Melancholy Holidays

I could write a small novel on this most recent holiday, but I don’t want you fine people to think I have nothing better to do than sit in front of a computer all day long (Nay, it is the television that is my glowing comfort). So, here are my Christmas highlights — bullet point style.

– Lunch with Jasmyne — lovely and thoughtful friend.

– Documenting the creation of the Deines’ first snow-penguin (see picture) while Brian enlightened Eileen on the subject of yellow snow.

– Breaking down Mac’s pool table (yes, it’s the end of an era) and transferring it to Mike’s developing bachelor pad.

– Finding a way to get Andrew into the Cousin’s picture (and he looked better than all of us).

– Giving Uncle Joel his Thanksgiving picture.

– Not crying, no matter how many times I had to hide in the bathroom.

– 24 vol. 4, and Scrubs Vol. 2. Of course I had to mention some presents. It’s Christmas.

– Playing hopscotch with Eileen. I think she was crushing on me a little.

– Using my brief time on the phone with Andrew to talk about the potential Mark Prior trade. Also, finally being able to ask him how he was, and hearing his response.

– Being the first out at the Deines poker game, then coming back like a champ at the Rockwells on Christmas Day. Constantly raking.

– Finding new and imaginative ways of blaming my Uncle Danny for my being laid off.

– Bears v. Packers on Christmas Day. Beautiful win.

– Having a five and six-way conversation on religion and politics with Norm, Dee, and their girls.

– Learning that the best way to prevent religiosity in your children is to send them to Catholic school.

– Finding out how much I can sweat standing still when Norm badgered me about my opinion of his daughters (for the record, yes, your girls are gorgeous, Norm. But I’ve also seen them in diapers, so it takes a minor adjustment to realize one of them is old enough to drink.)

– Two families (Rockwells and Andersons crammed behind my recliner as I attempt to take our picture with the camera facing me. I would love to post that picture, unfortunately I ended up looking like Uncle Fester strapped to an electric chair. And after my admission in the previous bullet point, can you honestly expect me to volunteer such a horrifying representation of myself? If I had that little pride I would have kept the White Trash Stache (is it wrong that I kind of miss it?)

Of course all of these highlights are simply my effort to find something good in the first Christmas where I sat alone on my parents’ couch to open presents. There was no stocking of silly Happy Meal toys. No evenly distributed presents. No snarky ribbing of mom and her militaristic Christmas tree ettiquette. We burned through that experience as fast as we could, as if the faster we went the less we would notice Andrew’s absence. Needless to say, it didn’t work.

Andrew, I miss you. If the amount of misdirected anger around here is any indication, I miss you a lot. But I’m proud of you and I admire your courage. Stay smart and come home safe so you and I can once again sit on the couch and give mom some shit; she needs it.

Merry Christmas, Baby Bro. And here’s to a speedy 2006.

First Raid and Other Opinions

Today was a very interesting day. I went on my first raid. Basically we trail the IA (Iraqi Army) and make sure they don’t get themselves out-gunned. It was an interesting event to see them shaking hands with the owners of the house and playing with the children all the while they are ripping up the house in search of weapons. i’ll comment on that later.

After the raid we searched a palms area for about 4 km worth of land. As i’m hopping fences and walking through some random guy’s back yard. He approached us and had a civil conversation and a thought occurred to me.

How horrible must it be to be in this man’s shoes? Obviously he knows no better. But coming from the US and the way i grew up, I cannot imagine a soldier walking through my backyard or randomly searching my house. It is crazy.

I’ve been getting into a decent routine of running in the AM, doing my missions, doing my admin work, lifting, then either chillin or gettin on the computer. I always work better on a set routine. I tend to get lazy otherwise.

Colleen: Got your package, thank you very much. One of my soldiers already took Narnia and is playing it on his GBA.

Aunt Sandy: 1776 is one of my top 5 favorite books of all time.

Mom: I’m fine.

Amy: That’s pretty messed up to talk about harris pizza.

