We took the long road home yesterday just to arrive right back where we started. I sometimes find it strange that no matter where I am at in California, north or south, I always feel like I am at home... leaving home to find myself back at home, with stops along the way to visit those who matter. If Dustin does depart next week and if we do follow him to whatever base he is stationed at I hope to find the same comfort in my new surroundings and in my new friends that I know here in Cali. If not, I always know I can come home.

will work for words.

Awhile ago I was given a book to read, well actually, I am always being given books to read. My quest for bookish fulfillment never seems to be adequately met. I devoured at least 2 books a week during the early months of summer. Granted, these were not all literary masterpieces, but it was a way to step outside of this box I live in. Sometimes drivel is a means to an end. As summer wore on and responsibilities that come with the Fall season approached my reading time screeched to a halt. The book that has prompted this post though, is something worth making the time for. "Birdbaths and Paper Cranes - A Family Tale" written by Sharon Randall is a collection of her previously published essays on life - hers, and the lives of those around her. Sharon Randall is a nationally syndicated columnist, I guess people really do enjoy reading this kind of stuff.

In my boredom a couple of days ago during my wait at Adam's football practice, my mind drifted to the stacks of unread books I have sitting on my night stand, dresser, table, desk... and I decided it was time to get back to it. I do have a murder/mystery type book begun, but my mind needs something a little more applicable these days. I started reading Randall's book yesterday while Taluelah used the interior of the Jeep as her own personal jungle gym, Avery received a rundown of the connectedness of our small town's people and Adam made progress toward learning and applying his football skills. I have to admit with all the distractions I didn't get far in the book, but already, the foreword written by Randall's eldest son brought me to tears. I am a sucker for a child's love and admiration, no matter how young or old the child be.

Avery is back at Riviera, where he so rightfully belongs. I have no business trying to teach that child anything other than the stuff of life that he doesn't really realize I'm teaching him. In this case the lesson would be, if you try something and it royally blows, you may back out of it with your sanity intact, or rather back out of it to keep your sanity in tact! The first two days of early waking went off without a hitch... the last two, not so much so. Either way, overall, he is happier and so am I. Avery's friends are thrilled to have him back and I know that if I ever really needed to punish my younger boy all I'd have to do is cut him off from his peers. Adam was in the middle of an assignment when I heard him singing and jumping around in his room. When I reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing he exclaimed, "I just can't help it Mom. I'm celebrating Avery not being here!" Apparently, Avery and I are not the only ones feeling a sense of relief. As the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and we were all due for a break.

Taluelah has become a certifiable toddler. If we are not attending to her needs in a timely manner she takes it upon herself to open up the refrigerator and point at exactly what it is she wants. If we still do not respond quickly enough she will attempt to retrieve whatever item she wants, regardless of the mess that ensues. She has figured out the mechanics of every pen, marker, and other indelible writing utensil we have in our home and just when we think they've all been put out of her reach, she walks around the corner with another. She managed to bite and break a tube of acrylic paint. Thankfully the paints were non-toxic, but her little green tongue was a sight to behold. Dressing my girl has become a bit of an adventure. She decides what to wear and what not to wear. It's not that she's so particular about the everyday jeans, t-shirts and shoes. But socks are something she has to choose and I have been having a heck of a time getting her to take her Minnie Mouse robe off. So she has an opinion, and desires comfort. I love it!

As I sit here writing my thoughts my eldest is building an empire in the image of Sargon's (all on paper, of course... for now), the 9 year old is missing 3rd recess, but not really missing it as he's informed me that instead of recess they do neat science experiments, and my girl is attempting to force a dish towel to stay on top of her head while she eats her chocolate teddy grahams. I am listening to Pandora radio, which really is one of the best things I've ever stumbled upon. Amos Lee was a name brought to my attention and how glad I am he was. For too long I have been bombarded with a barrage of all things punk, good enough in it's own right, but not entirely me. In 12 years I have forgotten the kind of music that stirs my soul and puts me in that feel good spot. Dido sings about being no angel and lacking perfection but still being able to smile.

