Okay so I know the question of the day is
W_T_F
are you doing going to Iraq??

Shrug.

I'm goin'.

I'll be working as an instructor...

training other instructors
developing curriculum
offering administrative support

and basically making a lot of money
and
more importantly,
taking up a challenge.

I need one.
I need many.

I'm just figuring that out.
The importance of having one I mean.

Do I know, if I can manage myself with an almost entirely male population all loaded up on testosterone and machismo?

Nope.

Do I know if I am doing the right thing by my family?

No, I don't know that either.

Do I know, if I'll be safe in the middle of the Sunni Triangle?

nuh uh...

But.
I'm sure as hell going to find out.

I know I have mentioned in the past that at one time I was a special events florist. I owned a company in Houston. I called the post Working and Breathing or some such thing and it was an appropriate title.

I'm one of those people who has to be working.
HARD.
I get bored when things get too routine or offer no challenge.

Floral work was great because a bride was rarely unchallenging, nor was her venue, her other contractors or the inevitable planner whether hired or self proclaimed--every single family has at least one obnoxious aunt or second cousin...it's a rule.

Still I loved the ebb and flow of the week.

By Wednesday floral would come in to be processed and fussed over.
By Thursday I was assigning tasks and making sure my arrangers were copying my designs well.
By Friday things were tagged and lists were checked-
what truck was going where with who,etc.

Running all along side that was the handholding, the phone calls, the snags with the wholesalers, the logistics--all of it. Maps, photographer schedules, when linen companies would be throwing the linen, when the usually medicated cake lady would have the cake ready...lots of details. for an end product that was expected to look effortless.

Loved it.
The Devil's in the details and man--
He and I
hung
out.

Now granted I expect that which contributed to the final demise of my business was mostly being no longer able to do more than think:

Come on people
This is floral work.
You aren't even going to really see it, you'll be so hung up on the blur of the day and in 6 months you'll be pissed you blew it on hydrangea and not a down payment on a house.

Still at the time it served it's purpose.
It provided the hard I needed.


Fast forward 6 years and I get this call from an old client on Tuesday.
How she found me I still don't know, but she did.

She wanted flowers for her other daughter's wedding.

(Sigh.)

Just a couple of pieces she said.

(Sigh.)

No one else would do she said.

(Sigh. )

Hmmmm, I think.

It might be nice to see if I still have the hands and eyes for it.
The money would be handy, too.

Still.
Ugh.
Sigh.

Awww--- what the hell?
I mean really.
Isn't going to be like riding a bike?
What's the worse that can happen?
I'll come up with something mediocre and she'll never call me again.

The lure to be creative drew me in and made my tongue form the letters
OK.

"Okay," I said, "I'll do it."

"You really should get back into the business," she said, "I can't believe you've been at home THIS long."

I know.
I can't believe it either I think.
I've been home with 4 kids for five years and no one has fitted me for an orange jumpsuit or flip flops.
I have have managed to avoid any and all felony convictions navigating Momminess.


"Think about coming back," she presses.

"Nah."
This I said out loud.
"You can't go back."
I said that out loud, too.
It sounded stark hanging in the air as we spoke via cellphone.
But it was also subtly comforting.

I'm finally getting that one.
I think this as I am hanging up and letting what I said out loud resonate.

Not only can't I go back.
I don't want to.

So
today--

I have flowers on my porch waiting for my hands and this wedding tonight--
Something my past brought.

and

I have an email regarding my job in Iraq--
Something my future sent.

I'll be working hard again soon it seems--just around the last week in February.

Zen Traveler wrote a piece that bears looking at, no matter where you stand on the war.

Read it.

Everyone has come or is trying to come to their own conclusions where Iraq and Afghanistan are concerned these days. As of last week we begin our sixth year in Iraq. If you haven't come to your own conclusions or formed an opinion yet, there's no time like the present.


I exhort all who are engaged in this endeavor to look for your information from those who have lived and seen the situation and not from mainstream media types who obviously must astrally project themselves from Baghdad hotels to the front lines and then have massive hallucinations just prior to filing a story.

Go to the mil blogs.

Read what folks with boots on the ground are saying.

Read the blogs on their blog rolls.

Ask them questions.

If you aren't familiar with mil blogs ,Thunder Run makes it a point to gather dispatches. It's a great place to start.

Trust me, these perspectives won't be homogeneous or collective in thought.

