Hot for Teacher? Nope...It's Hot for Everybody

It's been 110+ every day out here for about the last 2 weeks. We work inside a warehouse, so we're out of the sun, but it increases the temp by about 10 degrees. Hot really can't describe how it feels.

So my boy Faleh was having trouble focusing on learning in my classes due to GI issues (I assume...he grabbed his stomach every time there was work to be done). We got him some pain meds, and voila! He's become my star pupil.

Where Have I Been? Where Have You Been?

Alright. My bad. It's been what, over 2 months? Let's catch up. When I last posted, we were winding down the Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) missions with the State Department, as they're closing up shop up here in the north. We were waiting to find out whether or not we were going to train the Iraqi Army in the fine art of field artillery. On May 15, I decided since it'd been 8 months since I'd been in the United States, it was time for a little break. On a 12 month deployment, they allow you 15 days of uncharged leave to return for "rest and recuperation," a nice way to say they're getting you out of the suck for a while. There's something to be said about coming off the plane and walking over Terminal D in DFW to hundreds of strangers standing on their feet applauding and cheering. Incredible, really. So, I took my uniform off for 15 days, didn't shave, saw some friends and family, and had a wonderful time. While on leave, I received word that I had been put on orders to Ft Campbell, KY (most of which lies in Tennessee, but the post office is in Kentucky). So, the next chapter of my life involves me leaving the Great State of Texas. It's exciting, but sad at the same time. This was poor timing in just about every way imaginable, but I still enjoyed my time and had one of those "defining moments" in my life after a fortuitous mechanical problem at DFW caused our flight to be delayed for a day...but that is a subject for another blog that I'll likely either never create or create and neglect. Like this one.

So, I got back to Mosul just in time for my birthday and to start training the Iraqis on the M198 (as previously mentioned in my blog somewhere). As I'd said before, we have no prior experience with the weapon, but while I was gone, the guys seemed to pick it up rather quickly. We've had the Iraqis for a week now and they are refreshingly eager to learn, and, quite frankly, fun to have around. It's pretty neat watching them learn the piece and their respective roles on the crew. Though there is a major language barrier, we've managed to bond a little with them and now joke around with them between classes and testing. The idea of them firing without us there to ensure they shoot safely is still a little frightening, but they will undoubtedly nail it, and might just become some pretty good redlegs after a few years of trial and error. The work is exhausting, it just keeps getting hotter, and the soldiers' eyes are beginning to glaze over knowing there's 2 months left, but apparently what we're doing has gotten the attention of those back in Washington and elsewhere:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/middle-east/with-big-gun-iraqi-soldiers-see-hope/2011/06/16/AGfniObH_story.html <---I'm not what you would call "blog-savvy," so copy and paste that badboy and it should whisk you away to the article I'm referencing. Or one of you readers could tell me how to insert a proper link so I don't look and/or feel so incompetent.

This is a proud moment for our Platoon, knowing that this New Iraq Army Field Artillery will be a lasting legacy for 2nd Platoon, B Battery, 5-82 FA. We literally are standing up nearly the entire branch of artillery for this country. I am filled with pride knowing that "Teacher Duns-by" and the rest of the NCOs in this platoon are ensuring that these Iraqis have the knowledge and training to be the best possible artillerymen in the region, and with time, can impart their knowledge to their peers subordinates. It's exciting times again, folks. We're writing the history.

We Landed on Mars! (Or Spring has Sprung in Mosul)

This is what my afternoon looked like today. No camera tricks...it was that eery. Needless to say, I found myself quoting Total Recall all day today -- because of the Mars-like glow, not because that movie is completely awesome and should be quoted at every opportunity or anything.

A Lesson In Control

Last night was a pretty nice evening in Northern Iraq, so three of us were standing outside enjoying the weather and conversation. Every now and again, the guys up on radar hill will pick up signatures of indirect fire (IDF -- mortars, rockets, etc...) being fired from around the city. Sometimes these signatures are just random explosions that are not related at all to IDF. As a precaution, however, these signatures trigger an alert that goes out over the PA system that sounds like an awful alarm clock, followed by "INCOMING! INCOMING!" When this is heard, you can usually find me going on about my business as usual. We've been pretty lucky over the course of the past six and a half months to not have anything land close. As we were standing outside last night, the alarm went off again. When it goes off, the conversation usually pauses so we don't have to speak any louder, and to see if something actually lands. After it finished it's last "INCOMING!", a friend of mine looked at me and said, "You know, one of these days, a rocket is just gonna land right on top of u...."