I found out today that i’m going to be returning to CO to an empty house. My two roomates that are currently in Iraq are moving to Texas in July as apart of the BRAC realignment. They are going to keep the house but need new tennants. Anyone interested (Phil, Amy) let me know.

I hope everyone is doing as well as I am. I’m truly blessed to have such great friends and family. As my Uncle Danny said: I’m doing this for you.

Hopefully I’ll see most of you in Vegas in July

Take Care

I love you all

My Best Christmas Pics

Silly Rabbit

In an earlier post I said I always get to see two beautiful girls over Christmas.

Well, I miscounted. I totally forgot about this heartbreaker.

I have more Xmas pictures to come, but this one demanded immediate attention.

Merry Christmas… Sorta

So merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. I hope everyone got everything they wanted and needed. I know that I did.

I made my first call home strategically at about 1030 Cordova, Illinois time to catch everyone that i wanted to talk to. It gave me such a unique glimpse of my family looking in from the outside. They are remarkable and I am so lucky. I think i’m going to be getting a box a day for the next 10 months. And i love it. Those 8 minutes of unintelligent conversation with a 15 second time delay and thirty people cramming to get on the phone was eye opening and afterwards i have never felt so alive.

Which brings me to the main point of my email. Many of you have voiced concerns that you really don’t know what you can say to me. I want you to know, that that is not what the emails and letters are about. It is about the feelings i get from knowing tht you all love me and are there supporting me. An unexpected email, letter or package can honestly get me through a day.

Gramma i got your rolls and they were awesome. Got your letter too and you never fail to make me miss the river.

Nikki and Allison thanks for the cards.

Ani i got your letter. Keep them coming.

A couple letters were mailed on the 20th and got here on the 26th so that’s not too bad.

Now some humor. We found a lifesize cutout of Saddam that we have placed on the door of my favorite portajohn.

Some iraqi kids threw rocks at us today. Rather than fighting back, the mom came out and slapped the dog**** out of them. I guess i’m getting cynical if I think that’s funny.

A VBID drove into the gate today and injured the Governor. I guess he’s not going to get reelected. And i must be getting cynical because i thought it was funny. After working with the guy on the water treatment project, he kinda deserved it.

I do live in a trailer, we do have a bug zapper, and two pink flamingoes guarding the door.

Phil i watched season four first and finished season 1 last night.

Best story yet….let me set the scenario. We received intel that xmas eve night we were going to get attacked. Lots of ‘chatter’ to use another 24 reference. My best informant confirmed it with me. So me and my trailermates were ready. We laid down and all passed out knowing something was going to happen in the night. It came around 5. Loud blasts that shook the trailer. We all hop up, dreary and incoherent. “It’s time,” i say. We all look at eachother somber as can be with no one moving. Then another round hits, this one seemed closer at the time. The correct thing to do is move to the nearest bunker and put on your protective gear. Still none of us had moved. We all just stared at eachother. The next thing i did was the stupidest and in my mind funniest thing i’ve ever done. “Who am i kidding, they can’t hit shit,” i said. I climbed back into bed and went to sleep. I slept through the next 30 rounds. We found out the next morning that they were outgoing rather than incoming. They had moved the M109s right behind our trailer. I learned this lesson, you really can just go back to sleep and all your troubles really will go away.

I love you all

Care Package

This is funny. Literally, two seconds after finishing up my previous post about jealousy I was hit with such a tremendous dose of it that I went straight past petty envy to seething anger. So, let’s just look at that last post as being about my gratitude for my friend Jasmyne, rather than the whole jealousy thing.

This will be my jealousy post. I’ve been going slightly stir-crazy since I lost my job. My afternoon with Jasmyne and my Uncle Joel were temporary antidotes, but barely 24 hours later their affect has been negated.

This week leading up to Christmas, my mother has made the holidays all about Andrew. That’s only natural. He’s just gotten to Iraq. His absence here is glaring. We all miss him. But where I differ from my mother (in kind, and certainly degree) is, for her, Christmas has to be all about Andrew… for everybody else… all the time.