Think critically for yourself.

Look at Michael Yon and Michael Totten.
Have a look at folks like Obsidian Wings and Lt. Nixon Rants.

Read Matt Sanchez and news sources like Pajama Media.

Like any source, there will be frames of reference, case in point--the first two are from imbedded INDEPENDENT journalists in Iraq. The last two I mention are more conservative in view. Ob Wings and Nixon are moderate. This is the great thing about cyberspace and a Google button, all you need is a desire to know, your very own search words and you'll find more sources than you could ever read.

Most important is to just do your reading then form an opinion for yourself by yourself.

Don't belly up to the MSM bar and grill and allow yourself to be force fed prepackaged commercial fare from the latest PC menu. It's a disservice to our troops in country and to you.

A while back a video floated around, poignant in picture and word. I am putting it up here because it, coincidentally, re landed in my inbox this morning just after I went to visit Zen Traveler. Given the serendipity, I couldn't NOT post it. It dovetails well with what my own position is. (Isn't it cool how when you blog you get to have one of those?) Heck I guess you don't have to blog have a position, but I like the platform and visiting other blogs and reviewing other writer's positions, helps clarify my own.

This musician named Dustin makes it very clear with his work how our troops there ARE invested in their mission and that we should be equally invested in knowing what is going on ourselves.

After all, these men and women are there by our government's missive and our government is doing what it is doing by ours.

This is my 200th post. I wasn't sure what I wanted to talk about until a little while ago when I came across an article on Major Olmsted, a long time and well loved milblogger serving in Iraq.

As a lot of you know, I have become very involved with troop support. Even if you didn't know right off the bat...the growing number of mil related posts probably gave it away anyway. I have a hard time recalling what it was like not to be involved, I love what I do so much.

With that in mind and coincidentally, yesterday Katana from Belleau-Wood and I posted the first of what I hope will be many posts dedicated to giving troops and those who support them a place to share their thoughts on a new site we decided to call Words from Warriors.

I have learned more about the war in Iraq on milblogs than I have anywhere else. I think it is fitting to post Major Olmsteds last words as a blogger in order to illustrate what prompts some Americans to serve their country and to serve it with such valor and dedication. I think you might be surprised about the things he said--his final words.

January 04, 2008
Final Post
"I am leaving this message for you because it appears I must leave sooner than I intended. I would have preferred to say this in person, but since I cannot, let me say it here."G'Kar, Babylon 5
"Only the dead have seen the end of war."Plato*
This is an entry I would have preferred not to have published, but there are limits to what we can control in life, and apparently I have passed one of those limits. And so, like G'Kar, I must say here what I would much prefer to say in person. I want to thank hilzoy for putting it up for me. It's not easy asking anyone to do something for you in the event of your death, and it is a testament to her quality that she didn't hesitate to accept the charge. As with many bloggers, I have a disgustingly large ego, and so I just couldn't bear the thought of not being able to have the last word if the need arose. Perhaps I take that further than most, I don't know. I hope so. It's frightening to think there are many people as neurotic as I am in the world. In any case, since I won't get another chance to say what I think, I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity. Rest of post can be read on his site and condolences can be left at Obsidian Wings.

We layed around like slugs until midafternoon. It was pathetic. A Halloween hangover. That's what it was.

Incidentally, Halloween called up some things that I hadn't ruminated on in awhile...

worry

fear

and generally having the shit scared out of you.

You can do it to yourself, have it happen inadvertantly or someone can do it to you. (shameless segue, but thank you MizMell..)

Yesterday, I was minding my own business, fairly pleased that MizMell enjoyed my posting of crude jokes and so accepted her invitation to look at an eerie video on her blog.

Eerie my ass.
It cleaned my colon, man.
No lie.
I was soooooooo not ready for the freak out...hence it being a freak out...yeah...ok...gotcha...but really--- while I was experiencing the adrenalin rush and all that that entailed including the changing of my chones and of course, hell yeah posting the same vid to my blog, it called something to mind.

When was the last time I had had the pants scared off of me? Dunno. I hate scary movies and haunted houses. In the last almost 40 years I can count on one hand the scary ones I have seen. My mom tells family I was the only kid she knew that watched the Munsters with my hands over my face.

In my mind purposefully scaring the bejeebers out of myself is not a worthwhile endeavor. I do think though I may have to reconsider this now.