BOOOOOOOM!

It nearly did. At that point, we decided to see what the inside of our bunker looked like. See, when they shoot rockets, they shoot them in groups off rails. They've been finding them with 9-12 rockets per rail system. Because these guys aren't exactly proficient at their jobs, you can usually expect only about 4 to 5 to actually land near where they are aimed. Of those 4 to 5, only around 2 to 3 will actually explode. When that first one landed near, we knew 3 to 4 were still en route. 2 more exploded once we were inside the bunker, though not nearly as close as the first one.

In my 27 years, I've found nothing nearly exciting as a rocket exploding nearby. As I was sitting in the bunker, I started thinking. There is literally nothing you can do to avoid one landing at your feet. Now, the laws of probability really work against a rocket actually landing close enough to kill you, but there's something sexy about one landing nearby and you being able to blog about it 24 hours later. After seeing and hearing explosions on the countless war movies I've watched over the years, let me assure you that when they happen in real life, they sound completely different...just like gunfire. You might feel the bass from the sound effects in the theater, but you don't feel the ground shake beneath your feet from a real 107mm rocket exploding. Luckily no one was killed during the attack, but it really brings you back to reality when something happens like that.

For years now, I have been a man who needs to be in control. I would rather drive than ride along. I don't like tour groups. I don't like other people making plans for me (which is ironic, based on my career choice). I would rather fly the plane than sit in the cabin (knowing full well that it probably wouldn't end well for me and the rest of the passengers). However, last night was a great lesson from the "You-can't-always-be-in-control" school of thought. See what they did there? These violent extremists are teaching me lessons in life even while they're trying to take mine. Kudos, guys. Kudos.

An Open Letter to My Mustache

Author's Note: Some of you might have seen this on my facebook. For the roughly 3 Americans still out there that do not yet have a facebook (give it time...it'll happen when you're ready.), I repost this here for you:


Dear Magnum P.I.,

Let me preface this letter by saying that I've truly enjoyed our time together. You always (and I mean always) bring a smile to my face. When I have bad days, you're always there to lift my spirits. In fact, you've lifted the spirits of many in and around Mosul. But, like a baby panda, you have reached your peak of pulchritude. You came to me a nervous little shadow, and have blossomed into such a glorious spectacle. I am proud to call you mine. Your function is two-fold: 1) You make people smile (and the occasional child cry...though I really believe someone took his ice cream cone right before he saw me) and 2) You keep my lip warm during the cold Iraqi nights. Since spring has arrived, you serve only one purpose, and as Alton Brown says, a fire extinguisher should be your only unitasker. We both knew from Day 1 of "New Year, New Mustache" that there would be a wear-out date. Though I wasn't sure of how long you would be with me, I knew that you could never be a permanent fixture on my lip. That may come off as harsh, but understand me here: Personally, I think you are a great facial accessory. Some of the greatest men (and women!) have sported such lip warmers. Women, however, are not always so fond of the soup strainer. Furthermore, I am 100% sure that I could not trust any woman that truly believed you to be sexy. I'm not saying I don't think you're sexy. Let me rephrase: I don't think you're sexy. I'm 27, nearly 28, and I feel like it's probably about time to settle down and find a good woman to make me look better. You very well may stand in between me and my happily ever after, Magnum. I can't stand idly by while life passes me by. Thus, April 1, 2011, you will no longer be a part of my life. I'm giving notice so you can have a few days to get your things together, and possibly put out some feelers for future employment. I have nothing but good things to say about you, so if you do decide to seek employment elsewhere, you can count on a great letter of recommendation. Unfortunately, I just can no longer afford to keep you on...my lip. Good luck in your future endeavors, and vaya con Dios.