A few of the gifts I put together for my family were 8X10 photographs of my brother with various people at Thanksgiving. I didn’t get a picture with every person who stepped through the door, but I got a few. And I’m sure the people who I got pictures of will appreciate the gift. But seeing this, my mother got it in her head that everybody needed a similar picture with Andrew.

So, I was given a handful of prints to take to Walgreens this morning to make copies of, but there was one minor difference. The pictures I printed and framed were taken with a thousand dollar digital camera at its highest pixel rate that I touched up in Photoshop. The pictures my mother sent with me to Walgreens were taken with a $5.99 disposable from Wal-Mart. These photos make Civil War etchings look hi-res. I understand the sentiment, but the presentation is (to my perfectionist eyes) almost offensive.

Plus they’re all just things. Things. My mother is losing her mind about things. Like a photo is necessary to remember my brother. My brother is on my mind every waking moment, and I don’t have one photo anywhere around of him. I don’t need one. I don’t need a reminder. He’s in my heart. And nobody who gets those shitty, disposable camera blow-ups are going to need them either.

But I digress.

As I was writing my previous post, my mother came home from an afternoon of shopping and ripped into my dad for not going to the post office for more boxes to mail to my brother. We have two full boxes already sitting in our house, yet to be mailed, and my mother was absolutely furious that my father (who has slept most of the afternoon and is sick as a dog) did not go get more. Just based on her weekly tally thus far, my brother is going to return home with thousands of dollars of books and DVDs and other tripe that there is no way he will be able to use (he does have a full-time job over there).

My mother has seemed to equate these care packages with proof of her love. If Andrew doesn’t get as many packages as the other guys, or as good of stuff, she’s going to feel in her mind that he feels unloved. It’s completely irrational. My father and I don’t have those concerns. He knows we love him and never for a moment will he doubt that while he’s over there. That’s why we don’t write him e-mails every day. That’s why we aren’t pulling our hair out over these packages. And that’s why my fuse is getting shorter and shorter with my mother’s impatience with anybody who isn’t the zealot she is.

The row between my parents was only a primer for what finally set me off (in my own repressed, low-key way). My brother spent three hours at Wal-Mart this afternoon. She returned home with at least ten bags of shit, and no wonder she threw a fit about not having enough boxes. All ten of those bags were going over to Iraq.

But wait (INSERT GIANT RED X HERE), there’s more.

As I walked through the dining room, I saw a row of eight gift bags lined up on the table in front of my mother with the names of the men from my brother’s unit written on the side. As I felt my stomach turn to lead I watched as my mother carefully sorted a table full of gum, candy, playing cards, etc. and dropped them delicately, one-by-one, into each bag. I scoured the table and saw that this wasn’t some random collection of things. My mother put a lot of thought and care into what she dropped into those bags. She spent an afternoon gathering the materials, God knows how long actually planning the whole thing. I can deal with the overstuffed boxes Andrew will be getting over the next year, but something about the love and care my mother was putting into these unnecessary packages for his men — I lost it.

And again, it wasn’t about the things. My mother did all of her shopping for the entire family in two hours last night, so I’m certain there won’t be anything stuffed under our M.I.A. Christmas tree that shares a tenth of the thought and care those gift bags got. My presents will be pulled off my half-assed list with all the passion of a refrigerator post-it. No imagination. No desire. Just something to cross of the weekly to-do.

It hit me tonight that I need to leave this house. I don’t care if I continue to live paycheck to paycheck, with no chance of putting money into savings. My mother is a zombie, essentially spending the year in Iraq with my brother. I can deal with being ignored, but not to my face. As much as I can, I’m living this year aware of my brother, but not chained to him. I have to do other things or I’ll lose my mind. My mother is the opposite. She can’t do other things, or she’ll feel that she’s neglecting her baby.

Hmm. Irony.

Fuck. Happy Holidays.

Talking

Yesterday I had the pleasure of enjoying a rare lunch with the smartest girl I know, my dear friend Jasmyne. Naturally, coming off an earth-rattling e-mail from my brother, much of the early conversation revolved around those developments (thankfully our conversation did turn to less grave things like her allergy to the words “tits” and “bootleg” and my one Christmas wish, cuddle time with Kristen Bell). It was the first time I’ve had the chance to talk (face-to-face) with a friend about the changes in my life and my family since my brother left. As always, her insight was invaluable.