I smile as I think about the foreword written by Josh Randall and how nice it would be someday to see something honest, heartfelt and beautiful written about me by one of my children. After all, isn't that what I do here, for them?

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

There are times in this life that I can stand on the ground with my two feet planted firmly, looking to the skies, and I will swear I can feel the spin of this Earth. I am but a speck and this life is but a blip in the whole history, pre- and since, and I am all too aware of my failures and accomplishments. It is late and sleep beckons and yet I am drawn to my blog to put the noise out with the garbage for the night.

I have been pondering what it would be like to let Avery go back to public school. I love the child, but in the words of my hair dresser, Avery is most like me. While I am wonderful, I can be a royal pain in the ass. If there is a system to be bucked, I will buck. With all my might. If there is an opinion shared by too many, I find it's faults. Devil's advocate? perhaps. Open eyes. for sure. Avery is too smart and his eyes a bit too wide for a 9 year old and as his mother the same attributes that bring me pride have me wanting to send the child away to an orphanage in Timbuktu... or somewhere equally as far flung. But just as I had my mind wrapped around throwing in the towel for both our sakes and re-enrolling him at the Riv... the kid says he doesn't want to go back. Huh? Every day for the last month, I have heard how he wants to go back to "regular school", how he misses his friends, how he doesn't like home schooling for a zillion different reasons and only likes it for maybe two, tops - he can sleep in and do his work in his underwear.

I think I was feeling relief at the thought of having one less child to teach and in Ave's case, argue with through the day. And now, he says he'll think about it. Whose idea was giving children choice anyway? Uh hmmmm. Adam is still happy to be home and does his assignments and I guide him where needed. We have a good working relationship... nothing like the quarrelsome attitude I receive from his younger brother. Taluelah runs amok tearing up everything she touches and Dustin comes home to an empty house that looks as if a tornado has run it's course right through the middle of the most traveled areas because by the time he arrives I am sitting at a football field trying to entertain a nearly 18 month old while keeping an eye on my wandering 9 year old so that the 11 year old can play football with his friends who he will be leaving much too shortly.

Times like these I feel my wings stretching against the pins that hold them back. As I attempt to escape, even for a bit, Dustin's insecurities flare. With a day less than one month to go before he departs, I think the reality of what we're leaving behind is giving way to what life will be. I see a time coming when there will be no escape. I don't want to make it seem like taking a break from my family deserves the word escape, but when I am on 24/7... escape is just what I find myself needing. With Dustin here, I rarely have a moment without a child by my side. The last few weeks I have had to struggle against the bonds I have shackled myself into as well as the ideas others have of my role.

I did choose to go the home schooling route. I do not regret it, for if you know me you know there are no regrets... only lessons learned. I have tried, really really tried, to find a way to help the 9 year old see the benefits of this way of schooling and he has done all but spit my words back in my face. And now, again, when offered the chance to go back to his school, his friends, he says he'll think about it? What to do when an orphanage/slave labor is out of the question???

The two times I have made it outside my four walls, without a child dragging along, I have been with people I love and am going to miss terribly. I have met people who could end up being just as important, just as missed. Good people are everywhere, this I know. Nothing lasts forever, as I'm frequently being reminded. Letting go, saying goodbye, it's never easy. All I can hope is that this next chapter will benefit my family. That my children will be afforded a better quality of life. That they will see more of this world than I ever would have been able to show them in our current circumstances. I am struggling with the idea of death and how final it is. If Dustin does not come home, life will go on, but what a different life it will be for our three offspring. I suppose that is not what I am meant to dwell on... but I can't stop the thought from reaching it's creeping tentacles across the lobes of my overactive brain.

