On Behalf of the United States Army, We Regret To Inform You

My little community sent over 1/3 of its population to Iraq and many, many of those soldiers have either been wounded or killed. I have been extremely lucky in that I have only known one of those injured soldiers and better yet, I have not known any of the deceased soldiers. That's not to say that I don't know their friends and families. Each of the fallen has had an impact on our community, even the young 19 year old, single soldier with no wife or children. Although his biological family resides in the states, his Army family in Schweinfurt grieves tremendously. Without a doubt, his Army family remaining in Iraq and his extended Army family all over the world grieve at his passing.

By no means do I claim to be a close personal friend of the wounded soldier that I do know. I still know him. I have spoken with this man on several occasions. I know his wife. I know his son. I know the spouses of the soldiers who worked with him. I know friends and neighbors of the soldier and his family. This man and his family are part of my Army family and I grieve for them.

What hits even harder is that this man, this soldier is a nice person, a good man. He is a good soldier. Additionally, he is a physically impressive man. Big, masculine, gruff, macho, impervious, John Wayne type with the aura of indestructibleness. When he was wounded several months ago, the news was hard to take. His injuries were severe. A bullet ricocheted, entered his neck and did major damage to his mouth, throat, and neck. It was touch and go for awhile. Thankfully, he recovered.

Typical for so many soldiers, he wanted to go back to his men, his soldiers, his Army. He wanted to get back to Iraq. Once he recovered, although he did not have to return to Iraq, he went. Thoughts and prayers went with him.

Our little community was rocked this week. That same soldier, the one who had too close of a call, was hit again. An RPG found its target. He sustained severe injuries; head wound, open fracture to the hand and an open fracture to his leg. He survived, but lost his leg. His gunner sustained fatal injuries.

I can't even begin to entertain what his wife is going through. This is the second time her husband has escaped death. Even now, his prognosis is questionable.

He didn't have to go back. He could have stayed here in Germany. I suspect remaining in garrison, while the troops endured wasn't an option for him. Hopefully, he'll recover from these injuries and be able to return to active duty. He is a career soldier. The military seems to be working with amputees and allowing good soldiers to stay good soldiers.

I haven't yet categorized how I feel. I haven't yet come to terms with the emotional impact. I had lunch yesterday with a friend who knows the family. I had lunch today with a friend who's close with the family. The news is just so horrible that it doesn't seem real.

My heart aches for this soldier and his family and their friends.

What do you say to your friend whose husband nearly died a few months ago and now has nearly escaped death again, minus a limb?

Actually It's the Son Who Knows Best

My son, he'll be 18 in June, is currently unemployed. Why a physically capable young man isn't working is something I just can't understand. I have encouraged him to get a job. Granted, most available positions in our community are fast food places, but one does what one has to in order to earn some cash.

Well, recently a Help Wanted sign popped up at Subway. This is a wonderful opportunity. It's less than a 10 minute walk from where we live. My son could ride his bike there in less than 5 minutes. He'd be able to ride his bike on regular streets with street lights. His last summer job was a 15 minute bike ride on a back rough road with no lights whatsoever. At night, it's very dark. But this Subway job sounds perfect.

I guess -job- is the operative word because my son has yet to rush right over there and pick up an application. Keep in mind, he wants to go to Holland for three days. I have no objection to him going on a short trip with his friend, provided that he pay his own way. Yikes! That condition put a damper on the getaway weekend plans. The train ticket alone would cost him over $100. Then he'd have to spend money on lodging (even a rat-hole hotel costs money) and he'd need to eat something. Since Europe doesn't require it's citizens to wait until the age of 21 to consume alcohol, I am perfectly aware my son has intentions to drink many beers and other assorted spirits. That certainly would cost money too.

Since this weekend in question is this coming Friday, I inquired to the status of the plans. He has decided that the trip would cost too much money and he can't afford it right now.

Then I did the logical thing....I suggested he get a job. And, don't forget, Subway is hiring. There is that Help Wanted sign clearly posted for all to see. I have no doubt my son would be hired on the spot. Our little community is about to be inundated with over 4,500 soldiers in the next couple weeks. Those soldiers are going to be hungry and Subway is the place to go. We don't have much of a selection and with the euro to dollar exchange rate being as lousy as it is, there is even less of an affordable selection.

Apparently, what sounds reasonable to an adult sounds utterly ridiculous to a teenager. He looked at me as if I were purple with golden tassels swinging from my candy cane horns. Getting a job wouldn't make it any easier for him to take a trip because he would have to work. Oh, of course, getting a job means you actually have to go to work to earn that paycheck that allows you to be able to afford to take trips.