With All Sincerity,

XXXX "XXXXXX" XXXXXX

Boosting Morale 7,000 Miles From Home

We've been lucky these past 6 and a half months. We've run over 50 missions through some of the worst areas left in Iraq and haven't lost anyone. The rockets and mortars that occasionally make their presence known have been off-target, and other than an isolated incident involving a violent extremist (that's the new politically-correct term, FYI) posing as an Iraqi soldier, there has been no violence to speak of on our base. All that to say this: regardless of all those good things, this is not an easy deployment for anybody. Marital strife in the Army has almost become the norm, rather than the exception. One of my soldiers is dealing with that as we speak, and I can't imagine what he's going through. I spoke with another soldier on the bus yesterday who is on his 4th (yes, fourth) deployment. His daughter was born shortly before his first deployment, and is now 8. He has spent 4 years TOTAL with his 8 year-old daughter. That's another untold cost of war. Military divorce rates were through the roof but are finally starting to level off, but only now that the deployment cycles have slowed. A lot of the reason I'm here in this Army right now is so that that Staff Sergeant won't ever have to miss another year of his girl's life. Largely symbolic, but better me than that husband and father. We are halfway done here, but these kinds of stresses are huge burdens on us over here trying to finish the job so we can get back home to our loved ones. Unit morale is often affected by stress...be it inside the unit, problems back home, or just soldiers getting stuck in a rut. Morale in the workplace, regardless of the workplace, is INCREDIBLY important. It doesn't matter if you're a dishwasher at the Olive Garden or the Army Chief of Staff. If your morale is low, your job is affected. So, what can be done to boost morale in the workplace? Today, it was throwing a whole bunch of meat on the grill and pumping out awful hip hop music through computer speakers. It never ceases to amaze me how such a simple thing like a "backyard" BBQ can improve our morale. It's rare to have a "fun" day out here, but today was fun. I saw a platoon come together to put this "grillstravaganza" together and every single one of us had fun...for hours. 3 bags of charcoal, and roughly 30 pounds of meat were consumed and every soldier left with a smile on his face. Did we solve all our problems as a result of John's famous (near-)beer brats? No. But we were reminded of the fact that every single one of these soldiers here has whatever support that they may need, regardless of the situation, and that DOES (re)build morale.

Would you believe that the internet has been out for the last month? That's not even nearly true, but it would excuse my lack of musings. So, over the course of 1 month (these gaps between posts are growing, it seems) things have changed from week to week and even day to day. As I'm sure you're all aware, dear readers, we (the U.S. Army) are tentatively scheduled to leave Iraq completely by the end of this year. That being said we'd be remiss to not at least attempt to train the Iraqi army in the fine art of field artillery. Now, when the United States replaces old weapons systems with new ones, the old models are typically either scrapped and sold for parts, left to rust in "graveyards" somewhere, or given to third world countries as a show of compassion...or something like that. A few years ago, we replaced our M198 howitzer (dating back to 1979) with the M777. Now, I understand these numbers are probably Greek to the lot of you, but I will give you the most important differences between these two guns. The old one weighs every bit of 16,000 pounds and is manipulated completely by those unfortunate enough to be assigned to the weapon. The new one weighs just over 6,000 pounds, and has a lot in the way of hydraulic assistance. Needless to say, we don't like the old one anymore, so we're giving over 100 to the Iraqis. Now, that sounds like we're giving them our hand-me-downs...but these guns aren't bad. They're combat-proven, reliable pieces of equipment. Ironically, it's likely at least some of these guns sent what the Iraqi army called "steel rain" into Iraq in '91 and again in '03...So, they're getting a good deal (in terms of the guns, not in terms of ACTUAL cost). Anyhoo...these guns are essentially just 8 tons of steel unless somebody shows you how to properly operate them (and safely). Seeing as how my section is the best in the battalion, what other choice do they have but to have us train these future Iraqi Redlegs? Answer? Plenty, but they chose us. In the world of U.S. Field Artillery, there are essentially two camps: towed, and self-propelled. Most artillerymen spend their careers in one or the other. Based on the pictures I've posted, it's probably obvious to you, dear readers, that I fall into the "self-propelled" category with our M109A6 Paladins. The main difference between the two groups is that the towed guys LOVE to run around and are, for all intents and purposes, gluttons for punishment. See, my office is inside the Paladin, which means I only have to move slightly to perform any job inside the gun. The towed folks are constantly running and gunning outside the gun, wherever their helicopter or truck drops them off. There's a saying in the Army..."work smarter, not harder"...and the towed fellows definitely work harder. So, when it came down to find some Redlegs to train the Iraqis on a towed artillery piece, people with towed artillery experience would be the obvious choice. But our Creator has a wonderful sense of humor, apparently, because my platoon was chosen to first learn about this behemoth, then teach it to a group that knows probably 30 English words between them, none of which relates to artillery. Hilarious. Will this event ever come to fruition? Stay tuned, sports fans, because I don't even know since the plans keep changing from day to day and week to week. See how I tied that all together? Nice.