With all that is on the verge of happening in my life I rarely have time to stop and think outside of the box I live in. Much too much to think about in the here and now. My grandfather passed away on September 29th. I have felt strangely detached in my grief. I was listed as the alternate, behind my mother, on his Advance Directive. My mother called to tell me he had passed and really that's all the info she could give me. Shortly after her call, a chaplain called to inform me of the death. The chaplain said he called me because I was listed as the person who would make sure my grandfather's wishes were followed. I live 300+ miles away. I met my grandfather when I was 13. I have seen him one time in the last 8 years. I am having difficulty reconciling the man he was to many with the man he supposedly became. They could have been one and the same. I do not know. I wasn't there all those years ago. But the stories that have followed his death and the light bulbs that have flashed above my head as pieces of this puzzle fall into place, make me a bit shaky. Either way, he's gone and I've done what I could from my distance to carry out his last wishes. There has been much grief in this family over the course of the last few months. My Aunt K, his daughter, is gone. He is gone. The rest of us are left to pick up pieces and grapple with our own personal realities, memories. The weight keeps getting heavier and heavier.

I think I will have a talk with Avery again. See what the hesitation stems from now that the opportunity is there. Lighten my load either through sending him off to public school or through arranging some kind of deal with him regarding his attitude here in home school. Stretch my wings a bit, maybe even spread them and fly away for awhile... enjoy what I have while I have it and hope that someday when I leave this plain my children and my familiars know that I lived with the best of intentions, loved with all my heart, and was only human for needing to escape the confines of these walls occasionally.

Truth Be Told...

I had a newspaper thrust in my general direction as the words, "Look at that! Look at his face up close and tell me if you still feel the same..." snapped from Dustin's mouth. The Press Democrat printed the photo of fallen Marine, Lcpl Joshua Bernard, whom I have written about previously. The picture was published along with a story that summarized a letter Lcpl Bernard's father wrote to Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates. The letter basically rails at our government for taking into consideration the lives and homes of civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan who are caught in the crossfires of these wars. My take on the letter is that Mr. Bernard is of the opinion that more of our men are dying because our military is not allowed to blow every village and town they come across to smithereens. He may be right. But really, in war, who is right? What is right?
I have been approached by quite a few people, now that school has started and we are no where to be found in all the usual places, who have stories to tell me of where we have moved and what we are up to. Apparently Adam has moved to Hawaii, Dustin and I have split up and/or we have all moved to Germany? This is a small town, word travels fast, but the folks around here must be using a cell phone while driving through a tunnel, forget the regular old telephone. Once I explain that no, I have not sent my child off to live in Hawaii all by himself (though these days he might find that preferable to being around these parts) and yes, Dustin and I by some miracle are still married and that it is true, we could quite possibly all be moving on to Germany early next year, the questions begin to flood. Some people just want to know what's happening in the world of Madrid. When I give the spiel about Dustin reentering the military and how we don't know where we're headed and how we really only have a very vague idea of when we're leaving, most people nod and say good luck. But there are others, the ones who question why in the world a husband and father would leave his family to go and fight in a war that frankly makes no sense. The ones who wonder how his statement of trying to do a small bit of good in a bad situation makes any sense at all when he will be over destroying another human's life and home. The ones who wonder at his ability to leave knowing fully well he may never come home. The ones who speak my mind and feel my confusion.
I have been supportive of my husband's decision to go back to what he's been missing for nearly a decade, but in a time where there are American citizens writing letters claiming we are, in essence, coddling the "enemy"... I find it difficult to muster the support required when people ask very legitimate questions. Truth be told, the idea of majorly disrupting another country's way of life for collective one-sided gain, does not sit well with me. I cannot stomach the idea of children and woman and men being terrorized in their own homes and villages. Look in a mirror. What you see is the same thing they see. A person, a human being with feelings and loved ones and ambitions and fears and a whole life ahead of them... unless we start listening to the war mongers and allow our men to bomb and blast and bulldoze through villages indiscriminately. If we do that, then quite a few innocent people, people no different from you and I, will have their lives cut short.
On this day of football and community festival, of being out and around the people who only know a fraction of what my life is becoming, I am weary of trying to explain Dustin's motivation. I do not get it. There. Now I've said it. That does not mean I support his decision any less, it just means I am my own person and I do not understand why anyone, least of all my husband, would put themselves willingly into a life-altering, potentially life-ending situation such as this. I have children to take care of whether their father is present or not. I have a life to live whether my husband does or not. I have to be strong when really sometimes I feel very weak. I have to hold my head up and be the anchor in this family no matter what seas we travel and what storms we endure. I do not willingly send the father of my children out to kill or be killed, he does that himself.
And just for the record, I DO still feel the same about the release of the photo of Joshua Bernard.

