Memorial Day

While I worked at the radio station in Clay Center, a coworker asked me to fill in as the engineer for a remote broadcast. Two guys were who knows where but in separate locations, and I was in the studio at base camp, in charge of recording their program for playback later in the day.

Turns out, I sat in on a Veteran's Day-themed broadcast on the said day. One of the two gentlemen on the show knew of my time in the Navy, and thanked me for my service. I thanked him for his remembrance. They asked me a little bit about my time, and what Veteran's Day meant to me. More on that in a bit.

I served from 1989 to 1993 and was stationed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii and reported to the USS Benjamin Stoddert in February '90 and made one Eastpac deployment that October. The Navy tried to keep family members in the same neighborhood, and my brother was also stationed on a ship in Pearl.

Following the Stoddert's December '91 decommissioning, I worked on the base, doing various jobs until my new ship, USS Worden, returned to the islands. I cut grass with the First Lieutenant's office, then I worked with a Seabees unit that helped refurbish military housing. If there was ever a person miscast as a builder, it was me. I had no idea how to hang sheet rock. Still don't. But it was shore duty, and I wasn't about to complain.

While I was between ships, the Worden was in the Persian Gulf, early in 1992 as part of Operation Desert Shield/Storm. It was a time of instability in the Gulf, and USS Stark had been hit by a missile in 1987, and USS Samuel B. Roberts hit a mine in 1988, so there was precedent that bad things could happen. Shipmates told me a little bit about what it was like to be in that kind of situation. One story still travels with me: a friend not worrying about being on watch (in an area near the bridge, similar to where the Stark was hit), but about going down below to sleep, wondering if he'd get up, or if he couldn't get out of the berthing area. The Navy is serious business, but I'd never felt that kind of pressure or stress during my time on the Benjamin Stoddert.

So the Worden I reported to was full of battle-tested sailors who had to be at their absolute best. I stood watch with many of those same guys in 92-93 during Operation Southern Watch.

It's the primary reason why I don't really puff my chest out on Memorial Day or Veteran's Day-- other people were getting shot at or wondering if they'd wake up the next morning. Not me. I came to understand that it's a common thought among soldiers and sailors-- that the other guys were the heroes.

So I'm always honored by the kind words from folks, but others deserve them more than me.

One Year to the Day

Tomorrow makes one year since we began moving into our new home. I remember the early mornings, loading and unloading, waiting for the movers, and the never-ending process of getting settled.

It's all been worth it. We still absolutely love this place. I've had to learn to become a homeowner-- handling our own home repairs, dragging the trash can to the curb Tuesdays and Fridays, and cutting my own grass. Our small farm is doing well-- tomatoes and bell peppers require a little patience, but our mint yielded fresh greenery for our mint juleps on Derby a few weeks ago.

We've had the stop sign on the corner knocked over twice, the victim of drivers who fail to judge the curve correctly. Folks seem to come and go from the rental homes across the street, and I've found excellent places to satisfy my running habit.

We've come a long way, and there's more fun out there waiting for us.