In other news...we're over halfway done here. Unbelievable, really. Seems like last week I was staring into the nothingness that is Kuwait wondering what awaited me. Now, I just can't wait to see Kuwait again, because that means I'll be headed home for a spell. Thanks for keeping up with me and my occasional ramblings, but feedback is always welcome...I might even post more often...just sayin'.

Where I've Been, What I've done

It seems like every time I post, I'm apologizing for a break in writing. This entry will be no different. I'm SORRY for not writing more. The all-caps and bold font should indicate that I'm more sorry than in previous entries. According to the stats, I haven't posted since February 4. Much has happened since then...West Texas was shut down by snow and ice and apparently the Middle East discovered facebook and democracy all at once. So, let's talk.

Last week, I did something that I have never done before. They say that prostitution is the oldest profession. I believe that right after that job was created, guard duty was. I was lucky enough to get picked for the weekly gate guard duty. What this entails is about 8 hours of sitting at the gate staring out at this:



Now, don't be fooled by all the excitement going on in this picture. It's not as awesome as it looks. At this particular gate, NOTHING HAPPENS. However, I have no problem with that. When things start happening there, nothing good comes of it. But, to make a short story even shorter, I spent a week protecting my fellow soldiers from dangerous, malicious (and possibly retarded...I don't have a good zoom on my camera, or else there would be evidence) sheep. I will say that despite doing next to nothing for 8 hours a day, 7 days in a row, it is exhausting. There's also the reality aspect involved. There is a line out there leading up to the gate that, if crossed, will cause all hell to break loose. And for 8 hours a day, you are that guy required to unleash said hell. If you don't, then you really put a whole bunch of lives at risk. That thought alone will (or at least SHOULD) keep most awake while up there in the turret when it's 30 degrees and windy. Anyhoo...I did that for a week. I survived it, and so did all the personnel I was defending.

In other news, I can put VIP driver on my resumé. I won't say who/what/when/where, but there was about 100 years of combined officer experience in my truck the other day. Needless to say, they were very quick to tell me how amazing my driving and overall performance was. OK...That's not true. But they didn't say ANYTHING to me, so that's good.

Oh, and as the Middle East continues to get wild(er) and crazy(er -- I'm aware that this creates a spelling error, but after a couple of minutes of playing with it, I'm sticking to it.), remember us over here. And the people of these countries fighting oppression.

Home on the Range

So, since we're not doing much right now...the Arab world just seems a little fragile at this point...we're busy trying to find stuff for us to do. It's been proven many times over that unengaged soldiers spell trouble. So, recently, we took out the trucks to a range to shoot our M240B, which just so happens to be my favorite weapon system in the US Army. Now, because I am what the Army calls an Expert Rifleman (39/40 targets...The target FELT that 1 round whiz past its "ear", but didn't want to go down) I don't get a chance to shoot all that much. I guess they feel like once you master something, you just don't have to do it much at all. I have fundamental issues with that line of thought, but some people do need more...practice. Anyhoo...I got to go out and shoot the always-fun 240 off the top of my truck. Here's a fun picture from the files of "John's 'Days Off'."

Operation: New Year, New Mustache

On January 7, I made the "New Year, New Mustache" Proclamation, and am proud to say that near 90% of my platoon and several others throughout the battery have undertaken the great task of growing these fantastic lip-warmers. Being that we are in the Army, they outline very stringent regulations regarding the proper wear of a mustache. What it does is make the wearer of the mustache look absolutely ridiculous, which was truly my intention. When I came up with the NYNM Proclamation, I had no idea that the platoon would follow me down the road of ridiculous...it was merely an idea for me to help keep the morale up. It has worked incredibly well. The mustaches have created an unintentional clique, filled with mustache solidarity. There's the mustachioed, then there's everybody else. Those that see us walking into the dining facility immediately know that we mean business. The Iraqis we meet now take us more seriously. And as an unintended result, I am actually funnier. I will soon gather together those sporting these flashy new soup-strainers for a photo op because I'm thinking that many will soon give up on the things. But for now, I offer you the most recent photo:

Contrary to speculation, my new year resolution was NOT to stop updating this. The fact is, I have been spending more time reading, watching movies, and well, thinking. This blog has fallen an unfortunate victim to a lack of time management. For that, I sincerely apologize. Time management has always been a point I have always needed improvement on.