It's the little things

the girl's first ice cream cone

The first thought that occurred to me as I woke this morning was, "32, Really?" All of my birthdays after 21 have felt much the same. Another year down. A lifetime more to go. Even 30 wasn't that big a deal and 31, well, was just 31. But I am really in my 30s now. 32 years of living this life and I have a friend who is just about to pop out her very own beautiful little girl. In fact today could be the day that little baby Fernandez makes her appearance. It's what I've been hoping for these last 9 months! She isn't due until the 20th... but what's 2 days?!

My own sweet little 17 month old has just gotten done with her first total meltdown. I know it was due to her need for sleep and the 5 teeth pushing their way through her very swollen gums. If it wasn't so painful for her it would almost be funny. She refused to let me put a diaper on her after retrieving her from the bath, kept throwing her hands on top of her head when I attempted to put her dress over it and showed me just how flexible she is as I tried to comb her curly locks out of her face and into some sort of untangled mess. The comb went right, she went left, the comb went up, she went down, the comb went forward and she bent so far backward I thought she might bend in half. I wish my body was still that limber. At 32, it's not happening! Thankfully the meltdown ended with a beautiful sleeping girl on my lap.

I took the Jeep, or as an old neighbor renamed it - the Heep, to the auto shop again this morning. I spent half an hour sitting sending status updates to Facebook and checking email via my cell phone. I was assured the problem that we've been dealing with is not that big a deal. Apparently the terminals and cables to the battery were pretty corroded, which led to my Heep refusing to start. While there, I pointed out that my thermostat gauge was no longer reading the temp. A cable was unplugged. The mechanic who worked on our vehicle two weeks ago noticed that we had a tail light out. When I pulled up today he recognized me by that faulty light. As I was lamenting having to spend the morning of my birthday sitting at the auto shop the owner and the mechanic were plugging a cable, getting my battery in working order, topping off the fluids and fixing my burned out light. All this and a warning to buy desperately needed new tires, at no charge.

I dared to leave my daughter in the care of her very able brothers while I went to the auto shop. I figured that the only real worry I had was that I might come home to find that one of my sons had maimed the other. But as I pulled up, the younger and more precocious of the two, came running out and told me that the mail lady had come. It was 10 o'clock a.m. Mail doesn't come until 2 or 3 p.m. I played along. In the mailbox were two of my bubble wrap envelopes addressed to Jamie Madrid and jamie. Inside of both were cards, homemade on construction paper with colored pencils. The Artist's had a design on the front and simply said, "Happy Birthday Mom... Love, Adam" on the inside. The other was folded many times and had directions for which way to unfold with pictures drawn by the toddler interspersed. Once unfolded I was congratulated for finding my way to the inside, wished a happy birthday, told that I was awesome, wonderful and cool... all this from Avery (who cannot stand me on a regular basis) and Lu. Not only did my kids manage not to kill each other in my absence, they did something for me, together.