Last night I took the kids to extort candy from the neighbors and had time to think about this. I watched kids sucking around for a fright as they approached doors where ambushes were clearly suspected. Obligatory shrieks emanated from said bushes and little squeals met in reply, "Do it again! Do it again!

There were some children with their heads buried up their parents butt though their candy bucket arms stayed extended. They, whether at a high rate of speed or with comforter nearby, were totally into the experience and the subsequent payoff.

Today I went to a bookstore dumpster where I had it on good authority I would find magazines I could use for my jarheads in Iraq. I looked around the dumpster where they were supposed to be-- no luck...then I saw them inside just out of reach. Jackpot.

There had to be 300 bucks worth sitting there...I wanted them bad. Now at this particular Mall there is is rent a cop in a grey flat top haircut who is not crazy to see homeschoolers around before 3 when local schools are out. I know it bugs him--he's said as much in several public reflections of what "the laws SHOULD be around here." (Incidentally, I think if the man just got laid occasionally it would be good for all concerned--well save the layee.)

I stood there at the dumpster, considered how much his belly would slow him down should he happen upon me, what would happen if he did catch me with my ass hanging out of dumpster...and I felt the rush start. Not the underwear filling jolt of the day before, but the seep of adrenalin nonetheless. Somehow, because my brain had been refamiliarized so recently it was a mirthful not dreadul kind of sensation.

I kept thinking, "What do I do?"...I want those magazines...I can almost reach them...where is that guy? what if I get caught?"

Simultaneously, I am deducing that my 10 year old could definitely fit through the hatch in it and get my quarry.

"Hey Jake!"
Looking around and gesturing him out of the car.

"C'mere! C'mere! C'mere!"

"Hurryup!"

10 year old curiousity got the better of him 'cause I knew if I had said point blank,"Hey Jake, come climb in this dumpster for me," he would have locked me out of the car.

Anyway so I get him in there and keep telling him, "Hurryup!hurryup! just get'em-- get'em..." In the meantime, the peanut gallery in the car is squealing with glee,"Ewwwwwww Jake is in a dumpster! Grooooooooooooss!!!...

The sibling commentary slows down Jake a bit as he considers his predicament and vacillates between the enjoyment of seeing his mother in this hopped up state, doing something that borders on the illegal or at the very least unseemly and what kind of grief he is and will be getting from his sibs for knocking around in a dumpster. He hesitates. I cajole.

"Boy get in that dumpster before we get caught!"

"How am I gonna get out?"

"I'll get you out for chrissakes!! (looking around)HURRYUP!"

We do get all the mags out in a box and in the car. He got into the front seat and smiled sideways at me, but refused to let me off the hook completely...afterall his mother did stick him in a dumpster...albeit an empty one save for the box of magazines. Now had we been behind a clinic or a restaurant, of course I wouldn't have slid my 1st born into one--though The Flowchart for Determining Dumpsters, Their Circumstances and Whether I would Place the Fruit of My Womb in One is another post.

I have a new perspective where fear is concerned. Some of it can sneak up on you, some you suck around for and some--the kind I am most familiar with never gets past a general worry. I have that kind DOWN.

The fear I am used to is over a kid with a high temp on a Friday night, why Ethan has taken to hair twirling and will this mean therapy or if I can make it through Thanksgiving with the sisters in law. Or it's what I feel when I see on my milsupport boards that a fellow supporter has lost one of their guys. Leave me with no emails from Iraq for three or four days and all sorts of scenarios get built slowly in a corner of my head only to get knocked down like a house of cards when I get some kind of smart ass email about being attacked by dwarves (translation...things have been busy here and boring...but we are fine.) Wheeeeew. The fear I am most familiar with is the slow kind, not the in-your-face kind whether I have found a way to put myself there or I am pushed.

If I am so used to the worry kind of fear, I really should reconsider the colon cleansing kind and the kind that I can deliberately choose to participate in...kids like it don't they? Generally they haven't screwed things up in their minds as much as an adult has. Maybe I should take a lesson from them.

Sgt. Grumpy posted a really great story from Michael Totten an independent reporter in Iraq...he and Michael Yon ROCK the indie news outta there.

I won't try to explain him. The man just has to be experienced. The innocence he captures of this child playing amidst filth contradicts what you may think about professional security in Iraq. Though the word ZEN in his blog title may give it away a little.

http://zen-traveler.blogspot.com/2007/10/socks.html