So, what have I been doing, you ask? Well, missions have been coming in slow, so our platoon has been doing what we (should) do best...artillery. Every six months in the world of artillery, regardless of the location, a gun section (the crew that is required to actually send a 155mm round down range) must certify. What that entails is taking a big metal box on tank tracks with a 20ft tube protruding into a self-propelled howitzer capable of sending 100 pounds of ordnance about 25km. Without going into too much detail (not for you, the reader's sake, but because I'm rather burned out on the whole idea of going into details at the moment), my section qualified. When I say qualified, I might be underselling that a bit. Out of a possible 1000 points, my section received 984. A "good" score is in the vicinity of around 800-850, so...take that as you will. All I see is 16 points that we didn't recieve. Next time, I suppose.

Anyhoo, we've gone back to our original mission over here, which is refreshing in that it allows us to focus on one task, rather than several, at once. Through all of this artillery training, we continued to pepper in missions outside the wire, which required everyone to refocus on the fact that we are still very much visitors in a country that can be very unfriendly at times. This is not an easy task, especially for the younger soldiers, and was evidenced by the mental exhaustion shown by many of us. Even though we do tend to keep pretty "regular" hours, it can take a huge toll on each of us mentally. I pride myself on my ability to "soldier on" through even the most trying of times, but after 84 days without a day off, even I was worn down and simply going through the motions. (I did finally get that day off though, and it was magnificent.) Now that we've had a sort of "reset," we're back on the road, moving forward with getting out of here.

A New Resolution

With the new year upon us, millions of people among us will undoubtedly be making New Year Resolutions. Some want to finally kick a habit that has bothered them for years. Some want to focus more on work. Some want to focus less. The bottom line, regardless of the resolution, is that people see something in their lives that they want to change, and January 1st is a great date to start it. There really is nothing magical about the date...although 1/1/11 looks pretty good. The fact is, by 3/1/11, most of these resolutions will have been forgotten, and the breaking of somehow justified by the quitter.

My father, much wealthier than me in terms of just about everything including wisdom and experience, has always said, "Don't tell me what you are GOING to do. Tell me what you have DONE." That's not to say you shouldn't set goals for your life. In fact, it's quite the opposite. For a long time, I just thought I wouldn't say what I was going to do in the future, and then I could be satisfied with the status quo. That's not it. Or maybe it is for some.

I can look at a mountain and say that I'm going to climb it. I can spend all this time gathering my gear, making plans for the ascent, and talk about what I'm going to do when I reach the summit. Everyone at the base looks at me and says, "Wow, John! That's great stuff!" Before too long, the weather changes. The gear that I've gathered to climb the mountain is now not suitable for the ice and snow. The planned route is now impassable, and the people start mumbling about no movement. That mountain peak now seems unattainable, and I start to talk about a different mountain that's a better fit for me...better weather, better routes, etc... When we get down to brass tacks, IF I HAD JUST STARTED CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN, I WOULD BE LOOKING DOWN FROM THE SUMMIT AT WHAT I HAD DONE.

Every day there is a mountain to climb. With every new year should come a new, bigger, more challenging mountain. I lived a life where each day was just another day of sameness. It's depressing to me. You can live life on a plateau, pleased with the status quo. A great many people do that and live full, complete lives. But why do that? It seems to me that all that's good for is keeping yourself busy until you die. Not for me. I'm looking down from this little mole-hill that was 2010, and I'm not satisfied. I see my K2 in the distance, and I can't wait to start climbing that in 2011 and 2012. There are mountains out there for everyone. It's up to you and me to get out there and start climbing.