I was informed that since it's my birthday I shouldn't have to teach. While I really wanted to agree I felt obligated to get on with it, especially since we were already late starting our lessons. I turned on the computer only to find that my Internet was down. It's incredibly difficult to home school two children when their entire lesson plan is online and the "online" is not working. This is a Virtual Academy after all. My boys rejoiced and I wiggled cables and unplugged my modem and router, restarted the computer, had no luck, turned off the computer, unplugged everything, turned the computer back on, still nothing, called Melissa to get AT&T's tech support number. In my attempt to spare the trees I have gone paperless on many of my bills. That's all well and fine until something goes down or stops working properly. I guess I'm going to have to write down all of the tech support and customer care numbers for my paperless accounts so I don't have to bother Melissa when she's sleep deprived and caring for a newborn. In my last attempt to avoid sitting on the phone with AT&T I jiggled and wiggled some more and for some unknown reason the Internet came on! The boys moaned and groaned and started on their lessons. About 2 lessons in I decided that a visit to our old school to see Don and Susan was in order. Ice cream sounded awfully good too :o) Don gave me two more books to read and Susan gave me chocolate covered macadamia nuts. We said our goodbyes and went to Rite Aid to get scoops of Thrifty ice cream. I despise the town that the Rite Aid is in, but to remember the days of being young and walking into the air conditioned Thrifty store in the middle of the desert heat for the treat of their oddly scooped ice cream, is worth the trip... especially on a day when one turns 32 and needs to remember being "that young". The lady behind the counter offered to give Taluelah a cone of her own with a bit of ice cream in it. She said she didn't want her to feel left out. I figured it would be a dollop at the bottom, but she filled Rainbow Sherbet up to the lip of the cone. I was sure her inclusion would cost me an additional buck. We were charged for three cones, Lue's was gratis. Taluelah made a righteous mess of herself and everything around her, and loved every minute of her first, very own, ice cream cone!

Dustin beat us home with all the fixings for baked fettuccine and ooey-gooey brownies. The fettuccine is in the oven now smelling up the house, making my stomach grumble. The brownies will be baked later. I've spoken with and received wishes and blessings from those who care and have had the time to let me know. In honor of my birthday and my dad's life a paper candelabra has been decorated and will be lit for my dad tomorrow at the Relay For Life event in Petaluma. Friends are on their way to help celebrate the end of my day. Taluelah is watching her brothers and dad play Mario Kart while loving her baby and I am at the end of my birthday blog post. Cheers!

Pencils, Pigskins and Puke

We have made it through our first week of home schooling with few bruises. I am hoping week two gets easier and I find a way to be more organized. Nothing like schooling your children at home to show you just how unorganized you really are! Adam is still happy with his choice to stay at home for school and Avery is still pissy about my choice to keep him home. With one week under our belts I wonder if, at any point, Avery will stop grumbling or I will get tired of the grumbles and send him back to Riviera. We'll see which happens first.

I am happy with the way the K12 curriculum is set up and with the flexibility CAVA offers. We have been able to skim over lessons that are more review than anything else and work a bit longer on lessons that the boys just aren't quite "getting". The only complaint I have gotten from Adam is that in "regular" school, once time is up for a subject, you're done. I don't teach that way at home. I explained to him that while getting to walk away from something you don't understand may seem like a blessing at the time, but if you don't get it and you move on what happens the next day? Or on test day? At least by us working a little longer and a little harder on the alien lesson we make sure there is actual comprehension. I'm sure that all made sense to him on some level but he still likes the idea of walking away!

I know most people's impression of home schooling is that the child who is being home schooled lacks the social interaction they need. Avery has not had a weekend without being at his best buddy's house. I do plan on getting him together with a few of his other friends when we get more settled. Adam's good friend lives across the street so he gets to see him regularly. And now, after thinking I was off the hook, I have been convinced that Adam should play football. He played last year and loved it... why, I do not know. But then, I am not an 11 year old boy. When it came time to sign up we went through the motions not knowing what the future held. Life took it's surprising twist shortly after sign-ups. We thought we were going to be moved out of Kelseyville before the season ended. Once we found out that we would indeed be here through the end of the season, I still did not think the boys would play. There are a great deal of variables that we are still dealing with. All of the unknowns are mind-boggling. I get myself all worked up thinking of all the possible scenarios... what if the house sells? what if the house does not sell? what if something changes and we leave sooner? what if something changes and we don't leave at all? what if? what if? what if?