According to the son, he'll never be able to go on a weekend excursion. He has no money so he won't be able to afford it. He can't get a job because then he won't have the time to take a trip. I guess the ideal would be for him to get paid to enjoy his leisure time. Silly me for thinking otherwise.

It must be nice to live in ignorance.

The Beginning of the End

The year of Operation Iraqi Freedom II is rapidly coming to an end. Our little community is beginning to see advanced party redeployment of soldiers. We are also beginning to see spouses returning from the states. Now that the soldiers are scheduled to come, those folks who couldn't make it on there own are returning to their homes from having been being taken care of by relatives.

Our community is also seeing lots of pregnant women who weren't that way when their husbands left. That sure will make for an interesting Welcome Home surprise. But, it's not just the wives who have found love outside their marriages. Several wives have received "Dear John" letters from their soldier husbands downrange. It seems that some female soldiers have been keeping some male soldiers warm at night. I guess bunkers must get lonely.

Personally, the whole situation is mingboggling. Do these people really think that their marriages will be better off for having violated the sanctity and trust of a marriage? What's even more amazing to me is that they were tempted in the first place.

I love my most amazing husband more than anything. He was deployed in February 2003 for Operation Iraqi Freedom I. He redeployed long enough to pack up our household, move to another post and prepare to deploy again for Operation Iraqi Freedom II in February 2004. He's been gone for most of our three year tour.

And yet, everything I do, I do with him in mind. Okay, maybe not everything. When I'm scrambling eggs or picking up dog poop in the yard, I'm not thinking about him. I'm thinking this sucks and that goes for both cooking and picking up poop. But every television show I watch, every time I think about a new piece of lingerie, every time I sign onto the computer, every time I walk the dogs, every night when I go to bed, every time I change my sheets, every time I check my mail, every time I purchased a new pair of shoes, and every miserable minute I spend in the gym, I'm thinking about him. Not even for a split second have I ever had the notion to partake in extra-marital activities. How could a woman entertain the idea of a sexual liaison while her husband is dodging bullets and IEDs? If I try really, really, really hard, I maybe can see how a male soldier might be interested in a fling downrange, but to send a "Dear John" letter home. What's that? Throw away a marriage and betray the person you love because you were too weak a person to stand up with morals for a year. That's just too ridiculous.

Actually, considering soldiers were able to receive a minimum of 14 days for R&R, spouses didn't have to be separated for an entire year. I had to wait just over 8 months to visit with my most wonderful husband. Is eight months too long to wait for a life time of happiness? Apparently for some people it is. The bigger picture is 8 months within a 30 to 40 year marriage is a blink of an eye. Could a romp in a stranger's bed or a romp on a cot in a tent really be worth it? I don't think so.

Honey....I hope you are reading this..... :)

How Much Is That wildebeest In The Window

My absence from my blog is easily explainable. I bought Zoo Tycoon last week and have been building zoos ever since. It's incredibly addicting. I started building a zoo at 8:00 pm and was up until 2:00 am. Not only did I dream about what kind of fencing I needed to keep giraffe from escaping, I dreamed about making sure my zoo visitors had enough drink stands and restrooms to keep them happy. Then, my brain went into overdrive and I woke up at 6:00 am and was wide awake and ready to build more zoos. I decided that I needed to accomplish something that day, so I went to the gym for a little over an hour. Once I returned home, I jumped into the shower and immediately went back to the computer for more zoo exhibit building. I didn't even dry my hair. Not only that, but I also ignored the hunger pains. I told myself I'd get something to eat after one more exhibit was productive. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was 11:30 am. I had been building since 8:00 that morning. The next time I looked at the clock, it was 3:00 pm. Okay, just one more attraction, then I'll stop. My kid came home from school and I finally got off of the computer around 4:00 pm because I had a meeting to attend. If that's not obsessive behavior, I don't know what is. I will say that playing Zoo Tycoon has given me a new appreciation for zoo admission fees. I have yet to build a zoo where I can actually get into the black. Even starting with a half a million dollars, my zoos operate in the red. That's with charging $32.75 per adult and $6.00 for a hamburger. Never again will I complain about how much a day at the zoo costs. I'll be happy to drop $7.50 on a soda and $9.75 for a hotdog. Of course fries are $8.50. They need to be. It's all good.

I've been able to limit my crack-like zoo addiction somewhat. I make sure I get all of my household chores completed before firing up the D drive. Even so, I have talked myself into putting off grooming my dogs. The poor things were looking way too fuzzy. Rag-a-muffins, definitely. So, I broke down and shaved them today. And wouldn't you know, the temperature must have dropped 20 degrees since yesterday. Their little naked bottoms must be freezing. They sure get to their business quickly, though. No dilly-dallying. Pee pee and come back inside. Momma didn't raise no fools.