A Christmas Story

For some of these guys out here, this is the third or fourth time away from loved ones since these wars kicked off. A lot of these guys deal with Christmas away from families by treating Christmas like another day in paradise. Being that this is my first trip to the desert and the first Christmas not with my family or a loved one's family, it's not just another day. I'm not sure that I want to ever think of Christmas as just another day. I'm sure this won't be the last Christmas away from loved ones, and my hope is that I never miss them on this day any less than I do now. This last week has been kind of rough on everyone...we're all thinking of home, talking to loved ones as they prepare the house for visitors, or prepare to travel, knowing that there's going to be an empty spot at the dinner table, or around the tree on Christmas morning. As our III Corps Commander reminded us today, those who have it hardest are often the families of the deployed. We're fortunate enough to spend Christmas here with our "second family." A great many families of ours are forced to spend their Christmas without a father or mother present, which is completely unimagineable to me. So, this Christmas day, remember those who aren't with you on this very special day, and leave a place set for them for their return. And especially remember those who are dealing with yet another Christmas at home without their husbands, fathers, wives or mothers.

A Message to Garcia

So, I ran across this essay the other day on a website and immediately fell in love with it. After some research on the essay itself, it turns out that it was once widely distributed (all Russian soldiers were given it in pamphlet form before arriving to the front lines in Germany in World War II...quite curious, considering the way the Russian Army worked at the time, but that's another topic). It took 27 and a half years for it to reach me, and while I don't claim to be well-read, I find that shocking. This essay should be required reading before graduating high school. The idea behind it is what I find most inspirational. It sums up how things REALLY get done in the real world, be it in business, military, or any other endeavor. After reading this, it should be the way we all approach a given task, or who we should seek when needing a task accomplished. Without further adieu, here is "A Message to Garcia."



A Message to Garcia

By Elbert Hubbard

In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion. When war broke out between Spain & the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastness of Cuba- no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly.

What to do!

Some one said to the President, "There’s a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."

Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, & in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia, are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail.

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?" By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing- "Carry a message to Garcia!"

General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias.

No man, who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man- the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it. Slip-shod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, & half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook, or threat, he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, & sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant. You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office- six clerks are within call.

Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio".

Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the task?

On your life, he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions:

Who was he?

Which encyclopedia?

Where is the encyclopedia?

Was I hired for that?

Don’t you mean Bismarck?

What’s the matter with Charlie doing it?

Is he dead?

Is there any hurry?

Shan’t I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?

What do you want to know for?

And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia- and then come back and tell you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average, I will not.

Now if you are wise you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that Correggio is indexed under the C’s, not in the K’s, but you will smile sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself.

And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift, are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? A first-mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the bounce" Saturday night, holds many a worker to his place.

Advertise for a stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply, can neither spell nor punctuate- and do not think it necessary to.

Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?

"You see that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory.

"Yes, what about him?"

"Well he’s a fine accountant, but if I’d send him up town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street, would forget what he had been sent for."

Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?

We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden denizen of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest employment," & with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.

Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne’er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long patient striving with "help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues, only if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer- but out and forever out, the incompetent and unworthy go.

It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best- those who can carry a message to Garcia.

I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, "Take it yourself."

Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular fire-brand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled No. 9 boot.

Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple; but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference, slip-shod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude, which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry & homeless.

Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds- the man who, against great odds has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there’s nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes.

I have carried a dinner pail & worked for day’s wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; & all employers are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous.

My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly take the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets "laid off," nor has to go on a strike for higher wages. Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall be granted; his kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city, town and village- in every office, shop, store and factory. The world cries out for such: he is needed, & needed badly- the man who can carry a message to Garcia.

The Good, The Bad, and The Pineapple Dinosaurs

So...Let's see here. Since I left off, it's rained more. It's gotten colder, which is nice...a bit more like Christmas. We don't go out much at night so I haven't had a chance to see if Mosul does it up big in the Christmas lights department...but I keep trying to get interest in going on a Christmas light tour. Sadly, I can't generate much of that. They keep saying the same thing...something about Muslim country this, Muslim country that. I don't understand it. Whatever.

Yesterday was officially 3 months out of country. Really, it seems like last week we flew into Kuwait, so hopefully the time continues to fly and I make it back to Texas sooner than later. I'm in the middle of putting together a "quarter-in-review" of sorts for the folks back home -- a pictorial, if you will -- so when I finish that, I'll try to post it here. In looking back over the course of the last 90 days, I've seen some good stuff, bad stuff, and just plain ridiculous stuff.

Good Stuff: I got promoted. I'm bigger, faster and stronger. I love my job more than ever.
Bad Stuff: People keep blowing stuff up around me. I'm starting to think they just don't like me.
Ridiculous Stuff: A giant pineapple dinosaur at our Thanksgiving meal. Apparently they left out the part of the Pilgrims defeating the pineapple T-rex with the help of the Native Americans in history class. Also, the Texas Rangers were in the World Series. Ridiculous.