I have ties to many smart people. After lunch with Jasmyne, I spent three hours talking politics with my grandfather and Uncle Joel. I’m sure I could do the same with any number of my relatives. But it’s always ideals and rhetoric and philosophy, which is remarkably impersonal despite our passions. My conversations with Jasmyne are different though. They’re conversations about people, often about me.

I have a tendency to hide my feelings from even my nearest and dearest, and several years ago my friendship with Jasmyne was borne of that self-revelation. In the same moment she crushed my romantic advances, she became the first peer with whom I felt comfortable talking. In a peculiar way, I often viewed people’s worry as condescension, like somehow people who offered me advice felt they were above me. Who are they to give me advice? I recognized the error in that judgment talking with her yesterday; sometimes people just care about you.

At one point in our lunch, Jasmyne asked me a rather perilous question: Was I jealous of the attention being paid my brother? Two years ago, I would have given an answer with more spin than an 80’s DJ, but when I don’t have to worry about somebody leaving me at the table or not returning my phone calls I can be more candid.

The answer is yes, but as I said to Jasmyne, it’s not a “Look at me” sort of jealousy. Though I could never have walked the path my brother did, his life has had a consistant trajectory since he was 18 and got accepted into West Point. Two years my junior, my brother is doing something with his life, something honorable at that. When he leaves the Army (if he does), he will not have these years of transition, wondering what he’s going to do. He’ll have a job right out of the gates that will likely pay double what I’ve made in my best year (economically). Meanwhile, I have blown my savings during my year in Florida and have returned to my parent’s home (no longer mine) to replenish my bank account and see if maybe I could finally find some direction for my life. Long story short, I’m not jealous of the attention; my brother deserves all the attention he gets. I’m jealous because I don’t have anything remotely comparable in my life that would be worthy of attention. I remain a wandering dreamer, while my brother has his head down charging into the future.

There are many things in that confession that I wouldn’t care for any girl I was courting to know. Jealousy is a particularly ugly trait, not to mention the admission of a lack of career direction and personal pride. So, it’s hard for me to put into words how remarkable I find it to stare across a table at one of the most stunningly beautiful girls I’ve met and admit these things without worrying about how it makes me look or what she’ll think of me. No longer worried about dating her (thank God her boyfriend Andy rescued me from that perilous pursuit), pretense becomes superfluous, and I’m a streamlined kind of guy. If there’s no need for it, cut it.

At the beginning of what I hope is a therapeutic three days with friends and family, my lunch with Jasmyne was a great primer. I don’t doubt if aftershocks of our conversation show up for weeks to come.

Smart, smart girl.

"Some People Work Better in Hell"

Now that I’ve calmed down a bit, I need to explain a few things. First, we are currently undertaking a Relief in Place(RIP) with an armor unit from Fort Riley. As of now there are only two people from my unit that have been outside the wire. Me and the CO. I have been here for 7 days and I have been on 9 missions. The rest of the unit will take over in January. But I am working to make political connections. I have to know and meet all the people to open a dialogue. That is typical with my job. I am picking up some basic conversational Arabic and my translator is awesome despite his own political agenda. I don’t really trust any Haji’s here for good reason. The city council complains and wants money. They just don’t understand that there is no welfare system anymore and that the people need to provide for themselves without government support.

I’m going on another mission in about 3 hours. I’m averaging 3 a day the past 3 days. Sweet. It’ll last about 8 hours. It’s not so bad. You just can’t see or fight the enemy. I’m basically a moving target. Sorry this one is so short. I have a lot of prep work to do for my guys.

Don’t worry about me. I’m safe in my M1114 and my Bradley.

A 24 quotation for my brother that I thought applied:

“Some people work better in hell.”

I love you all.