Anyway, between the Mahjong Towers II and the Zoo Tycoon, I haven't really done much since my last posting. Well, I take that back, I spent one whole afternoon in the Passport office. That was a nightmare. To live in a foreign country as a dependent of the military, one has to have a SOFA stamp in their no-fee passport. SOFA is not a comfortable couch. It's a Status of Forces Agreement stamp. That means we fall under a different category of long-term resident status. Some how when we ordered our passports (mine and our children's), the government neglected to stamp my passport, but stamped our children's. So, two years ago, when we first arrived in Germany, I went to the passport office and patiently suffered through the bureaucratic red tape and got a SOFA stamp. Well, sometime over the last two years, the regulations have changed and the paper SOFA stamp that was previously issued is no longer valid. It must be replaced by a new SOFA stamp.

So, off to the passport office. Unfortunately, that portion of the office doesn't open until 1300 hours (1:00 pm). The ID card portion opens at 0800. Luckily, when I do work, I sometimes fill in for the woman who works in the office next door to the ID card section. The women who work in that office know me and made an exception for me. They allowed me to sign the Sign In sheet several hours early. Technically, they aren't even supposed to put that sheet out until 1130. I was #2 on the list and they told me to come back no later than 1300. No problem.

Wrong, problem. Apparently, that list went missing. There were at least 15 people in the waiting room all claiming they had signed the list prior to the first person on the new list, who signed in at 1215. Pandemonium. Folks were not happy. I really did try to keep my patience. It lasted longer than it would have had I been a regular person and not a colleague. I finally received my SOFA stamp around 1500 (3:00). Definitely, the passport office is not run like a tight ship. That ship is so full of holes that even the rats have abandoned it.

And the new SOFA stamp? The one so important that it had to replace the old SOFA stamp. The only difference I can tell is that the new stamp is on a green piece of paper and is laminated. No wonder people roll their eyes and groan when they have to deal with government agencies.

By the way, the January edition of True Story is available at your local news stand. It's merely a suggestion that you run out an pick up a copy. Be sure to check out the editor's comments about the "Army Wife's Marriage Guide, Military Style". Since I wrote it and was paid for it, I think I've earned bragging rights.

----Scully, thanks for the kick in the pants to get busy and write something. I'm so glad you're watching out for me. ---

----Dead, you are correct in the used to. Perhaps, after I sell a few more manuscripts, you could become my editor. What is it that you do for a living, anyway? ---

Subjunctive Guessing

After failing Chemistry and Statistics, I had to re-evaluate my scholastic choices. I had considered English, but a semester of Chaucer and a semester of Shakespeare did nothing to stimulate my interest. Instead, I opted for Sociology, just one step above Liberal Arts in the now-you-are-qualified-to-wait-tables category of higher education.

In spite of this decision, I have still maintained my love for grammar and sentence construction. Spelling is not among my strengths. Thank goodness for SpellChecker, even though it doesn't always work. Inasmuch, when I see blatant grammatical errors, I shake my head and give into the temptation to correct those errors.

"I could care less." Most people think this is a statement about how little they are concerned about a particular issue. Actually, the statement implies that it would be possible to care less, meaning you do, in fact, care. The proper usage would be "I couldn't care less." meaning you are already at the bottom of the caring barrel.

"He has a better car than me." No, actually, "He has a better car than I." The second part of the sentence is understood and therefore acceptable to leave out of the conversation. The whole thought is "He has a better car than I have." Including the second portion of the sentence clearly indicates "I" is the proper pronoun. It would be erroroneous to say, "He has a better car than me have." However, I'm certain a few Neanderthals would choose to speak in such a manner.

Subjunctive Tense. This is the surreal tense of a language. It indicates the "what if" factor and identifies the hypothetical. What if it were to rain today? The hypothetical aspect allows for the improper usage of the subject "it" with the verb tense "were". It a certainty, it is incorrect to say, "It were my job to rake the leaves."

By studying a foreign language, I have learned the grammar of my own language much better than attending high school English class. All that poetry reading has done little to improve my ability to communicate either by the written word or by the spoken word. I have yet to use "Tiger, tiger, burning bright" in day to day conversations. Additionally, I rarely have cause to discuss the finer qualities of Grecian pottery. That in itself precludes the need to recite Ode to a Grecian Urn. Now, math class did lend itself into my study of language in that I have wandered off on a tangent (not a cotangent or sine or even a cosine).

