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.

It's Only Make Believe

I have a really bad tendency to get worked up over nothing. If there is no dissonance in my life, I'll think of something so that I can have some discord in my head. Something to stew and be upset about. It doesn't matter what it is-- some hateful words, an injustice, some disrespect-- I can turn it into instant angst. I seem to have a need to feel the sorrow of others and pull it onto myself. I know it's not healthy (I have problems of my own), but it's just how I am.

This is the end of a week when I've had to deal with that. I'm thinking of a situation at work where I feel there is injustice. The situation doesn't even concern me, and I realize that. It involves people who are grown adults, capable of making their own decisions. However, I can let my mind grab hold of this scenario, add a few ingredients, and whip it up into an incredible yoke to carry.

Thing is, I'm the only one who feels this way. I've worked with or spoken to each person recently, and there is no vibe from either of them to suggest that there is any beef or problem with me. I guess that's an important thing in my eyes, as well-- that I'm not bringing any discord into the world. But whatever's going on is not my problem. Might not even be theirs. But I've taken what I know (or think I know) of the situation, added a few details, thought about how I'd feel, and poof! I've got instant crisis. That I'm not part of the inner circle (which may be part of the problem-- flat out jealousy) and don't have all of the facts are irrelevant. I know what's best and I know justice isn't being served.

But it just doesn't matter what I think, and it never did.

So I'm working on getting control of what goes on in my head. It's been a challenge.

Story Time, Hockey Season

We're coming to the end of the first round of hockey's Stanley Cup Playoffs, which is one of my favorite times of the year. I won't bore you with why I like watching, especially since I've already devoted previous blog space to it.

I also saw where the Norfolk Admirals of the AHL just lost after winning 29 straight games, and it reminded me of the first game I saw live.

I joined the US Navy in August 1989, somehow surviving basic training, and proceded to my 14-week Operations Specialist "A" School, at Dam Neck, Virginia, near Norfolk in October. This is the off season in that part of the world-- rainy and windy and chilly. A sailor could do just about anything for a low, low price. Especially teenaged sailors who suddenly have a little freedom to move about, after 2+ months of confinement during boot camp.

As for the school itself, there were four classes of about 25 assigned to each barracks were we stayed, and the most senior class typically wasn't on the watchbill, for quarterdeck and rover watches, though the custom was to stay in the neighborhood, since you were still on duty.

The story picks up right around the first week of February, with my class, #90043, as the furthest along.

One Friday, a 'duty' day for my class, I was able to buy discounted Hampton Roads (as they were then known) Admirals hockey tickets on base and went, even though I knew I was taking a chance. So I got onto the bus headed to Norfolk Scope arena for the game against the Virginia Lancers. I remember buying a program and thinking I'd recognize a name or two on the rosters, but no dice. The final was 6-3, though I can't seem to recall who won.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the game was up. Of course I/we had been found out. It turned out I went in one direction, and some of my classmates had gone in another, so the safety was in numbers, and no trouble came our way.

I think I still have the program around here somewhere.

Chigger Bites

Well, the weather has definitely turned for the better here in Alabama... It's the six weeks on either side of summer that nobody talks about-- humidity is what we're famous for. But for those six weeks, mornings are temperate and the sunshine positively glorious. Warm enough to wear shorts and flip flops, but not steaming hot.

This means it's now lawn and garden season. I'd spent some time raking leaves in the fall and winter, but it's now time to mow, trim the bushes and the greenery surrounding the house, and (try to) control the ant beds that pop up.

So far, I'm two for two. Two lawn days this spring, two hay fever/allergy attacks. The first was two weeks ago, midafternoon on a Sunday, when I raked some leaves in preparation of mowing. Two allergy pills didn't help much-- I kept on sneezing and blowing my nose. It turned into a pretty miserable evening. In addition, I picked up a ton of chigger bites which I am still scratching. Cortaid and nail polish were of no help. Benadryl, though, has seemed to slow things quite a bit. The redness remains, even if the itching and swelling have been greatly reduced.

The second attack was Thursday, which was mowing day. The actual work started about 9:00 and took about an hour, since I had to work at noon. I thought I did a better job of not rubbing my face, but the sneezing and runny nose picked up once again. I stopped for provisions at the drug store, allergy meds and tissue, but my work shift turned into eight eternal hours, since I was so congested, and so thick-headed due to two allergy pills that were no match. The Kleenex also stood no chance, as I went to the store for more later on.