G.I. Joe and Mr. Jolie

Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything in the past couple of days. It’s true. I have been away, and honestly it’s cause I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say to a bunch of guys who were thrilled, THRILLED at getting every Brad Pitt movie on DVD. Now, I like Ocean’s 11 as much as the next guy, but Cool World? There’s just no excuse for that. Although that might explain why he got 150 DVD’s for a C-note (a hundred dollars for those of you not down).

Seriously though, I should say something about what’s really important here. And that’s the fact that my brother is finally going to partake and that holiest of holies… 24. Finally, after much grandstanding my brother and I can share in Jack Bauer’s many adventures. Now, if I could just get a certain aunt and uncle (you know who you are) to finish up season 3 and get on to season 4. It’s the best yet.

I suppose some of you would expect me to say something about my brother’s trials in his first week in Iraq, but I don’t need to.

He said it best: “I’m invincible.”

I’d ask any of you who know him well to argue with his assessment.

On a Dime

A little over a week ago I was contemplating a post discussing how frighteningly mundane life is. I didn’t expect complacency to nestle into our happy home so comfortably, so soon. I was in the shower, where much of my best thinking is done (note to self: take longer showers), and I realized that nothing had changed since my brother went off to Iraq. We see Andrew so infrequently throughout the year that standing in the shower, gelling up with Prell, it felt like things were as they had always been. Andrew off in Georgia, or New York, or Hawaii. The family at home.

Well, things changed quickly with two e-mails. In the first, my brother documented the mortar attack that welcomed him to Iraq. They quickly fled from their plane to a bunker, but not before my brother made note of the bullet strikes alongside the AC-130 that dropped them into the war. As horrifying as this could have been — the first attempts on my brother’s life — Andrew coloured the experience with a jocular bemusement that distanced us (and probably himself) from it.

But no amount of tongue-in-cheek could dispell the horror that befell my family with Andrew’s next e-mail. His first mission in Iraq started as a retrieval of a High Value Target and ended up as a complete ambush of US and Iraqi forces. Despite the absense of any US casualties, the Iraqi forces were decimated. The bodies were piled into the back of a pickup truck and dumped in front of the aid station, where my brother spent the rest of his day doing blood transfusions, and IVs, as well as stitching up the wounded. As my brother put it “I must have aged 25 years in a matter of 25 minutes.”

Our house has been crippled ever since that e-mail. At the tail end of it, my brother promised to call that evening or the next day, so my mother has hunkered down in the living room with her quilts for the past two days (Andrew’s deadline has since expired), occasionally taking breaks to knock out a game of sudoku online. In a wonderful twist of the knife, we received an inordinate number of telemarketing calls — a few even asking for Andrew. It’s a special kind of heartache when it comes courtesy of Spanky McG.E.D. from Sprint.

I empathize with what my brother is going through. This house is similarly on edge, but instead of mortars and gunfire we have doorbells and telephones. The night after we got the ambush e-mail, I had trouble sleeping. It was nothing special, just one of those nights. Somewhere around one o’clock in the morning, as I finally started to make headway on dreamland, I heard a car door slam outside. My eyes flew open, and I lay completely still in my bed, waiting… waiting… for that ring. After a minute or so I got up and headed inconspicuously to the kitchen, telling my mother I was merely getting a glass of water. In truth, I was going to make sure there wasn’t a car parked in front of our house. There wasn’t, but I could still hear the doorbell waiting as I walked back to my bedroom.

The next day a friend of Andrew’s came to visit my mother. She knocked. Nobody ever knocks at my house, so my anxiety immediately hit 10. When I got to the door I saw a car on the street, one I didn’t recognize. It all added up to “not good.” I was awfully friendly to Brandi when she walked in the door. I don’t know if I’ve shared more than one or two words with her in my life, but I was schoolgirl chatty when I welcomed her inside. She must have thought I was nuts, but really I was just thankful she wasn’t wearing green.

The mood has changed, and I didn’t expect it to be so swift. I thought my brother would have time to get comfortable, as we got comfortable, in war. But we dove in headfirst, and we’re already choking on the saltwater.

I’ve called my brother’s deployment The Longest Year. Well, The Longest Year just got a lot longer.