Dustin wanted to go to the first football game of the season in Fort Bragg last Saturday. Avery's best friend Grady is playing for the first time. We decided to head up to the foggy coast and cheer on Grady and our team. The trip became quite an ordeal. Taluelah gets carsick. We know this but it still surprises us so much that we don't plan well at all for it happening. I realized shortly after we left that I had not packed a change of clothes for our girl if she did have an accident of some sort or decided that the winding road made her sick to her stomach. As we whizzed past the changing trees over the almost Autumn sun dappled road poor Adam was stuck on spew patrol with a brown paper bag. He let down his guard as Taluelah appeared to be falling asleep. She took that opportunity to blow some serious chunks. I pulled over, we used a towel and all of the baby wipes that Dustin had packed to clean her up, found a discarded sweatshirt in the back of the Jeep to cover her up, and continued along the road... one curve after another. I heard Taluelah's moan and knew that the remaining contents of her stomach was on it's way up and out. Dustin turned around to help her and in doing so ended up with vomit all over his arm. A trip that was supposed to be about football and the coast ended up being overwhelming and expensive due to the purchase of new clothing for Taluelah and her dad. I did learn my lesson. NEVER will I travel anywhere without a change of clothes for my daughter. Maybe I'll pack a change for Dustin too. The fog was so dense I never did get to see the ocean.

When we finally made it to the game, Adam pointed out that he could have played football after all. I told him I understood but it just didn't work out this year. He proceeded to tell me that football was the last sport he would be able to play with his friends in Kelseyville. I really didn't have words at that moment... but I did understand. The move is going to be a huge transition for my boys. This is the only community they remember really being a part of. Adam was okay not going to middle school but he misses and will miss not being a part of a team with the friends he has made over the course of 4 years. Middle school was the unknown. Football he knows. I took a deep breath... said goodbye to my tuesday through thursdays, goodbye to saturday nights, hello to late night dinners and cold cold bleachers and put the word out that Adam wanted to play.

Part of living in such a small town is that you get to know people and they get to know you. There are many great people here we are going to miss. Adam is going to have 3 wonderful football coaches, coaches that want him to play and are helping to make it happen. Even though football is not my sport of choice, I am glad that Adam has the support of friends and coaches that do choose it. I am glad too that Adam is getting to play a sport with his friends here one last time. Adam started his conditioning tonight, took pictures with the team, and found out he gets to keep his number.

Avery is not playing. He was supposed to earn it before we ever knew we were moving and he did not. Hopefully this will be a lesson well learned. Avery is a very social creature. He will get the chance to see his friends and will probably end up on the sidelines hanging out with the team during the games again this year. If ever I had any worries about the boys missing out on social interaction, football will take care of them... at least until November.

The Ostrich Complex

The arrival of our war dead at Dover Air Force Base

I don't watch the news. I will read the newspaper if it is handy. The extent of my knowledge of current affairs usually encompasses whatever bits and pieces my husband brings home and whatever headlines catch my eye on the Internet. Dustin's news is almost always about what is going on in our wars abroad... the push for more grunts, Soldiers and or Marines being held accountable for heinous acts against humanity, what new weapons are being introduced to help "win" this war, death counts. Our conversation about all of the above topics usually inspires some amount of debate. Dustin and I are not Apples and Oranges. We are Bullets and Granola. You can guess who is who.

I saw a headline on the Yahoo homepage that said something like, "Calm and then death in the Pomegranate Grove." I knew it must have been about the war and so I moved on to check my email. A day or so later I read another headline that stated something about the Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates, being "appalled" at some decision the AP had recently made. That was enough to pique my interest, so I clicked the link and read on. After reading what Gates found so appalling I had to go back to that first headline I had ignored to read the "whole" story.

On August 14, in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan, a squad of Marines, Afghan soldiers and an Associated Press reporter, photographer and cameraman entered the village of Dahaneh where sniper fire, mortars and other accoutrements of war had been reported. They were pointed in the direction of the ambush, located in a pomegranate grove, by a man in the village. Lance Corporal Joshua Bernard was the point man. One of his fellow Marines stated he was put in that position because of his determination. Lcpl Bernard was hit by an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) and after being airlifted to Camp Leatherneck, the Marine Corps' forward operating base, became yet another casualty of the U.S.'s war on terror.