I must say that I have enjoyed the last 3 months. It's been good for me in many ways, and hopefully, the next 3 quarters of this journey will be just as good if not better. We continue to see progress up here in the north, and it's exciting to be here during such a pivotal time in this nation's history. Here's to hoping all of this continues.

Another Great Flood, This Time in Ninevah

It is currently POURING rain, and I fear I might be washed away inside my chu (compartmentalized housing unit, Brit. :)) Last night, I went to sleep to a rain shower. Being that I live in a metal box, I can sort of imagine it's a tin roof, and that's a nice thought to carry into sleep. Tonight, though, it's harder rain and I'm not 100% sure, but I think it has gotten into my wall. That should provide some fantastic odors once it heats back up a bit. The good thing about all this rain is that bad guys hate being out in it as much as we do, so it's rather quiet outside other than the rain.

Today we visited one of Saddam's old palaces in Mosul. It was probably very gorgeous once. Around 2003, the air force came around and said hello with a few thousand pounds of ordnance. The land (and crumbling palace) is now owned by the University of Mosul and they want to use it, but there's a slight problem...a slight 2,000 pound problem. One of the air force's "smart" bombs hit it's target, but failed to explode. According to the military lawyers, since it was dropped during war, we weren't responsible for clearing it. But since we've nothing better to do with a Saturday, we grabbed some structural engineers, a team of Explosive Ordnance Disposal guys(EOD - yes, like Hurt Locker), 1 shovel, 1 pick axe, and a screw driver to go look at it. Seriously. That's what they brought. For a 2,000 pound bomb. Clearly, it did not go off, because I am typing this now...but next time you're around a dictator's palace, make sure you bring a pick axe just in case you run across any UXO (unexploded ordnance).

Do you know what boosts morale, dear readers? Christmas cookies. Not Hooters girls.

Late Night Thoughts on Another Saturday In

Today we went on a mission to inspect a few agricultural projects the State Department in funding up in Kurdistan. Great projects...we ate some of the fruits of their labors. It is amazing what a little irrigation and education will do for a people. It reminds me of West Texas and their cotton. That's not why I write tonight, however. On long drives through northern Iraq, conversation often turns to what we're going to do when we land back in the States, both in effort to stay the boredom as well as to stay awake. An interesting point was brought up by a visiting Staff Sergeant today. He mentioned that some of us might go through a period of "culture shock" upon return. Things like well-paved roads, manicured landscaping, clean air, and an overall lack of trash will indeed seem foreign...at least for a while. Not having to scan for IEDs and men tossing grenades will also force a bit of an adjustment. But what I find most...alarming?...of all of that is that THIS IS MY HOME. 2 and a half months in, it's finally hit that this is my home, at least for now. It no longer feels odd going everywhere with a loaded M4. It's become as natural as putting on a seatbelt for me to throw on my "battle rattle" (body armor, helmet, gloves, etc...). Explosions and gunfire in the distance is what puts me to sleep at night. That stuff has become my West Texas thunderstorm. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I watched "The Hurt Locker" when it came out, and enjoyed it for what it was...a great film. I watch it now, and I UNDERSTAND the main character. For better or worse, this is my life. This, Iraq John, is who I am. This is my world now. This is hard for me to accept...except that this is where I have blossomed. When I spent a couple of weeks at my parents' house in August, after a few days, all I could think of was getting back to work. There is ALWAYS something that needs to be done, something that needs to be done better, something to pass on to younger soldiers, and it is my job -- my reason for getting out of bed each day -- to get it done. My fear is that I've fallen in love with a job, with getting better every day, with becoming a better soldier/man, that I am doomed to miss out on the things that I have always felt are most important...family, friends, and perhaps a wife and a family of my own. I love what I am becoming every day, but at what cost is all of this happening?