The reference books regarding the finer points of the English language usually have an example of the proper use of the subjunctive tense. One of the most frequent examples of subjunctive is the If I were you...
That's all fine and dandy when speaking of an activity. My latest English grammar text also uses If she were to go, there might be trouble.

I'm hoping the readers of this blog, namely Ken Wheaton especially, will be able to assist me in the follow conundrum. What pronoun is proper when the sentence, instead of using if I were you... uses a she or a he? Which is proper? If I were her... or If I were she... As I have been unable to find a reference book which specifies this particular situation, I have simply avoided the problem. I stick with If I were Johnny... and eliminate the pronoun completely.

The second grammar issue that gets under my skin is the Guess What.

As guess is a verb and the subject is the understood you, the sentence Guess what should be a statement or a command, thereby ending in a period. Unfortunately, every children's book I have ever read (and that's a vast amount) uses Guess what as a question ending with a question mark. Guess what?

If someone were (hypothetical usage of the subjunctive tense) to say Guess what, the response to that is usually, What? Questions are normally answered by a statement, not another question. Statements directing someone to do something may generate a question to clarify. For example, Joe says, "Tell me something." Timmy asks, "What?"
Isn't that basically what Guess what is saying? Tell me something.

What, by itself is a question. What? What do you want? What is that giant black thing crawling on your shoulder? Even if a possible ending is added, for example, Guess what I did today at school, it is still a command. You tell me what I did today at school. That is definitely not a question. It would sound ridiculous to make it a question. You tell me what I did today at school? Clearly Guess what is deserving of a period. Why do my editors continue to place a question mark at the end of my dialogue when I use a period? Huh? Why, Ken why?

Perfect Practice Makes Perfect

I was able to successfully play a low G, low A, B, C and D. Transitioning to E caused problems and by the time I hit F, my lips gave out. I spent over an hour trying to master the scale and it's apparent I need more practice.

Mary Had a Little Lamb sound more like Mary Took Her Lamb to Slaughter. But, hey, it was recognizable. I was thrilled that I had managed as well as I had. In my delight, I called my mother. She's responsible for this new adventure. Unfortunately, she wasn't home so my musical attempt has been forever recorded on her answering machine.

Later, when I called her back. She reassured me that I was loved. That, and I needed to practice a whole bunch more.

Pipes, Grace Notes And Dying Ducks

Although my birthday isn't until March, my mother sent my birthday present with the Christmas presents. She enjoys making me suffer with temptation. I think she has a bet going about how long I can stand it before I give in and open the birthday presents. Turns out, I lasted longer than she did. She called me the other night wanting to know what I thought about the present she sent. I didn't have any idea what she was talking about. We had squealed with delight over the phone about the gifts we had exchanged. I was at a loss. She said it was in a rectangular box. Oh, well there is a rectangular box marked "Happy Birthday." She told me to open it. Having been given permission to open my birthday present three months early, I ripped off the paper with gusto. To my surprise, it was something I have wanted for several years. A piping chanter kit! You might ask yourself, what's a piping chanter and why does it come in a kit? Well, it's the beginner practice pipe for bagpipes. I have wanted to learn to play the bagpipes and now I have the beginner's learning pipe. Yippie! The beauty of it is that my neighbor's won't even mind. The beginner's pipe does NOT include the bag and therefore has little volume. I quickly put it together and break open the instructions. I cover the holes and blow. It's a good thing it's supposed to sound like a dying duck. I think I might be a natural. Actually, what I was doing was squeaking very well. Anyone who has ever played a reed instrument will know about the squeak. Anyone who has ever listened to a beginner on a reed instrument will know about the squeak. I squeak well. But, hey, it was my first attempt. My second attempt wasn't much better. By the twentieth attempt, I accomplished a low G. Eventually, I managed the scale. I am so proud of myself. After the scale, I decided to turn the page. My heart sank. The first song on the playlist is Amazing Grace. Not Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, not Mary Had A Little Lamb, but Amazing Grace. I noticed these little tiny notes floating around that didn't make much sense. I'm no music wizard, but I can count how many beats to a measure and these guys weren't adding up. Back to the instructions. Turns out bagpipes are an instrument of continuous sound. There is no way to play a note louder than another or to differentiate between notes by taking a breath. "To enable true musical expression in pipe music short notes or grace notes are played throughout a tune to punctuate the music giving emphasis to certain notes or dividing two notes which are the same." Things just got harder. My son is thrilled with my new hobby. Now I can't complain about his lack of guitar playing ability during his practicing. As I blew my squeaks instead of tones, he just laughed. The dog, however, did not. She fled in terror at the sounds of the earth's destruction and took refuge under the desk in the other room.