The chaos of the moment was caught by AP photographer, Julie Jacobson's, camera. She had been photographing the group of men throughout their day. One of her shots includes Lcpl Bernard patrolling through the village's bazaar less than an hour prior to the fire fight that led to his death. I find that photo more heart wrenching than the one preceding his demise. Jacobson's journal talks of being in the midst of exploding RPG's and an all consuming silence overtaking her. A silence that reminded her of "world peace finally descending upon earth." When the dust cleared and the pandemonium of war returned she continued to snap shots of the devastation in front of and around her.

Later, when the photos had been printed, a few of Bernard's fellow Marines were looking through them with Jacobson and the photo that is causing such a stir presented itself. Jacobson claims they paused but none of the Marines got angry or complained of the inappropriateness of the photo. They understood all too well that the image before them was and is the reality of war. A reality that so many of us here, back home in the United States of America, are so oblivious to.

After Joshua Bernard was laid to rest a reporter from the AP went to the Bernard home and showed Joshua's parents the photos that were going to be released to the media. Joshua's father asked that the photo of his son laying in the dirt, with the bloody remains of his legs, surrounded by two of his fellow Marines who were attempting to help him, not be released. Apparently, at some point after the initial meeting with the AP reporter, Lcpl Bernard's father tried again to prohibit the dispensation of the photo of his son in his last living moments. The AP released the photos. And now people ask if the release is sensationalism or journalism.

This is where I picked up on the story. This is what Robert Gates is appalled by. This is what scores of others across America and throughout the world are debating? The release of a photo. Perhaps we ought to be more focused on the life that was lost, why it was lost, for what purpose and to what end? Lcpl Joshua Bernard entered the Marine Corps of his own free will. He was not forced or coerced from what little I have gathered. He gave his life for a cause I sincerely hope he whole-heartedly believed in. The AP reporters, photographers and cameramen who accompany our troops in wartime are there for a reason. They help to document everything they see so that we might be prepared to report a more true history for our children. All images of war ought to be released, whether they be of a soldier fighting in flip flops and pink "I Love New York" boxers or a young Marine who has been mortally wounded or the arrival of occupied metal "transfer cases" (military lingo for coffins) and the subsequent ceremony at Dover Air Force Base of the "dignified transfer of remains" or the joyous homecoming of men and women who have served their country. The American public, whose tax dollars and sons and daughters and husbands and wives and brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers and children are paying the price for this country's wars, have the right and obligation to see what war really does.

Saying we know is not enough. I can read about war and talk with people who have been there but I will never really know. Joshua Bernard knows what war is. The men who stood over him and held his head and told him he'd be alright and pleaded that he stay with them know what war is. The boys who come home broken in body and mind know what war is. The once proud Vietnam Vet now turned transient knows what war is. The visibly scarred man missing an arm or an eye or a leg or more who we so easily pass by looking the other way, pretending not to see, knows what war is. You and I do not. We need to look into the face of the atrocities of war so that when our men and women come back broken we actually understand the root of their pain and try to help instead of bury our heads like ostriches in the sand.

Amazingly enough, Dustin had not heard all the hub-bub over the photo. I brought it to his attention and, no big surprise here, we do not agree on whether the photo should have been given to the public. He believes Lcpl Bernard's final moments should be kept private, that the slice of time he shared with the other two Marines in the photo isn't something any of the rest of us need to see. I have reminded him that every photo captures a snippet of time, time that belonged to someone else and someone else's loved one. The beautiful thing about photography is that those moments can be shared with us, no matter how tragic or painful they be. Think back to the photos that have moved you most... are they all of smiling people enjoying themselves? I doubt it.

There is a song by Everlast, once the lead singer of the Irish Rap group House of Pain, that tells of a soldier's letter home to his mother. It is titled "Letters Home from the Garden of Stone." One of the lines makes the statement, "Really I'm trying to do the right thing, I hope my government can say the same." The death of another young man, my husband's reenlistment and stance on wartime photography, and the lyrics of a song all make this debate quite poignant. It goes without saying that we need our military. They fight and live and die for America's freedom. We also need the photographers who are willing to troop along with our men in the thick of things so that they can send back the images that tell the true story. The story of courage, the story of brotherhood, the story of humor and strength in the darkest of situations, and the story of a nation's sacrifice.