Cancelled Missions and The Resulting F-Bombs

Time does fly when you're having fun. It also appears to fly when in a combat zone. It is now December. It has also been a week since Thanksgiving, and also, my last post. We've had some missions go well, some missions not go at all, and a whole lot of nothing going on...which I've found to be good. On just about every mission we go on, we are provided escort by either the Iraqi Army (IA) or the Iraqi Federal Police (IP). If they don't show up, we scrap the mission and call it a day...just part of our agreement with the Iraqi government. Frustrating? Sure. 2 missions in row were cancelled earlier this week due to IPs not showing up to escort us into the city. One of these we found out about the night before, which provided a nice day off...a precious commodity, as I think I've mentioned before. However, the other mission we didn't find out about until we waited at the gate for nearly an hour. That proves to be the most frustrating. Every mission that we do here requires hours of planning, regardless of how mundane or monotonous it may seem. Along with the planning goes hours of preparation, whether that be fueling the trucks, checking radios, equipment, water, etc... We're often out on the trucks hours before we actually roll out the gate. Along with all of that, there is a period of mental preparation. While we haven't had any direct action with bad guys, we must prepare ourselves for that event with every trip "outside the wire." Even the most goofy guy in the platoon has to get a little amped up and show his war face from time to time. In the event of a mission cancellation at the gate, it is as if all the preparation leading up to the gate was for naught. So, that feeling combined with being amped up and ready to fight makes for expletive-laced, but rather quiet (and usually humorous*), ride back to the house. I really think our Iraqi counterparts are just trying to keep us on our toes. Good training.


* - Many of our missions involve the Provincial Reconstruction Team from the US State Department. That involves us taking "suits" to various places around the Ninevah Province. Most of these guys are pretty nice and cooperative. It's clear they don't like riding around town in our trucks with body armor and helmets on, but the rules are there for a reason...we had a PRT member catch an ammo can with her helmet-less head a few months ago...she's ok now. Anyhoo...On one particular cancelled mission the other day, we had a passenger mention to my platoon sergeant how he'd overheard the "f-word over 30 times." He actually spelled it out for him, but I don't feel I need to. The PRT fellow couldn't remember what truck it was, but it really didn't matter. My platoon sergeant laughed. I remember, though, and we're careful to not talk so loudly when he's in our vehicle these days.

A Thanksgiving From Afar

I have never spent a Thanksgiving away from my family. Even years where keeping a job required me to be there for that day, family came to me. It is by far my favorite holiday. People always look at me strangely when I say that, but it is true. "Why not Christmas?" is always their response. Christmas is good. I love Christmas. It is my second favorite holiday. Behind Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, for my family at least, is nothing more than a day of fellowship. And wonderful, wonderful food, of course. It is this simplicity that I so love. There is nothing else going on this day, only a gathering of family to enjoy the fellowship of each other. Cooking and cleaning up seem easier on this day. (That may just be how it seems while I look on from the couch. Ha?). But ultimately, there are no complications other than timing the dinner rolls just right so they're ready when the green bean casserole comes out.

That said, today, as with every day, I am thankful for my family. It is hard for me to put into words the love that I have for every single member of my family, but it is felt. I was incredibly blessed to have a loving (but sometimes trying...ha) grandfather for 27 years. This will be our first Thanksgiving in a long time without him, and he will undoubtedly be greatly missed in the cirlce of family around the food. I am incredibly grateful for my wonderful Grandmother that I still have in my life. I am grateful to her for the way that she raised her boys and her daughter. My uncles have played a large role in my life, and am eternally grateful to both of them. My mother and father have spent the last 30 years trying to get the best out of their two boys. It's nearly killed the both of them, my brother and me, but I think we've turned out ok. No amount of thanksgiving can equal the love that these two have given us, nor the lessons they've taught us. My brother really took advantage of the "big brother" thing, but over the past few years, and possibly due in part to his lovely new wife, he has become a good friend as well as a brother. (That may also be due to his fear of me whooping him now). I am sad that I didn't get many years with my paternal grandparents, but am grateful to them for the father I have as well my 3 uncles. I am always impressed when I think of my grandmother raising 4 boys...especially hearing stories of those 4 boys. I'm positive I would've run away.

Every Thanksgiving, we all gather around the food, say a prayer of thanksgiving, and, one by one, say what we're thankful for. This is not done without the obligatory complaining (also a big tradition in our family), but unfortunately, I am not there today to voice my discontent over this ridiculous act. I will however offer what I am thankful for today:

Everything that I am today, everything, is due to all of you standing around this circle, those who have gone before us, and those not able to be here with us today. I am not physically here with you all today, but I am who I am today because you are all here with me today.

"Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name"