I tried the drugs, food, M and M candy, and even a late-night potable. As it turned out, the only thing that worked, both times, was a good night's sleep and a chance for my body to recover.

South Plains College

I spent 2 1/2 years working at the radio station in Levelland, Texas-- April 1998-December 2000. KLVT, 1230 AM and 105.5 FM. I started out as half of the full-time staff, then I became the full-time staff when the gentleman who hired me took another job. I covered meetings, sold advertising (tried to), had the crime beat, anchored newscasts, hosted the morning show, etc.

Something else I did was cover ball games. It was the reason I applied in the first place. Levelland High School was my domain, and when the boss took off I did South Plains College basketball. My last year, winter 2000, I'd accepted a new job in Lubbock and did LHS and SPC games. Four nights a week, two games a night. Home games were a 30-minute commute. And the road games? High school was not too bad. A few games in Lubbock, but also trips to Canyon, Plainview and San Angelo (three hours). Junior college trips were a different matter. Two hours to Midland and Odessa, 1:45 to Big Spring, and two hours to Hobbs and Roswell, NM, plus a time change. Schools in Clarendon and Borger rounded out the conference (I would go to Clarendon but never traveled to Borger).

In addition, my job in Lubbock involved early mornings. That, combined with late-night drives home combined for some raggedness during the week. I remember the driving, the games, and the tired from those days vividly. It even got difficult to stay on the road sometimes.

After moving to Clay Center, I even had the chance to touch base with the women's coach at SPC, who'd brought his team to Salina for the national tournament. Seemed like he remembered me. There were even a few folks in the crowd who said someone that looked like me used to do their games.

Of course, all the success happened after I moved away from the area. First, to Oklahoma and then to Kansas. The men's team also went to nationals a few times, winning it all in 2008, and again tonight. Through the magic of the Internet, I watched the last nine minutes and found myself wandering back to Texan Dome, the road trips, and the miscues (of which there were several).

And the choices. I had the chance to go back to Levelland (since the job I took in Lubbock didn't work out), but I decided going back would constitute a step backward. I could've gone back to doing ball games and news, but ownership was new, I didn't know if I wanted to learn to work with them, and I didn't want to go back. They sank a lot of money into KLVT, and it would've been a better place to work than the place I started out with. the new people would've offered some structure and a real chance to learn. I never really got a chance to learn much under previous ownership, which was 1 1/2 hours away and with their own agenda.

It's truly one of the life choices I wonder about. I don't spend a lot of time second guessing-- wouldn't do any good.  I'm almost 1000 miles and 12 years away from those circumstances. And so many decisions have been made since then.

We Can Laugh Now, Vol. II

So anyhow, we continue with our travel story.

We got up at 6:00 the next morning and were on the road with a fast-food breakfast by 7:00. The trip into Alabama down I-20 was uneventful, save for having to drive through Tuscaloosa (our destination) to the airport in Birmingham to drop off our rental car, pick up a second rental, get our luggage, drive *back* to Tuscaloosa and check in to our hotel at about 3:00. We soon realized that the hotel we checked into was better than the one we left in Shreveport, but not by much.

So over the course of three days, not the four we'd planned on, we looked at houses and apartments, ate some outstanding food, did some church hunting, started to learn the territory, and met some really nice people.

Tuesday was the second travel day. We'd gotten off to a good start for our late morning flight and were well on our way back to Birmingham to return our car when we got a text message telling us our flight to DFW had already been canceled. Swell. Fortunately we were able to board a flight later that afternoon, so we only spent several hours waiting instead of an entire day.

The flight from Dallas, in and of itself, was uneventful. It left about 9:00, getting us back to KC about 11:30. Remember that noise we heard getting into the parking lot? Turns out two travel-weary people now had a flat tire to contend with. In the KCI parking lot at midnight. It's June in the midwest, so it's still steaming hot, and the sweat just poured off me as I worked to get things done. Someone driving out of the parking lot graciously shed some light on the matter, so that was very helpful.

We finally made it back to Ann's place in Manhattan about 2:00 the next morning, so I didn't get back to work in Clay Center until noon Wednesday.

We are able to chuckle about it now, but just about anything that could have gone wrong on that trip did. Wow.